A BETTER PLACE -- A Work of Fiction by Diane Marquette

I did not cry the day of my son’s funeral. I had already shed a lifetime of tears for him before he died. It was not fitting to cry for him then.

The nearly empty church was quiet except for the hiss of steam coming from the ancient radiators, and heat rose in transparent waves in front of the leaded glass windows. Sunlight warmed the wooden pews and filled the small room with its radiant energy.

Reverend Reed and Mrs. Cooper stood near the side door, conversing in whispers. Two young men from the funeral home sat in the last pew, and the one wearing glasses kept looking at his watch. I didn’t know their names.

The bright sunlight washed over Nathaniel’s casket. I knew he wore his best clothes. I knew his good shirt had been laundered and ironed and his pants had new patches, and the blue sweater from Santa had been worn only a few times. I also that knew he held his Teddy bear. I pictured Nathaniel’s soft brown eyes and tentative smile, but quickly replaced that picture with an image of him sleeping.

Sleep had been a means of escape from the frightening reality of his young life. I had been unable to defend either of us from Howard’s temper and the frequent outbursts that followed. Thinking of Nathaniel sleeping comforted me. Howard had never hurt our son while Nathaniel had been asleep.

Mrs. Cooper took her place at the organ. The first tentative chords she played softly intruded on the peaceful setting. The fragrance of the few flowers flanking the altar was too strong, and their reds and yellows contrasted harshly with the muted beige shades used throughout the church. The small spray of matching flowers on Nathaniel’s casket looked too festive for the occasion.

A young man and woman ushered two small boys in through the side door. I recognized the blond-haired boy as being a classmate of Nathaniel’s. Eric, or was it Aaron? He had only been to our house once, while Howard had been away. The family made their way to the front of the church, small hands held safely in larger ones. They stood close together, staring at the small casket. The father leaned down and whispered to his sons, their nods almost imperceptible. As Mrs. Cooper continued playing, the young family turned and walked down the center aisle, the boys glancing cautiously at the faces of those already seated in the pews. The foursome seated themselves in a row halfway back, the two little boys sliding in close beside their parents.

Most of those entering the church took seats near the back of the church; only a few walked forward to the casket. Nathaniel’s teacher walked on tiptoe to the front of the church and stood before his casket longer than anyone else, her head bowed, shoulders slumped. When she turned, I could see that her eyes were red. Miss Nichols had known what Nathaniel and I had been going through, although she never tried to communicate it to me in words. Her eyes had told me. She took a seat behind the young family, leaning forward to touch each of the boys lightly on the shoulder in greeting.

I saw Rebecca and Mark seat themselves in a pew near the front. Rebecca had offered to help me many times -- I just hadn’t known how to accept her offer. She told me there had been times when Mark had been this close to storming through the yard and confronting Howard, and other times when Mark had the phone in his hand to call the police, but hadn’t.

Several more people arrived, the music still a soft presence throughout the church. Most faces looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember how I knew most of them. They were really here for Nathaniel -- they had known my son at some point during his short life. I was surprised at how many children were in the church. Maybe this was their first funeral, their first introduction to death. Children shouldn’t go to funerals. Children shouldn’t have funerals.

Dr. and Mrs. Evans stood in front of the casket, she leaning over to whisper to him. He shook his head, and answered her with a whisper of his own. He had been with Nathaniel during the last moments of his life. He had seen Nathaniel’s small body broken and bleeding from the impact of the truck that had hit our car. Dr. Evans would have known that all of Nathaniel’s bruises weren’t from the accident.

Nearly every pew was filled when Howard entered by the side door. All heads shifted just a fraction to take him into view. He wore his only dark suit – the one that I had mended countless times. The repairs couldn’t be seen, but the shiny material revealed the garment’s age. Howard wore no overcoat -- he didn’t own one. He turned toward the gathering, his eyes lowered, his hands at his sides. He walked quickly to one of the only empty pews -- the one nearest Nathaniel’s casket. He slid onto the bench, cleared his throat, and stared straight ahead.

Mrs. Cooper stopped playing, the last chords of the somber hymn fading slowly into silence. A cough, someone blowing their nose, and the radiators hissing broke the stillness.

Carrying a worn black book against his chest, Reverend Reed emerged from a small doorway near the altar. Turning in our direction, he slowly descended the three broad steps, and stopped at the head of the casket, placing his right hand just above where Nathaniel’s face would be. Reverend Reed lowered his chin and closed his eyes. His body swayed slightly and his lips moved in a silent prayer, the book still clutched firmly to his chest.

His eyes opened, and he scanned the faces in the room. For a moment, the only sound came from the radiators. “Those of you who loved Nathaniel…Those of you who are here because you cared…” His strong voice trailed off, his sentences unfinished. He looked again at the small casket. “Nathaniel is in a safe place now,” he said softly. “He is in a place where he is surrounded with love and warmth and comfort. Do not cry for him. He is in a better place. A place that is so much better than any of us could even imagine.”

“I cannot stand here and say to you that Nathaniel had a good life. I cannot stand here and say to you that he had a happy life. All I can tell you is that he is most assuredly in Heaven with his Lord. The life Nathaniel knows now is the life that each and every one of us should be preparing ourselves for.”

He turned toward the altar, and reading from his black book, placed his right hand on the casket. The congregation followed the service for Nathaniel in their pew hymnals, answering Reverend Reed in soft murmurs. When he finished, the minister turned to face the congregation, indicating with a small gesture that it was time for everyone to move into the side yard.

Mrs. Cooper began playing while nearly everyone left the church and gathered outside beneath the ancient oaks. Reverend Reed turned and nodded to the two young men still seated in the last pew. They walked to the front of the church and silently wheeled Nathaniel’s small casket to the side door, gently lifted it, and carried it out into the sunlight and the waiting grave.

I had dreamed so many times that one day Nathaniel and I would be together in a safe place -- a place where there would be no pain or fear. Now we are in such a place. I looked down at Nathaniel in his blue sweater, sleeping in my lap, his Teddy bear clutched to his chest.

God had done for us what I had not had the strength to do – He took us to a safe place, a better place. I did not feel the truck’s impact that took my life. I had passed immediately. Nathaniel had lingered between worlds for a short time, but I knew he had not experienced pain.

Our spiritual reunion was so sweet it had erased the sadness he had felt during his short life. And so I had not cried the day of my son’s funeral.