Discuss an accomplishment or event, formal or informal, that marked your transition from childhood to adulthood within your culture, community, or family.
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It's remarkable how death can transform your perspective. I used to think growing up was more of a transition marked by specific formal events: turning eighteen, leaving for university, starting your first job... Those famous frame-worthy moments, glorified as milestones on the road towards adulthood. I guess I skipped a few of them at that funeral in July.
I had never given a eulogy before. His parents asked that one of his good friends say a few words. We had not been really close over the last few years. He had been one of my best friends when we were younger, one of our 'gang' and a part of my life since the first grade. His closest friends had been with him the night when he died and did not feel able to do it. So I volunteered to speak for us all. Nonetheless, I was overwhelmed by the whirlpool of all our thoughts and emotions.
One evening before the funeral, five of us gathered near the placid Seine River. We shared a bottle of wine and cast fishing lines from a bridge as the salmon colored sky gradually disappeared into twilight. I broke one of the rods. We caught a fish and eventually released it back into the water, watching for a while as it struggled to catch its breath and start swimming again. We were worried for a bit that we had suffocated our temporary aquatic friend.
All the while, we watched the river. That opaque stretch of murky water just a few dozen meters wide, rippling softly. Beyond, a small wooded island, whose impenetrable thickets yielded no answers. One friend who had been there walked us through those last moments. I think it helped him, in a way. He brought us to the small pier from which the four had jumped to swim to the island, a familiar challenge. No one knows how he drowned. We stood under the orange glow of the streetlight, his pained voice asking questions, the what-ifs and if-onlys that no one could answer.
We all met the day before the funeral. We watched a match of 'rugby-soccer' between his two favorite teams, Toulon versus Marseille. He loved sports. We sat in the late afternoon sun to write, but the thoughts we chased eluded us. We distracted ourselves. A guitar surfaced, serenading us like a siren to mask our grief. I was finally entrusted with a few short messages, and spent most of that night in front of a blank page.
We all wore team jerseys that afternoon at his father's request. I stood in front of the crowd of friends and relatives, and did my best to express what we all felt and what we had all shared over the years. The friendship, good moments, sorrow, regrets, and unfairness. The ceremony was short. Our flower petals rained onto the cherrywood casket with that haunting brass plaque to the tune of "Let It Be", playing on a portable CD player. 1995-2013. It made no sense. I felt guilty looking at his mother and father, knowing I could not find the right words because there were none. Their only child.
Walking out of the cemetery, for the first time I felt submerged by the burden of adulthood. I felt fear. The fear of time going by too quickly and running out. The fear of missing out, of not experiencing everything I wanted to. The fear that I or others that I cared about could die too soon. As a kid I always believed growing up would be great, but I guess time betrayed me.
While my new life at university has been full of new experiences and friendships, this truth motivates me. I understand now that there may not be that second chance in my relationships, so I cannot leave room for regrets as a homage. I will never forget my friend Mathieu.
Word Count: 649
I'm still working on the conclusion, the wording is a bit clunky and I'm still looking for a more concrete example.
Thank you so much for helping out, it's really kind.
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It's remarkable how death can transform your perspective. I used to think growing up was more of a transition marked by specific formal events: turning eighteen, leaving for university, starting your first job... Those famous frame-worthy moments, glorified as milestones on the road towards adulthood. I guess I skipped a few of them at that funeral in July.
I had never given a eulogy before. His parents asked that one of his good friends say a few words. We had not been really close over the last few years. He had been one of my best friends when we were younger, one of our 'gang' and a part of my life since the first grade. His closest friends had been with him the night when he died and did not feel able to do it. So I volunteered to speak for us all. Nonetheless, I was overwhelmed by the whirlpool of all our thoughts and emotions.
One evening before the funeral, five of us gathered near the placid Seine River. We shared a bottle of wine and cast fishing lines from a bridge as the salmon colored sky gradually disappeared into twilight. I broke one of the rods. We caught a fish and eventually released it back into the water, watching for a while as it struggled to catch its breath and start swimming again. We were worried for a bit that we had suffocated our temporary aquatic friend.
All the while, we watched the river. That opaque stretch of murky water just a few dozen meters wide, rippling softly. Beyond, a small wooded island, whose impenetrable thickets yielded no answers. One friend who had been there walked us through those last moments. I think it helped him, in a way. He brought us to the small pier from which the four had jumped to swim to the island, a familiar challenge. No one knows how he drowned. We stood under the orange glow of the streetlight, his pained voice asking questions, the what-ifs and if-onlys that no one could answer.
We all met the day before the funeral. We watched a match of 'rugby-soccer' between his two favorite teams, Toulon versus Marseille. He loved sports. We sat in the late afternoon sun to write, but the thoughts we chased eluded us. We distracted ourselves. A guitar surfaced, serenading us like a siren to mask our grief. I was finally entrusted with a few short messages, and spent most of that night in front of a blank page.
We all wore team jerseys that afternoon at his father's request. I stood in front of the crowd of friends and relatives, and did my best to express what we all felt and what we had all shared over the years. The friendship, good moments, sorrow, regrets, and unfairness. The ceremony was short. Our flower petals rained onto the cherrywood casket with that haunting brass plaque to the tune of "Let It Be", playing on a portable CD player. 1995-2013. It made no sense. I felt guilty looking at his mother and father, knowing I could not find the right words because there were none. Their only child.
Walking out of the cemetery, for the first time I felt submerged by the burden of adulthood. I felt fear. The fear of time going by too quickly and running out. The fear of missing out, of not experiencing everything I wanted to. The fear that I or others that I cared about could die too soon. As a kid I always believed growing up would be great, but I guess time betrayed me.
While my new life at university has been full of new experiences and friendships, this truth motivates me. I understand now that there may not be that second chance in my relationships, so I cannot leave room for regrets as a homage. I will never forget my friend Mathieu.
Word Count: 649
I'm still working on the conclusion, the wording is a bit clunky and I'm still looking for a more concrete example.
Thank you so much for helping out, it's really kind.