I Don’t Have A Title For This Post Because I don’t Know What’s Going On

Monday I went with my brother to attend the funeral of a younger cousin.

The pastor spoke on the first five verses of Psalm 31 and moved from there to the story of the rich man and Lazarus.

Members of my mother’s extended family packed the funeral home chapel. I helped the funeral director bring in extra chairs but even so there were eight of us standing against the back wall while several mothers with small children remained in the hall outside.

I saw many familiar faces. Faces I remember from my youth as belonging to old folks, but the odd thing is that these faces are now on people younger than I am. Family features are strongly stamped on people.

I felt so nervous about being exposed to the ridicule and censure of all these people again, that I spent the whole day psyching up for the encounter.

I have not been to any extended family gathering for years since they ostracized me and my family, and dropped us after my father died. As always, I felt like the failure. poor relation, family fool, village idiot, being barely tolerated among the successful. They’ll let anybody into a funeral, you know.

My brother really did not need my support although he’d insisted that I come with him. His wife was along for that. (Ginny was still at work and couldn’t be with me).

However, I tried to stay out of the way and not offend anybody again. I kept my guard up to avoid injury. I spent the whole time walking on eggs but nobody threw rocks. I paid my respects to the dead and I survived the contact with the extended family without being wounded so I suppose it was ok.

When I got home, Ginny cooked me a hamburger and, without speaking to me because she knew how on edge I’d be after this ordeal, sat me down to watch the Incredible Hulk on video.

It’s nice to fit in someplace.