Little Sparrows

There is nothing sadder than when a good person lives their quietly, only to go to an even quieter death.

Only eight people attended the funeral of Clarita Winthrop. That shouldn't stand as a signifying factor of her worth as a human being.

To Kurt Angle and Paul Levesque, she was the great grandmother neither of them had wanted, but both had ended up needing.

For Theresa Boatwright and Terri Poch, she was a fairy godmother, the woman who made their ideas and goals seem possible.

For Michael Manna and Bull Buchanan, she was a nursemaid, who listened to their troubles and bandaged their wounds, emotional and physical.

And for Jacqueline Moore and Nora Greenwald, she was a goddess, sent to them as a beacon, a sign of mercy and goodness.

There they sat, together, all in one pew; Clarita's Cabayeros.

That can't possibly be Clarita in that coffin, Terri thought, It's so small. Clarita was much bigger, I think...

The minister finished his sermon, and Kurt rose for his eulogy. A hobbled old fellow in his 60's, even his advanced age hadn't prepared him for the site of people of the same sex cuddling in his church.

An obscenity, He thought, But wrong to cast them into the snow.. He devoted his attention to the compact, jocklike young man standing behind his pulpit.

Kurt placed a pair of reading glasses on his nose; the ones that Paul often teased him about. He cleared his throat and began to read from a slip of paper.

"In my years of living, Three women have impacted my life," Kurt read, his voice shaking, "The first, Mary, Mother of God. The second, my mother. And the third broke my heart by passing away last Friday." He walked over to the coffin, his strong voice carrying through the structure without the help of a microphone, "She passed quietly after months of suffering at sixty-two years of age. Without her, none of us would be together to lean on one another. The woman was Clarita Winthrop, and this is how I met her....


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