iris

"And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming."

Marty held his mother's hand tightly as the reverend began to speak. He had known Rev. Johns his whole life and had been going to this church nearly every Sunday since he was a little boy. Marty had heard countless sermons, about faith and hope and forgiveness and perseverance. It seemed so strange now for Rev. Johns to speak about his father.

There was talk of how he loved his family, his wife Martha and their two sons Matthew and Martin. Even that seemed strange. He couldn't ever remember Rev. Johns calling him Martin, not Marty. But this was a serious moment, so nicknames must be inappropriate.

Marty sat quietly as the reverend bellowed into the microphone about his father. He had always hated the fact that he grew up in a small town, but now their was a small comfort in knowing that everyone in the church had known his father, that the church was filled with support.
Yet he was eager for the service to end. For the casket to be in the ground. For the baskets of muffins and casserole dishes to stop coming. Marty felt like he couldn't breath. Everyday since his father had been hospitalised three weeks ago, he felt like he had been struggling for air. A drowning feeling. He was desperate to be rid of this feeling, to breakdown like his mother and grandmother had. Instead he felt empty. He was embarrassed by his stoic demeanor and paranoid that people would think he didn't love his father.

Marty glanced across his mother and saw his brother gripping her hand tightly and sobbing. His strong, brave brother that he had never seen cry was weeping. And he was more jealous than he was surprised.

"Or the moment the truth in you lies."

Matthew found himself quietly sobbing and hoped no one noticed. Of course what were the chances of that. He was on the front pew of his family church. Rev. Johns was at the podium talking about his father. All eyes were on this pew. The nosy neighbors watching every move and moment of anguish coming from his family.

Matthew sat between his mother and grandmother. He was holding their hands and had determined to be strong through the service. After all, he had had his breakdown. He cried for an hour in his bedroom two days after his father died. He had been so melodramatic. Sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his father's favorite baseball cap. And weeping like a seven year old.

And then there was the hospital. He had cried right before his father died. He been summoned to his father's bedside. Matthew had presumed it would be a "getting affairs in order" type discussion. Where the will was, what kind of service was wanted, life insurance policy information, etc. But it wasn't. His father had called him for a whole other, unexpected, and terrible reason. His father wanted to die. His father wanted Matthew, his eldest son, to kill him. To walk to the machines that kept him alive and stop them.

They had argued. Matthew was surprised to see how much fight the man had in him, which made killing him even harder. Matthew had tried every argument he could think of: moral, legal, practical, and the desperate. But his father's tears, anguish, and own desperation won out. He hugged his father, kissed his pale forehead gingerly, and turned off the machine helping his father pump his heart. His father was gone in less than five minutes, but Matthew gave it an extra 2 minutes before turning the machine back on and summonning the nurses. When they came in the room, they gave him knowing looks.

Matthew had been strong. Finding his family in the waiting area and delivering the news. Planning the funeral. Picking up relatives from the airport. He and Marty had stood strong for a week. In fact, he was proud of this unexpected strength in his little brother.

But the guilt had settled in on Matthew at the service. His unknown role he had played in bringing everyone here was suddenly an overwhelming burden. He felt angry at his father for making the request, horrified at himself for complying, paranoid that somehow everyone knew, and just generally nauseous. It didn't really matter that he knew it was the right thing to do, it was painful.