Just hang on to me and we’ll get through this.” “Chapel’s this way,” she said, entwining her arm with mine. “Come with me.” We sat in the first row. Some guy with a mournful look stood at a podium and mouthed platitudes about death being a passage and that the dead guy, he looked at the program to find his name, would be waiting on the other side. Shania leaned into me and clutched my arm. After about fifteen minutes of chatter and some sad music, everybody was invited to trek to the graveside for the burial. Most of the guests, about fifteen of them, had to walk. The funeral guy led Shania and me to a limousine. We followed the black station wagon with the casket through the narrow roads until we arrived at the tented gravesite. The pile of fresh earth was covered with a black tarpaulin. Six of the biker guys pulled the casket out and rolled it on an expandable cart toward the open hole that awaited it. Shania and I were ushered to a row of chairs right next to the railing that. John took my second bib and put it on Annette.In the meantime, our hostess had gotten a couple of clear plastic shoe box sized boxes, filled with crayons. She put them and a stack of coloring book pages on the far side of the table from the kids. Then she handed me a stack of postcards. "Fill one of these out for each of the children and they'll get a free ice cream on their birthday."She started to move the table back towards the kids and John dove in to help her out. The bench was perfect. It was narrow enough so they were close to the table and their legs could hang over the edge naturally and it was high enough for them to reach the table.The hostess said, "My name's Wendy. Can I get you anything to drink?"We ordered a pitcher of punch for the kids and me and coffee for John and Rita."Thank you. I'll be back with your drinks in a minute."She headed toward the back and I reached for the menus. John put his hand over mine and looked across the table."What do you think, kids? You.
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