William F. Gibbs's news

"Well at least it ain't hot out.", Roger Metts mutters at me. He is standing exactly 3 1/2 ft. away from me, perfectly square-shouldered, arms dangling at his waist, as if we were about to draw down on each other with six-shooters. I raise my eyes to see if he's shittin' me. There is a well-worn-in grin on his his broad 65 year old face, and sweat beads are clinging to his creased forehead and nesting in his thick salt and pepper eyebrows. Indeed, he is shittin' me. Occupying the 3 &1/2 ft. space between us are a dead man in his best suit, some old letters, a colonial-pine-lacquer casket, and an enormous floral arrangement. Clockwise around the casket starting from Roger Metts are, Jerry Gibbs, Jamie Gibbs, Austin Gibbs, 'Lil' Al Gibbs III and finally myself. An elderly employee from the Roundtree Funeral Home rocks and gimps his way in between the casket and the bumper of the hearse. He pushes the casket on its accordion-gurney a few feet away from the hearse and swings the door open, then about faces and rights himself to address us. "If you boys will lift the casket d'rectly up'n'tha'air," he says, evenly and steadily raising his arms as though he were about to deliver a benediction "then Howard and m'self will pull ou' the gurney." We hefted the casket, with the floral arrangement shaking dry and near dead at eye level. Even with all the grain and knots of pine magnified under the lacquer I could still see my reflection almost peerlessly. Haloed about my dark head in the reflection the grey skies that plain over this unimaginable town. "geya-damn, Red." . "He ate at Jimbo's 2 meals a day. 's'what Carolyn says." "Howard said at Visitation he weighed 225 lbs." "How in the hell you weigh 2 and a quata' at 94 years old?" The six of us shuffle forward with the casket, ease it on to the rollers and slide it into the hearse. Howard swings the door closed. "He wanted all the 'paul-buriers' to be ridin' behin' an' accumpn'y his body to chu'ch" Carolyn says as she steps into the midst of the six of us gesticulating around with the fat of her palms, jewelry and bosoms swinging. "Alright." We all nod solemnly in front of Carol, feigning a light veneer of grief. I look over Roger's right shoulder, not a hundred yards away the church parking lot is filling with mourners. It would take near to ten minutes for our procession to reach the church. Three days ago I received a call from my dad: "Willy, I talked to Carolyn this morning and Red passed away a little after nine." "Hm. She alright?" "Yeah, I think she's tired." "How'd it happen?" "She says he just stopped breathin', just went on." "Well, I guess that's about as much use as you can get out of a 94 year old human body." "Yup, 's'bout it." "When is the funeral?" "This Sunday, so, Mom and I are gonna come down tomorrow we're gonna rent a van and you, Danni, RM, Amy, and Ole will all ride down with us. So will you call a rental place and see what we can get for tomorrow?" "Sure. Let me call Danni." From there on the day was an absolute cluster I'll run it down: 11am A strange number calls me. It's my wife, and she's dropped her phone in Lake Murray. 1pm I take my son and dog Jim Hargate III into the backyard to throw the ball. The ball disappears over a hill and Jim follows. I hear the most unholy racket carry down the creek bed. Jim returns with the ball and drops it at my feet sopping with blood... his mouth is full of it. He has attacked a raccoon. 3:45pm I finally return from the Veterinarian with a recovering JH III (I'll just interject here that our Vet's name is Dr. Wiggers. His facilities are ancient and beyond outdated. We've chosen his practice solely upon proximity and his name). 5pm beers with Brad...so this part wasn't so bad. 9am next morning retrieve rental van. 10:45am leave with seven people in the van, one of them 8 months old, for Homerville GA. 6pm arrive in Homerville for Visitation. I'll bring us back to Homerville now for one of the greatest soul-suckers I've ever experienced: My Great Uncle Red's Visitation and Funeral.