Ever since Randi passed away, I have been inclined to write something for her parents. If you have read the poem that I wrote about her, this story will be along the same lines.
For Randi
Of Dwarves and Giants
The Funeral:
Darrell felt completely lost in the funeral procession. His mind kept snapping at him, yelling at him, for getting himself mixed up in this. He wasn’t supposed to be there. He didn’t even know the little boy who died. He was seated in the chapel, his hands in his pockets and his eyes staring at the coffin. Darrell was completely oblivious to the mourners around him, and the priest who stood at the pulpit.
Brian was the boy’s name. Darrell reassured himself by glancing at the program. “In Memory of Brian Hansen.”
Had it just been a few days ago when the news had been told around the school? The midget seventh grader – Brian Hansen – had passed away. Darrell couldn’t even remember the reason why.
And yet he was at the midget's funeral. “Why?” he asked himself quietly. “Why am I here?”
There was a knot in the pit of his stomach. Every time he had asked that gut-wrenching question, the knot drew tighter. Was Darrell here because he felt sorry for the midget? Had it been, not even a week ago, that Darrell had seen Brian get smashed into a locker? Those stupid ninth graders thought that they ruled the school…
That couldn’t be it; Darrell didn’t even help Brain pick himself up. The midget was probably diseased or something. That’s why he was so small. Yeah. He probably had cancer or a sickness. And if Darrell touched him, he would become infected.
“Why am I here?”
The priest raised his voice, “Sister Susanna Hansen, I turn the time over to you.” Darrell’s eyes lazily followed a heavier woman up to the pulpit. She was carrying a tissue in one hand, and a Holy Bible in the other hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the priest. He smiled and nodded, patting her on the back.
The woman had charcoal black hair. She had curled it, making it look like springs. Darrell smiled slightly to himself. Springy hair? Who ever thought of that?
As she started to speak, her lower lip trembled. Her eyes were bright red, and her cheeks were pale.
“Brian was most fondly remembered as the boy that could do anything. Once he set his mind to it, he could accomplish anything. Even through all of the trails that he faced – being mocked at school, his height – nothing put him down. He had the courage to face every problem. Nothing stood in his way.”
The heavyset woman was Brian’s mother, Darrell supposed. He wondered why she wasn’t as short as he had been.
Had been. It was then that Darrell realized why he had come to the funeral in the first place.
Brian had been. He wasn’t anymore. Darrell squinted his eyes, trying to make sense of what had happened. He could faintly hear the midget’s mother sobbing in the background.
The day when the news of the operation had arrived. Yes, it was then that Darrell felt the same way that he was now.
His first hour teacher had broken the news to them. She was holding a tissue, just like Brian’s mom had been. The tears were leaking out of her eyes as she read the letter.
“Brian Hansen’s parents wanted to share with you the news of the operation. He passed away Saturday, April 7, 2008 at about three in the morning. You were told last Friday that Brian had had an operation on his liver. The surgery was a failure, and he was given twelve hours to live.
“The surgery was supposed to have only have lasted four hours. It ended up being fourteen, after they had discovered a blood clot in his arteries. In order to work on his liver, they had to get around the clot, but they couldn’t.”
The teacher had stopped to dab her eyes.
“Brian Hansen wanted to tell everyone at school good-bye. He said that he would miss all of you and wished he could see you once more. The principal went to the hospital to see her, and he sat up in the hospital bed and said, ‘I’m ready to go to school.’”
Everyone had frozen in the classroom. There was a girl in the front that was wiping tears from her eyes. Darrell felt the knot begin to form in his stomach. It was slowly stretching, slowly and surely, as the teacher unfolded the rest of the story.
“Brain Hansen had been known as the dwarf of the school. He proudly held the name of ‘Midge.’ He was not offended by any cruel jokes or side comments. He was always optimistic about everything. After the surgery, the doctors and his parents entered his room and told him that he had twelve hours to live. Midge said that that was fine with him. He just wanted to say good-bye.”
The knot was straining. The teacher wiped her eyes again and blew her nose. “The principal would like us to make cards for her parents to offer support and our love.”
Darrell had not made a card. He didn’t know why he didn’t. He supposed that it was because he hadn’t known Midge. Why should he make a card for a diseased midget?
_
At the funeral, four days later, Darrell’s knot was tense. He instantly regretted not making a card for this poor boy. Pinching himself, he whispered to himself, “You’re a selfish jerk. Always thinking of yourself. You’re a selfish jerk.”
More speakers spoke their talks, more mourners cried. Darrell didn’t. He couldn’t.
He hadn’t been able to cry his whole life.
