Carry That Weight

Once there was a way
To get back homeward.
Once there was a way
To get back home.
Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.

Just keep thinking, in six hours it'll be over. Keep your eyes forward, empty your mind, don't think of anything except what you're told to do.

Four men in dark suits drove out of the suburban fast food store parking lot. They didn't quite know where they were headed, but when needed directions can be produced.

They'd never been to this particular cemetery in Athens, TN before. The way was unfamiliar and the mood was dark. Contrasting the mood was the brilliant late October sun and the clear blue sky that was still full of clouds.

Golden Slumbers fill your eyes.
Smiles await you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.

At the cemetery, several entrances. Which one to choose? Simple, follow the hearse.

A large Suburban does not fit easily into a small paved pathway between the headstones but the driver makes it fit. They are joined by other men in dark suits and sunglasses, looking for all the world like a Presidential Secret Service detail.

The shade of the brilliant elms, cedars, pines and magnolias frame the graves in protective arms. The sun is alternately cool and hot as moods come and go. One man makes a simple joke that elicits a chuckle from all. Others stifle slight, whispered sobs. Older mourners arrive with gray hair and gray faces. The parents of the husband are assisted to the graveside while he and his son greet his late wife's mother and sister.

The men in dark suits begin to sweat as the day's unseasonable heat begins to rise.

Boy, you're gonna Carry that Weight,
Carry That Weight a long time.
Boy, you're gonna Carry that Weight,
Carry That Weight a long time.

The men lined up in two rows behind the hearse, as the casket was wheeled out. The Golden handles lining the blonde wood for cool but heavy. Once it has cleared the back of the car, the men turn as one and march the silent steps in tribute to their friend.

The way is difficult as a clear path to the gravesite is not exactly possible. Winding across the grass, mindful of small hills and granite markers they make their way across the lawn. Periodically a subtle grunt is heard as one person rearranges their grip. There is a lot of weight to the wood, and arms and hands are sore.

Their duty discharged, the men in dark suits form an informal honor guard behind the minister. A brief sermon of hope and life in resurrection is offered, although the immediate comfort it provided is dubious - through no fault of the minister.

The words conclude and the people begin to drift apart and away.

I never give you my pillow.
I only give you my invitations.
And in the middle of the Celebrations, I break down.

The mourners return to the concrete path. Murmurs are exchanged, opinions offered, recriminations, guilt, sadness, anger, frustration, sorrow, sympathy.

The men move on, their weight carried. The family and friends leave for a church-hosted luncheon. The workers are left to conclude their final tasks, and except for them everyone leaves the cemetery.

Except for the dead. And now there's one more who will stay.

The brilliant light of the day before Halloween should fill me with anticipation and buoyancy. Not today, not this year. There's just too much weight to carry.

Boy, you're gonna Carry that Weight,
Carry That Weight a long time.
Boy, you're gonna Carry that Weight,
Carry That Weight a long time.

Lennon/McCartney