Diverse Voices Quarterly Issue 1 & 2

existence actually is.
The weather was cool and a slight wind rustled through the trees. The midday sun
reflected the brilliant colors of flowered wreaths as they were taken out of the funeral
car and carried by the surviving family to the grave. The circular symbols of a soul’s
everlasting life were placed on wired frames situated on the burial site.
Reverend Durham read from the Bible: “‘…Jesus said, I am the resurrection and I
am life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, yet shall they live, and
whosoever lives and believes in me shall never die. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the
beginning and the end, the first and the last. I died and behold I am alive for evermore,
and I hold the keys of hell and death. Because I live, you shall live also.’”
As the casket was laid within the cradle that awaits us all, dirt, still wet from the
night’s gentle but consistent rain, was gathered from the mound. Barbara Johnson-
Stillman threw in the first handful. She would remember her brother up until the time
he left home. The sealing of the finality of both ceremony and life but not that which is
beyond was made complete. The epitaph was read in unison by his daughters Natalie
and Latoya:
In Loving Memory of Brandon Howard Johnson:
A Man Who Carved From
The Tree of Tribulation and Despair
A Sculpture Most Magnificent
1942–2008
Charlene walked back to the limousine with Natalie by her side. She was
exhausted and emotionally drained. The unwarranted presence of Deborah still
affected her terribly, and she was overjoyed that the crazed girl didn’t come to the
graveside. All she wanted to do was go home, lie down, and close her eyes. A
dreamless sleep is what she desired most. It was the only way to find peace inside the
storm.
Diverse Voices Quarterly, Vol. 1, Issue 1 & 2
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