Incense filled the sanctuary with its smoke and smell, leaving a haze as it dissipated into the rafters. Adeline took a deep breath and closed her eyes as the pipe organ pumped out generic classical music. She sat in the middle of the church, at the very end of a pew by the center aisle. It was a neutral spot. She could be invisible there. She was far enough back so as not to be family, not a close friend. She could be a coworker or an old college roommate. Close enough, though, that she could see the family, could see the deceased’s wife and children, could hear their sobs. With her eyes still closed Adeline rubbed her thumb back and forth over the embossed letters of the bulletin’s front page. Peter George. The name meant nothing to her. The picture on the back of the bulletin was of a face she’d never seen. But just as she soaked in the smell of the incense and the sound of the organ Adeline soaked in the grieving widow’s sobs, the wracking shoulders of her two daughters.
~
Which, of course, was why she was now sitting in a circle,
on one of the 2 dozen cold, metal folding chairs that are the trademark of all
church basements, listening to the Emotions Anonymous facilitator, Rachel,
invite anyone who wished to share about their week. People shifted in their
chairs and avoided making eye contact with Rachel. Adeline stared at the dull
and scuffed linoleum that stretched out around her feet in seemingly endless
monotony. The fluorescent lights that sat in giant rectangles in the low ceiling
flickered occasionally. She wasn’t convinced she belonged in these meetings and
was determined not to volunteer to speak. She sipped her coffee, trying not to
make a face. It was lukewarm and tasteless.
After an older woman told a story about fighting with her
son, tears leaking out of her eyes, Rachel turned to the rest of the group.
Adeline was still captivated by the woman’s pain when Rachel said her name,
“Adeline?” She blinked, her mouth suddenly dry. Hoping she’d
heard wrong Adeline slowly looked at Rachel.
“Would you like to share this evening?” Rachel’s cheery,
overly understanding smile encouraged her.
Adeline cleared her throat, “Ok,” she agreed miserably, “I
hadn’t been to a funeral in over a month. I went to one this week.” It was a
slip, a falling off the wagon of sorts.
~
The priest stood, somber in his robes, and the congregation
stood with him. There was a hurried rustling of pages as people turned to the
right song, racing the organ to get there in time. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound…
floated up to the very top of the room, mingling with the smoke from the
incense. Adeline held the hymnal, open to a random page, close against her
stomach as she watched. All around her were signs of grief and loss. The
congregation was a sea of black mourning uniforms, flecked every now and then
with the white of a handkerchief. Occasionally a sob would escape from Peter’s
wife that rose above the sound of the organ and the people singing. A thin
woman with grey hair reached over and put her arms around the widow, Margaret
the bulletin called her, holding her close. Adeline watched as Margaret sank into
the other woman’s arms. Briefly she closed her eyes and imagined that it
was she the woman was hugging and for a moment, just a moment, Adeline felt
like she might cry. She chased it, leaned into it, tried to summon the tears.
But no, she couldn’t quite reach them. Instead, she opened her eyes and watched
other people’s sorrow.
