Graveside

It was approaching a muggy 90 degrees by the time the family climbed out of their line-up cars and began the short walk across the grass to the Easy Up at the mouth of the grave that would hold their beloved. This was a full burial graveside service. A dump truck loaded with dirt sat barely 10 yards from several folding chairs neatly arranged under the tent.

As always with these services, the words were few. The family didn’t even sat. They stood in the full sun instead, blocking the dump truck, so that when the talking was done the Funeral Director had to tactfully coach them all in moving to the side to let it through. Only once the cemetery personnel had back-and-forthed the truck into position and begun elevating the bed to release the dirt did people sweatily sit. And sob.

A low flying plane could be heard overhead. Grateful for the momentary distraction, I squinted at the sky to see a red rectangular banner being pulled through the sky overhead: “Keep America Great. Text ‘TRUMP’ to XXXX.”

I could hardly think of anything less great in that moment.