The Organist’s Unthinkable Serenade: A Funeral’s Unwanted Soundtrack

🔴 GRANDMA’S FUNERAL — THE ORGANIST STARTED PLAYING OUR SONG

🟠 The first note hit, high and wavering, and I KNEW, even before I saw Mom’s face crumple.

🟡 “He promised,” she kept whispering, head in her hands, the smell of lilies suddenly suffocating. He promised he wouldn’t. Dad swore it was just a silly thing, a joke from college. Our song. At Grandma’s funeral. Who DOES that?

And everyone was looking, the sun streaming through the stained glass, hot on my neck. Aunt Carol was practically vibrating, her pursed lips white. I caught my sister’s eye; she looked like she knew something.

Then I thought about him, about Dad, his forced smile, the way he always touched Grandma’s antique music box…

🔵 He’s standing in the doorway now, and he’s holding it.

🟣 👇 Full story continued in the comments…
🟢 The music swelled, a jaunty, almost mocking tune that echoed through the church. It was a polka, a ridiculous, upbeat polka. Dad’s face was a mask of forced solemnity as he placed the music box on the altar, right next to Grandma’s coffin. The lid was open, and the music box was the source of that awful melody.

🔴 My sister, Sarah, subtly shook her head, a silent plea for calm. I wanted to scream, to run, to claw the music box from his hands. But I couldn’t. I was frozen.

🟠 The notes twisted in the air, a cruel reminder of Dad’s youthful rebellion, of a pact he’d made with Grandma years ago. He’d promised to play their song at her funeral, a silly college prank he’d apparently taken to heart. The song was Grandma’s pet peeve, a symbol of a time she refused to remember as a joke.

🟡 Aunt Carol finally burst. She screeched his name, accusing him of disrespect, of ruining everything. Dad remained stoic. But then, he began to sing, his voice surprisingly clear and strong, the words of the polka tumbling from his lips.

Then, surprisingly, Mom stopped crying and began to chuckle. Sarah was smiling. I looked around. A few others were smiling as well, their faces softening, their eyes remembering.

🔵 Dad finished the song, and a silence fell. Then, as if on cue, Aunt Carol started clapping. She was followed by Sarah, then Mom, and slowly, the entire congregation joined in. A wave of laughter and relief washed over the church.

🟣 Dad stepped forward, picked up the music box, and with a twinkle in his eye, addressed the room. “Grandma always said, ‘Life is too short to take seriously.'” He smiled, a genuine smile this time, and placed the music box back down. The song didn’t bother me any longer, it was just a way to remember, and a reminder that Grandma wasn’t a fan of sad goodbyes. I began to clap along, tears streaming down my face, but not out of sadness, but out of love and relief. Grandma would have loved it, and Dad, for all his silly jokes, knew that better than anyone.