Monday, July 31, 2006 | by nathan

I Think I Broke The Wings Off That Little Songbird

It’s so weird.

I got up this morning and did my morning things, and after a little while started getting ready for Karen’s funeral. It was oddly ritualistic - ironing my shirt, making sure the water was on in back while I got ready, having breakfast.

I was listening to Patty Griffin as I got ready, and as I drove to the funeral home. I ended up running late and so the drive was a bit stressful. I was only a couple minutes late, however, and ended up walking in with a guy with whom I knew a bit at the Gazette.

I felt embarassed coming in so late and slouched down in my pew. The service started.

I always feel detached during funerals. I am not sure if this is some kind of psychological defense mechanism. I listened to the stories that her family told, and recited Psalm 23 along with the minister. It was rote, like the ironing.

I have only known Karen for nine months or so, and in that time I have grown to really love her, but it occurred to me at the funeral that what I know of her is dwarfed by the experiences of her family, and our other co-workers, and her good friends.

I wasn’t sure what to do when they opened the coffin and everyone filed toward the front. Karen’s daughter Jill works at the Gazette as well, and I hugged her and felt myself beginning to tear up. I snuck a look at Karen; she didn’t look like herself. She has worn a wig as long as I have known her - the price of chemo. But she didn’t have her glasses on, and her face was drawn into a kind of frown. I hate that about open caskets; people never look like themselves, and it is hard to say goodbye.

In the front room of the funeral home I hugged our editor and we made small talk for a couple seconds, but I felt myself getting claustrophobic and stepped outside. I wanted to ask for a cigarette, but I thought it would be in bad taste, as Karen had died of lung cancer.

I elected not to go to the burial; I always thought that was more of a thing for the family and close, close friends; also, I am a coward.

I drove from the funeral home to Laurie and Jaye’s house; I needed someone to talk to, and Brian was at work. I got to Laurie’s at 11:30 and made myself a Jack and Coke, and she and I talked until Jaye got home from class. We all went to Chelino’s for Mexican food. I came home and crashed on the couch for awhile; checked email, watched TiVo, vegged out.

Brian got his hair cut in Norman after work, then went to Chickasha to visit his parents. Twice I got in the car to go get food, and each time got freaked out and turned around and came back home. I wasn’t sure what freaked me out, exactly; I just couldn’t really countenance eating, though I was famished.

Then my dad called, and I started talking to him, and I found myself in the car, then driving, then at Sonic. I felt calmer. We got off the phone and I ordered food, and called Dylan, who is coming to visit in time for K.C.’s next show on August 19.

I felt calmer for awhile, with waves of sad panic rising up in my chest, then falling.

I hate death. I hate cancer.