I guess life comes at you in spurts. Just ask my suit. My lone black suit has gotten a real workout the last few years. It's been having a grand old time with my oldest boy. Wedding after wedding. Can't count the number, let alone the different states it's visited. When he returns it I ask if IT had a good time and if my shoes did a lot of dancing. It always returns to me smelling a little like cigarettes and beer. Yes, it seems my suit has seen more traveling and has led a far more exciting social life than me as of late.
But this week it's been drawn to the other end of the life spectrum with me in tow. Two funerals in one week. It's been tough. Especially for a suit that hasn't seen much of this side of life. Inevitable as it is, it's hard to see someone's entire life's work wrapped up in a one half hour church service. The somber music. The quiet tears. The stark procession in, then back out. I always leave with more questions than answers.
And when I return home I quietly remove my now mournful suit. I return it to it's home in my closet in the same condition as when I removed it. No air of excitement. No smells of joy. But with the hope that it's next removal will find it joyously dancing the night away.
1 comment:
There was an old British movie called "The Key" along the same lines. A Navy captain would rent the apartment, get the key, go off to war, and die. The key would go to the next Navy guy who would meet the same fate and so on. My advice: get a new suit. Don't be sentimental. The facts of the case are summed up in one word: creepy.
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