This posting will be a little long, as no funerals that I have attended have ever progressed without incident. The first wake that I attended was held at a funeral parlor where we had to ascend a long flight of cement stairs. The grief of those in attendance was devastating; a little boy had been killed by a bus as he rode his bicycle. I was overwhelmed by the tragedy of the whole affair. Now as I came out of the funeral parlor, I was accompanied by my mother. I turned to comment on the beauty of the sunset across the river. Suddenly, without warning, my knees buckled and I rolled, head first down the cement steps. When I regained consciousness, a gaggle of strangers was crowded around me, all making distress sounds. A man came and helped me to my feet, while my mother kept asking what had happened.
I was so embarrassed that I had fainted; I tried to brush the dirt off and noticed that my brand new stockings were now hanging in threads; my knee was bleeding and I had a large lump quickly forming on my forehead. However I was so embarrassed that I claimed totally perfect health.
That was my first experience with fainting, although not my last.
The next post will be about my mother’s wake.