The Spirit

First there was the sound of gravel under the tires and then the car’s engine stopped. The little boy repositioned himself in the back seat after being thrust forward from the sudden stop. His grandfather, who had his arm around the blue front bench seat, turned his head and said, “We’re here.”

“Here” was a place the little boy didn’t want to be. No little boy wanted to be “here.” He sat up and looked out his window. A sign read, “Peaceful Endings Funeral Home.”

Protesting would do no good. The little boy knew his grandfather was a polite man. He loved to pay his last respects to the townspeople. But while his grandfather may have found some pleasure in this trip, it flat creeped the little boy out. A stiff was a stiff.

He walked into the room and smelled all the aftershave and cheap perfume. A short line snaked toward the rosewood coffin in the center of the room. It contained Mr. Woodruff, a bank vice-president. But apparently he wasn’t a particularly popular man. “Must be more like Mr. Potter than George Bailey,” the little boy thought. He loved “It’s A Wonderful Life,” for some strange reason. He hoped to be like George when he grew up.

His grandfather walked up to the coffin and peered in at Mr. Woodruff. The little boy peeked around his grandfather at the waxy, ashen face. The man had had something called “cancer,” and honestly looked very different from how the little boy had remembered him at the bank.

The little boy just stared.

Whatever was lying in that box wasn’t Mr. Woodruff. It kind of looked like him – the mortician was an artist. But the spirit was gone. The life. That spark that made him human. Now he was no different than a piece of gravel out in the parking lot. What was it that made up that spirit? And where did it go? His grandfather told him heaven. Heaven sounded like a wonderful place to the little boy. And he knew Mr. Woodruff’s spirit was glad to rid itself of its cancer ridden host. Almost like a butterfly must feel when it leaves the cocoon.

The headed back out to the car and the little boy stopped and hugged his grandfather. “I love you grandpa.” The old man smiled and said, “I know, buddy. Thank you for coming with me today.”

Three months later, the little boy looked into another coffin. This time it was his grandfather. The line was long from the respectful townspeople who had loved the man. They wanted to pass along their condolences to the family — and to the little boy. He stood there in his J.C. Penny suit with freshly combed hair and tears in his eyes.

“Where did my grandfather’s spirit go?” he thought. But he knew. And he knew that in less than a blink of heaven’s eye, he’d see his grandfather again.

And he looked forward to that day. Just as long as he never had to go to another funeral again — even his own.

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