Tardy Thanks

Photo – Courtesy of K.S. Brooks (www.indiesunlimited.com)

Tardy Thanks

By: Dick Waters

I wondered if the sky full of black birds were deceased souls which never made it into heaven.

As a very young child, I used to make snow angels while my parents stood by a grave.

Later, when I was old enough to attend funerals, I remember my grandmother’s ceremony right in this spot, then my aunt’s, soon followed by my uncle’s.

I recall not wanting to attend any more services, but my mother wasn’t buying I was really sick. I’ve tried not to cry, but when I witnessed other people’s tears, I couldn’t hold mine any longer. I liked the sound of bagpipes, but they made it even worse.

My sister’s funeral was really tough. Even the umbrellas weren’t keeping the attendees faces dry. Mom held my hand extra tight as I dropped a perfect rose on her lowered casket. I felt a strong urge to hug her one last time.

My father’s funeral was attended by a military honor guard with a folded-flag ceremony. To this day, I remember the sharp-looking soldiers standing tall and folding his flag perfectly. Everyone there cried when the officer presented it to my mother. My thoughts that day were on the great things he taught me.

When no one is around, I take his flag down and say thanks. I should have done that more when he was alive.

“Daddy, why are you crying?”

I took a deep breath. “I was hoping for snow, so we could do snow angels.”