Behind the scenes of a funeral

It was just few beers she said. Just a few, not too many. No one gets drunk off of just a few beers. I'll just drink a few, then head home. It was a good time. Good friends, good vibes, good feelings. Then she said goodnight. She got in her car and drove away.

Then she died.

It's the same story, everyone has heard one like it. Doing 80 in a 45, missed the corner and then.... She died.

She died.

That's all they say. She died. They don't tell you about how her life ended, how it was violently ripped away from her, how her whole being was snuffed out. No, she simply... died. They don't mention the gore, the blood and the guts. She just died. They don't tell you that when she went off the road, a tree trunk went trough her windshield and struck her chest. She just died. They don't tell you that from the waist down, she's still in her seat, but her torso is in the trunk and her head is in the pasture, a hundred yards from the wreck. No... she just died.

She died.

They don't tell you about the firemen first on scene. No one gets their name in the paper when no one gets saved. No one tells you how they rush to the mangled wreckage, hoping to God they can save whoever is inside. No one tells you how they turn away and loose their lunch when they see the lifeless mess of flesh in that tangled piece of steel, rubber and broken glass. No one tells you about the smell, the pungent odor of open stomach and intestines, the spilled gas and oil, the talcum powder in airbags that could do nothing for her. They don't tell you about how helpless those men feel, standing and staring at a scene they can do nothing about. She just died.

She just died.

No one talks about the state trooper who brushed debris, blood and flesh away from her drivers license. They don't tell you how hard it is to identify that girl. They don't tell you what it's like to call her parents, to tell them their only daughter has been in a wreck. No one talks about how hard it is to sit and wait for the EMT's to come and declare the girl dead, even though there isn't a glimmer of doubt in anyone's mind. When the parents show up, no one talks about how they start asking questions.
"Is she alright?" "Can we see her?" "Does she need to go to the hospital?"
No one wants to be the one that breaks the news. No one want to tell them that their daughter is in six different pieces. How do you tell a parent that their child is gone? How do you explain they they will never hear her voice or see her face again? How do you tell them that there is nothing left for them to see?

She just died.

No one talks about the screaming and the wailing and the tears when a mother finds out her child is gone. No one tells you how close her husband is to falling apart as he holds on to his wife. No one tells you about the lump in everyone's throat and the tears they just can't seem to hold back. No one tells you how ashamed the firemen, the EMT's and the troopers feel when they turn away to wipe their eyes. They don't tell you how much strength it takes to muster the words of comfort they offer in an attempt to get the hysterical parents away from the scene.

She just died.

No one talks about the crew that cleans up the mess. They don't talk about scooping flesh into body bags, picking pieces of brain from the glove box or the long walk across the pasture to retrieve that girls head. They don't tell you how many pairs of rubber gloves get thrown away, or how the blood seems to soak into everything you wear. They don't talk about how the blood drips onto the steel deck of the tow truck when it pulls the car out of the field.

She just died.

No one talks about how dirty the fireman feels as he strips off his blood soaked gear. They don't talk about how he breaks down and sobs as he uses a hose to wash a teenaged girls blood from his duty gear. They don't tell you how dirty he feels the next time he wears it. No one talks about how he wakes up screaming, covered in sweat after nightmares about walking though miles of empty fields, looking for a head, or scooping endless fleshy pulp from a twisted wreck of a car.

She just died.

If was just a few beers, but no one talks about all the details at the funeral. No, she just died