funeral :: essays research papers

I was sitting in the church, the fourth or fifth row back, and the seventh seat in, next to my mom, with her ramp up around me. She hugged me close to her warm body, letting me silently know everything is going to be all right. I rested my head on her shoulder, as if to furcate her thank-you, and looked at the microphone on the left side of the front stage. Then I looked at the center of the stage the pastor was walking toward the podium from his seat. He leaned over and spoke briefly, telling us who the next speaker would be."Next we have a poem from a close friend of the family, Sarah, and Scotts daughter, Arielle." then he was back to his seat in the front row.Sarah who was considered the third daughter of both my separated parents, and Arielle, my sister, walked up to the microphone on the left. Sarah pulled extinct a folded -piece of paper, and opened it. She began to watch with confidence in her voice, and determination in her heart. Wow, I recall thinking, This is really good. I hope I can get a copy of it.As Sarah went on, the room was silent. There were over a hundred people there and the calmness of her voice kept us all quiet, as if she were singing a lullaby. After a few minutes, her breathing became irregular, and I could hear her voice start to crack. She was going to start crying. Arielle put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. You could hear a deep breath in the microphone that echoed in the tall building. I heard her whisper "Okay" and then she went on. Her words came out clear and smooth as if nothing would stop her. Then she finished. No one moved. She made her way back to her seat, followed by Arielle.