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The front row was reserved for my family. My brother sat four seats to the right. The consummate professional in his Class A uniform. I can't remember what my mother and two sisters were wearing, or even what they looked like, even though they were between my brother and me. The power of that uniform demanded all my attention.
To my left were stoic and sobbing brothers and sisters; aunts and uncles to me. They were never around the house. We never visited them. Why did they command such a place of high honor now? Mom introduced me and they politely shook my hand simultaneously saying how brave I was while their eyes, looking over my head, scanned the room. Upon the word brave the thought of the uniform immediately returned.

For the longest time people rambled on and on. Occasionally, everyone would stand, catching me off guard. Then they would sit. Sometimes I went along, other times I didn't. No one cared.
I looked straight ahead fascinated with the great woodwork and fine finish everyone mentioned. Wonderful work. The top was open, lifted and rotated back exactly like the hood of a car, half the hood anyway. The other side was tightly sealed.
Everyone stood again. I didn't. They were going to sit in a second anyway. Waiting, a rustling occurred in the back of the room. I turned but only saw the stomachs of the grown-ups behind me. After climbing the chair I had a majestic view. The back row was making their way to the front.
I pivoted in my chair to see what they were working their way to see. I was slightly surprised. My dad was lying in that fine piece of woodwork with the wonderful finish. My first thought was where did he get the suit? His hair was gray when it wasn't before. His hands, one on top of the other, rested on his chest; rosary beads wove around with the cross gently tucked between his thumb and forefinger. This was the first time I could remember seeing him in church.
The back row filed past my dad and I could only see him between the shoulders of the passing strangers. Many also stopped and silently spoke with my mom. "He was a fine man."
I began slowly rotating on the chair. Faces blended together and I noticed the flowers. They were everywhere, uncomfortably piled on top of one another. I fully appreciated their beauty. Their sweet pungent aroma filled my nose as I breathed in so deeply almost completely closing my eyes.
I wish they had closed.
At the peak of the flowers' beautiful sight and smell my rotation took me around to my dad. He was dead. I knew this now. Every realization of that terrible fact filled my head and forever mixed with the flowers' beauty and smell.
Have you ever heard a song that took you back to a certain place and time? Today, I won't walk into a flower shop, or smell a rose. I hate going back and standing on that chair.

Learn more about this author, Rob Kunik.
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