The funeral. Big. That's from dying young. When you die old enough, you outlive those who'd come.
We came just about the time to see and be seen. I passed the story (about my artwork above the eye that I earned two nights ago) to Boba yesterday, when I called to learn the time and place (new cemetery, 13:00), so at least the inner circle knew in advance and weren't too surprised when they saw me.
I still don't understand why this death hit me so deeply. In at least three occasions I sincerely felt like crying and the old boys-don't-cry reflex took about twice longer than usual to kick in.
We managed to avoid Višnja by sheer accident - she wasn't by the coffin when we came in, just Boba and Dragan were; then in the crowd she was always with someone, having a smoke (so did we, but with Milena's parents). Later, our paths simply didn't cross. We didn't mean to avoid her, just wanted to express condolences but no embrace no kiss - the greedy cunt is still a mother.
The weather was actually good. There was first snow of the winter in the morning, but it thawed by the time I returned with the flowers from the market. It was windy and chilly and the ground was wet, but not too windy, just keeping hands in pockets was enough. There were three priests who had the good sense to keep the outside part short, and the part in the chapel we stood outside.
Višnja's son was crying like rain. So did she, but not that I saw - then, I wasn't really looking for her. Dragan's parents, brother with wife, kum with his new wife and also parents - they all came. And more than double the usual crowd I knew from the hundreds of photos I made of the parties - wedding, birthdays, kids' birthdays. They didn't look half as good as then.
Lena and Milan came quite on time (guess it being saturday helps the traffic). She has a beautiful yellow jacket - not just plain yellow, this is kodak yellow, the best yellow. Considering that these years you can't buy any colorful garment, the rule of gray has spread from cars in the naughts to the architecture in the late naughts and now to textile. Everyone came as they usually were, and they were properly dressed for a funeral.
There was some confusion about order of seating at the daća (the same Elmont, where we did mom's, remodeled so the room was now shorter, but they had some extra add-on for spillover in front). We (Lena and Milan, then the Milena's (not including her at first, but she appeared then, having recovered from three weeks of virosis) came first, being locals to this part of town and knowing the shortcuts (in my case, even on foot). So we took one end of the main table, considering ourselves the last of kin but not to be seated with friends and neighbors. But then the closer ones took the other end of the table, where the upturned plate was placed, and didn't leave room for Boba and Dragan, who then sat where they could, and the upturned plate was moved to our end. The last thus became the first, by confusion.
Lena and Milan dropped by to pick some reserves (just one carton of eggs and a box of pihtije, the bacon was delivered on tuesday).
My scab doesn't look too scary now, the thin parts started falling off. Hers is just a spot on the right side of her nose, by the eye, and passes quite unnoticed when I'm around.