Once again his arm jerked sideways as his aunt nudged him. He reached over with his good hand and touched his sister on her arm. She looked up at him and while her lower lip quivered a bit, she held his gaze and then tried to smile.
They both stepped forward and, in unison, let fly their roses into the grave. With a sad softness the flowers landed on the casket and stayed on the top. By previous discussion, no additions were to be made to his father's grave.
M and Jessie stepped back, once again in line with their aunt.
The good Reverend Pleshett, looking relieved that the end was in sight, started his final prayer.
"Let us pray."
M reviewed the circle of those who dared attend the funeral. Their heads were bowed as were his aunt's and Jessie's.
"Dear Father, we are born to be the singers of your song..." and so on.
Had anyone been looking up and not at their feet they still would not have thought it unusual or surprising that M stepped forward to resume his place by the grave edges. A grieving son paying his last respects. Getting his last look. Surely the eagles who still hovered overhead thought nothing of it.
What was rather surprising was the sound of M urinating on his father's casket. Piss makes an interesting sound when it drops six feet and lands on a metal box holding a big piece of shit.