The Dead Poets

54

They say there are five stages of grief.

I spent a long time in that first stage— denial.

Denial that the world could be so cruel. Denial that Neil was gone. Denial that I had to live the rest of my life without ever seeing his smile or hearing his laugh.

I think I've skipped forward to the fourth stage; depression.

I felt empty, hollow, and numb. So much so, I cant remember anything from that moment in the hospital to now. It is all a blur.

Yet, despite this pain, all I can think about is how lucky I was to know Neil, to love Neil, and to be loved by Neil.

He was a beacon of light in my world, that is now was forever dark.

I held the scrap sheet of paper tightly in my clammy hands. I must have written it a million times over. Nothing felt right. Nothing will ever feel right.

"Vi," Todd spoke lowly from the hallway.

This past week, I learned that you can hear pain in someone's voice. Despite what their words may say, the raw pain could always be heard. And Todd was no exception.

I weakly stand from my desk, gingerly putting down the blue-inked pen, and smoothing out the front of my black dress.

I never understood why you had to wear black to funerals, until today, that is. It was dark, colourless, and hollow— sort of like all of us.

I suppose it was fitting.

Knox, Charlie, Meeks, and Pitts, stood solemnly in the hall. Like Todd, they were all dressed in black slacks, black suit jackets, black dress shoes, and black ties.

Black.

We didn't speak, not even a word was said. We just fell into step with each other as we make our way towards the Church.

This past week I've managed to convince myself Neil was just on an extended vacation—somewhere far and tropical.

We always said we would go to Europe together. We would start in Paris. Neil called it "le coeur de l'europe"— the heart of Europe. Then, we would go to Spain, Italy, and wherever else we desired. Neil was nothing if not spontaneous.

Was— it still felt wrong saying that.

Today his vacation ends, and reality sets in. Truthfully, I wasn't sure if I was prepared— if any of us were.

Nonetheless, we walk. Solemnly dragging our feet with each and every step that we take in silence.

The black car was already awaiting us, taking us to a service where we'd be surrounded by people we had never met— and likely, Neil had never met.

Charlie holds my hand as we take our seats in the Church pews, squeezing ever-so-lightly every now and again. To my right sat Knox, his face already wet with tears. It was like funerals brought upon an entirely different wave of emotions. It was almost as if they had died all over again. Only this time, it was really goodbye.

People would move on, go back to work, resume their daily habits and hobbies, but Neil would still be gone— and we would still be grieving.

The service went on for some time. The priest spoke, Neil's parents spoke, people I hadn't recognized spoke, and finally, it was our time. Most of the boys chose not to say anything— and I couldn't blame them. They just couldn't fathom what to say, or how to say it.

I never got the chance to say goodbye, so I knew I had to stand at the front and say it aloud— so Neil  could truly hear it. So I could hear it.

Todd went up first. Despite how heartbroken he was, I think he sensed my hesitation to stand behind the podium. It was almost as though the mere position made this all too real. Once I open my mouth to speak, it was like I was acknowledging that he was really gone. That the body that lay inside that casket about to be levelled deep beneath the earth, was our Neil.

All the questions I had been asking myself over the past week—would I ever see his smile again? Or hear his laugh? Would we ever argue over who made the best cherry pie again?— which was definitely him— would finally be answered; and that answer was no.

I was surprised when Todd tearfully told me he wanted to give a eulogy. He was so shy and anti-public-speaking— in any capacity. But I suppose that only shows how much he loved Neil— loves Neil.

I don't think our love for someone dies with death.

Todd clears his throat, tapping gently on the mic, and pulling a folded note from his suit pocket.

"On the surface, Neil and I were polar opposites. Where I was shy, he was outgoing. Where I was quiet, he was loud. Where I liked to play it safe, he was a risk taker. But surprisingly, we were more similar than we were different. Neil soon became apart of me; it was as if all of our differences had melded into one. Neil once told me; 'nothing is impossible.' At the time I thought it was just another of his clichés. But then, when I found out that Neil was gone, I thought, 'I will never feel whole again.' It's impossible. That part that we had melded together, was forever gone with Neil. But then I thought, 'what would Neil say?' I could practically envision the giant grin on his face while he told me that nothing was ever impossible— not even the word itself. I know that no matter how difficult, or how far away it may be, one day I will feel whole again. I still believe Neil took a part of me with him, that is impossible to repair. But I know with the sound of his laughter, his smile, his cheesy advise, and all of our memories, it will become possible again, one day."

The Church was pin-droppingly silent as Todd steps down from the podium, and slips back onto the pew next to Charlie, who places a comforting hand on his shoulder. Todd appears to seek comfort in Charlie's touch— for the first time in what has felt like forever. I realized then that Todd's eulogy hadn't just been for Neil, but for him.

Funerals weren't for the dead, they were for the living— the grieving.

Nonetheless, it was beautiful, it was heartfelt, and more importantly, it was so Neil: cheesy, cliché, but genuine.

I step behind the podium, glancing down at the crumpled piece of paper with shaky hands. I had written it, re-written it, then revised it again— but it never felt right. And it still hadn't. Even as I stand at the podium, my tears already smudging the ink, it just wasn't Neil.

I glance up at Charlie, who sends me an encouraging smile. Which I know is hard for him; we hadn't done much of that these last few days. I tear the paper in two, glancing up at my best friends— my family— and I speak about Neil for the first time since he died.

"I was going tell you all that Neil was my best friend. But Neil was— Neil was so much more than that. Neil was, Neil. He was apart of me. He was everything to me. I was never a writer, but Neil had a gift for it. In fact, he made it seem easy. He made most things seem easy— he was that talented. I only wish he could have seen himself through my eyes. The love he'd have for himself, the admiration. Neil would say to me: 'anyone can be a good writer, Vi— if only they write from the heart.' So today, for Neil, I will speak from mine. Neil loved the stage. A teacher once told us; the world is your stage. How we preform, what we say, how memorable we are, that's all up to us. We all want to be remembered. Neil contributed many lines to all of our stages. All of which will never be forgotten. And as long as his verses live on in our memories— so will he. I never got to say goodbye to Neil. I was so angry at him for that. But now I know, we never could have said goodbye. And I know Neil knew that too. How can you say goodbye to those you love most? Truthfully, I thought this service would be my goodbye. Now I know it's our see-you-soon. And when I take my final bow on this stage of life, I know Neil will be standing in the front row, waiting for me— and I can't wait to see you again. I love you Neil, and this is our goodbye, for now."

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