But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!

Joey was buried on that Friday.

We awakened early, got dressed in our borrowed funeral clothes, ate a quick breakfast that my father had made, and then headed to the funeral home for visitation.  We pulled into the parking lot and I began to shake.  Our walk around the building resulted in my heel becoming trapped in a crack in the sidewalk; I stumbled, lost the shoe, and stood looking at the slab of concrete with irritation.  Stupid concrete...

We were met by one of the service directors who informed us that we had better get a move on because they were moving to the church soon.  Upon entering, I was met with a small group of people that I had not seen in 10-12 years.  It was surreal, seeing all those faces grown and so inordinately sad.  K and R, old high school friends met us and we were joined shortly by various others.  Through the doors, I could see the open casket and simply could not bring myself to go into that room.  I remembered my gradfather and how waxy and artificial he looked at his funeral and could not bear to remember Joey in that same way.  People came to say hi, to apologize for cryptic messages on social networking sites, and to feel not alone with their sorrow.  Stories were traded about Joey of run-ins with Oklahoma cops,visits he made, and the amount of effort he put in to staying in touch and visiting over the years.  Soon we were asked to reconvene at the church.

The service was a Catholic service.  I was aware of my family in front of us, the casket being wheeled in by the pallbearers (oh what heartbreak to be a bearer for a good friend!), I was aware that there were many people there, but was otherwise in a daze.  A former employer of Joey's from DC got up and gave a sweet eulogy, extolling all the goodness that was Joseph, Joe, Joey Doyle.  We disbursed shortly after. On the steps, I met up with Joey's brother and his fiancee, old friends whom I had only Facebook contact with, and my family.  We were asked repeatedly what was going on and why was my status update in a different location every few days.  I was pulled from my fog as people reached for me, hugged me, said hi.  And I only remember a face or two.

The burial was a simple graveside service.  The ground was soft and our heels kept sinking in.  We followed this by going back to the church where there was a luncheon and to give our regards to the family.  A friend's mom had made cake, as she was wont to do when we were growing up, and we enjoyed a piece of that while we caught up, shared stories, and tried to sort ourselves out.  I met Joey's girlfriend for the first time and thought my heart would completely break at that point.  She was such a lovely and wonderful person and I am so sorry that we did not have the opportunity to meet before.  I understood why and how Joey had fallen in love with this woman.

We said our farewells and good wishes and headed to McNellie's  where a contingent of old friends was already gathered.  We ordered beers and food, traded phone numbers and information.  We also realized that it was going to take an effort to stay in touch.  Joey had taken that out for us as he stayed in touch and then passed on the news of everyone for us.  My mom sent a message at some point inviting everyone to her house for dinner--red beans and rice, how very nice.

We left, took the car to the shop, and returned to my parents' house.  K and R came for dinner, my sister came with her husband and kids, and I found myself incredibly happy that we have the people that we do to help us get through these moments in life.  My mom made comfort food, even in the heat of the Oklahoma summer.  K and R made the effort to come and be with us.

After they left, I crawled into bed with my nephew and he and I told stories until way to late.  We fell asleep holding hands and his sweet little stories made me smile.  That little boy saved my broken heart that night and began to help put me back together.