A jolt of reality

One of the things that helps us through grief is the intrusion of reality. We seclude ourselves both mentally and physically to deal with, work through, process our thoughts and emotions, but it's not until real life comes knocking on the door to drag us back with it that we're able to really get past the grief. First we see the world around us carrying on normally and we think "don't you know what's happened?" or "if you only knew what I've just been through." But the world goes on and eventually we join it.

The funeral was Monday. The deceased was an infant (pre-infant, really), discovered dead by the doctor at the mother's last pre-natal exam on her due date. She and Mrs. A. are friends. I was there as moral support. Tragic circumstances. I felt grief for the family and the lost child. And although I lothe even trying to compare or quantify such matters, one can, I'm sure, understand that while what I felt was sincere, it was by no means deep, and intense. Reality, or to use a better word, "Normallity" for me was a mere step away. In fact, while others were absorbed in the moment, walled off from every earthly thing by their grief and sorrow, I was straddling both both worlds. Empathising. Feeling their sadness. But also hearing the traffic. Watching the people in the surrounding neighborhoods. Wondering how I was going to get my work done the next day when I returned to my office.

The jolt came as we were all leaving. I was still feeling the moment, but mentally looking for the opportunity to take that mere step back. Walking along the line of cars parked alongside the road. The hearse was gone. I was taking note of my surroundings. Looking at the types of vehicles people were driving (the minister arrived in a pick-up truck). Reading bumper stickers. That's when I saw it...

"I (heart) Road Head."