I Laugh When I'M Nervous

It was with a heavy heart I left the house, choosing no make-up in anticipation of the tears I might cry. Being faithfully spiritual, I know the only death is to the body, not to the soul, but this is a child’s funeral. Even if he is reincarnated, it will not be exactly the same child. It can’t be, because a new body will be issued. Blonde hair is met and understood differently than brown hair. Amber eyes are met with understanding differently than green eyes. Pink skin is understood differently than caramel skin. Many times the way people react to you is your appearance, a different appearance commands a Different reaction, thus, a different response. “He was a wonderful child,” I tell his mother. Her eyes are blood red from crying. His father and two sets of grandparents are waiting to hear what I have to say about him too. I told them a little story about how cute he had been when he had tricked me into doing his entire science project. He was a seven-year- old charmer, for sure. In the middle of my story I burst out laughing because the charmer was standing next to his casket, pretending to pour water on the head lying in the casket. He was wearing blue jeans, a yellow shirt, and he looked exactly like he had before the cancer. Except happier. “I laugh when I’m nervous,” I tell the parents. No need to share my illusions. He ran up and hugged me around the legs right before I exited the church. Then he ran over and gave his grandmother a hug too. She put her arms down as if to pat him. Our eyes met. “You’re not the only one who feels him,” she says. We both smile.