This is the second of three posts in which I try to deal with my brother’s death. They are Danny, Acceptance and Goodbye.

I think the concept of CPT (Colored People’s Time) is a well known one, in which black people are unable to get anywhere on time. What isn’t as well known is HPT (Hispanic People’s Time), in which latinos suffer from the same chronic tardiness. Even a funeral isn’t enough to compel us to arrive on time.

The extended Diaz family arrived at the funeral home about 45 minutes late. Ma’s fellow churchgoers were already there, as were several soldiers. My father wasn’t even in the building yet and I saw his face contorted in pain. We were divided; my mother and brother wanted to see Danny’s body, while my father and I refused. Part of that decision came from Danny’s final wishes being disobeyed; he did not want to be gawked at in a coffin. He wanted to be in an urn, but my mother and new sister-in-law did not abide by that wish.

The other part of me that didn’t want to see him thought back to Nadia’s father funeral; the image of him in the coffin was burned into my memory, overriding the other images I had of him when he was alive. I didn’t want that to happen again.

At the last moment, I changed my mind. I don’t know what caused it, but when Nadia extended her hand to walk me into the room where he was kept, I took her hand and followed.

That’s when it hit me. The hope that this was all a terrible prank, or some nightmare that I couldn’t wake from, washed away all at once. His flag-covered coffin was in front of me, and I put my hand on my chest as all the air was sucked out of it. I had been as strong as I could for my family, but at that moment I let it all go. I stood over his now mannequin-like body while hearing my mother wail, “why didn’t you call me?” over and over again (in Danny’s last days he was fighting terrible bouts of rage; whenever they came on he would call her and she would talk him down) and my brother angrily mutter, “that’s not my brother in there” (I believe he was angry that Danny’s wishes were disobeyed).

A strange calmness came over me after a few minutes. I’m not sure what it was, but I was suddenly able to look at his body without bursting into tears.

A little while later, the funeral attendents closed the casket and ushered in everyone else. At that time I spoke to the soliders who were in attendance and to friends and family. I spoke to my new sister-in-law Nilsa for the first time since they were married. She appeared drained, having been in the funeral home with Danny all day. She also seemed worried about meeting my family, as rumors had started that she was responsible for his death. My feelings on this are mixed, but I have not made up my mind yet.

Toward the end of the night, the man in charge of the funeral arrangements (Patrick) played a slideshow of Danny’s life. Everyone was in tears. I couldn’t sit through the whole thing.

As Nad and I went to drop her mom off at the hotel, I said, “with the viewing behind me, tomorrow should be a lot easier.” Her mom answered, “No, it will be much harder.”

I didn’t believe her, but she was right.

Concluded in Goodbye.