None of this is fair

Unlike the meticulous planning of a wedding, an obituary serves as the invitations and a few phone calls procures essentials for an interment
 
Within days the accommodations are booked, the staff ready, the guest of honor prepared, and the room decorated  
 
Memorial cards printed, limos waxed, and even the reception room is filled with fare for those invited to feast
 
The sounds are discrete at a funeral ceremony, a library silence, an inherent rule of respect I suppose
 
Friends, families and acquaintances hurt along side you. “I’m sorry for your loss” is offered from those less damaged, a last minute artificial cheese platter of sentiment grabbed off the generic gift shelf, but an offering none the less
 
Everyone is afraid and all ‘who enters’ the room sees the lifelessness, feels the inevitability. The parlor, the scent, the casket, the hearse, the formalities, are all pre defined mechanisms of etiquette to keep you propelling through the absoluteness of grief
 
Imagine what you want in this hallowed hall. Break down, or laugh, disclose and presume unhinged theories, become a child again. “It’s ok.” Despite the stillness, you are not sanctioned to behave ordinarily.  
 
The flowers are not typical, their aroma is omniscient of an air freshener, an over-powering fragrance designed to redirect your mind from questioning your senses. The arranged buds represent the artistry of life, the cut stems cements the knowledge of death; everything in this reception room is delicately dead.  
 
These cloned arrangements are beacons of sorrow, labeled with identity banners so everyone has something else to converse about
 
Final judgments are offered, the hair, the makeup, she looks good, he is at peace now, no one knows what the hell to say
 
Looking past the funeral sticker on the windshield during the dreaded procession to the grave site, a man waters his lawn, not noticing the clouds and children ride bikes full of energy and happiness. Maybe they will live forever. Perhaps there is a quantum tear in the universe. Yes, this must be some crazy nightmare, and death will never happen again, to anyone  
 
Secretly, I desire to jump out of the car and help the man water his lawn  
 
In the back of the hearse flowers secured to metal arbors and arranged like wreaths should be released, their seeds snatched by birds and distributed into fields; at least give them a chance for more life
 
Tomorrow I will become a research scientist and discover the cure for aging, “No” I will discover an elixir for immortality; I tell myself  
 
But for now, I transfer my thoughts and dwell on the looming pain, my loved one will be missed and in reality, none of this is fair
 
Hugs, tight squeezes, hands held, tissues soaked to capacity, shared tears and kisses among strangers are exchanged, because funeral germs are safe  
 
I look at all the sad faces and I want happiness in spite of the loss. I want music to uplift everyone out of this group mourning for there will be bereavement anyway; I want
 
Eventually the rain will give way to sunshine, an intricate wedding invitation will be sent, bouquets of flowers held, photographed and saved as mementos existing forever in photo albums
 
Hugs and kisses with flourishing wedding germs will be reciprocated and thoughts about life and the future will be shared and the music will be playing