by James Borto
rituals of their faith. Although many of the words the cleric spoke were incomprehensible to Neil, he understood enough to get the gist of the message.
Neil grew more anxious with every passing minute. He tried several times to clear his mind and simply pay attention to the poignant words being delivered, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything except the feelings of regret that overwhelmed him. He kept visualizing scenarios in which he should have brought up Drew with his grandfather. How could none of his numerous relatives have slipped up by mentioning Drew’s name in a conversation loud enough for his grandfather to overhear? They had done things of that nature on multiple occasions. Certain relatives were known for doing that habitually.
Neil prayed that his grandfather’s spirit was close by and that he was able to sense Neil’s anguish. His grandfather was certainly wise and kind enough, Neil thought, that he would likely ease his grandson’s torment with a smile and a consoling embrace. It was a comforting and reassuring thought that helped quell Neil’s guilty conscience. Seeing his mother’s distraught look of affliction prevented Neil from harboring any ill will towards her and the part she played in the secrecy. Perhaps her feelings mirrored his own.
There was something else weighing on Neil. He was about to carry out an action that could be perceived as peculiar by anyone witness to the deed. His hopes were that he would be granted total privacy during the undertaking. He had to make sure he was the last mourner to vacate the gravesite.
As the cleric concluded the eulogy, the men proceeded to slowly shuffle towards a dirt pile. They took turns grabbing handfuls and tossing their share of dirt onto Neil’s grandfather’s descending casket. Neil watched and waited patiently, his feet never moving from their spot. As the mourners slowly scattered away from the gravesite, Neil finally moved from his resolute spot taking short and weighty steps. Without any deviation with his pace, he bypassed the ceremonial dirt. To the remaining mourners lingering near the grave, it seemed as if Neal had chosen to flout the ritual. Or was he simply ignorant of the custom?
Neil reached into his right pants pocket and pulled out the handful of twigs that he and his son had collected one glorious sunny afternoon at the park. With his feet stopping at the edge of the grave, he released his grip on the twigs and allowed them to slip onto his grandfather’s casket. The action drew puzzled expressions from the few who witnessed the deed, including a pair of male custodians standing at attention near the casket lowering device.
Neil couldn’t begin to attempt to rationalize his action. For him, it was a bona fide gesture of atonement. This was his ritual, a symbolic token of affection and acknowledgment for his beloved grandfather. He knew intuitively that his gesture was well received. No doubt, his grandfather would recognize and appreciate this final act of compassion and respect.
Goodbye for now, gentle Patriarch.
