1. The Happiness of a Sad Moment
The Happiness of a Sad Moment
The saddest part of the moment was that I was happy. Rain poured down upon the closed wood casket, battering it as if it had been the abuse he had given me. But did the bygones justify my glee? Could anything warrant happiness on a day of a funeral? I assume not, but the trivialness of justification sprang through my brain and danced on his coffin.
I wanted it justified. I wanted my smile to be an okay response to the bombardment of my past. No, I didn't have to come to his funeral. And no, I hadn't even seen him in years. But despite it, I needed confirmation. I needed to see with my own eyes that he was dead.
If I didn't, I would go insane, rocking like a madman in a corner wondering - no, waiting for him to jump out from my closet with his stretchy grin and cigarette smell. His over-sprayed cologne continued to permeate the air no matter where I went. His eyes, wide, hunting, sadistically elated, remained focused on me even though I went across the country.
On this day, I became free. Maybe just for the moment. Today, I could be truly alive. Now, my life could begin.
"It's okay to be happy," I told myself quietly, shaking off the darting glares of his family. "You deserve to be happy."