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The funeral is today, Sunday. Not the day after it happened, the next Sunday. You don't arrange a service in a day. With my hair grown out and black, void of all unnatural colors, it was harder to look into the mirror. I removed the three rings decorating my lip, and the Monroe piercing for the occasion, stuffed my eyeliner in the trash so I wouldn't be tempted with make-up, and now I can't stare at my reflection. All I see is Joel's once perfect face. He was everything I'm not. Everyone's thinking it should've been me instead, I know they are.

I tugged at the material of my suit, pulling it down over my arms to make sure it covered up the sleeves of tattoos, covered up the picture of my own funeral. Why in God's name was I wearing the same thing I'd worn in a music video and a wedding, to my brother's funeral? I think suits are multi-fashionable that way for a reason, I just don't know what that reason is.

"Benjamin!" Mom's calling up the stairs for me; that must mean it's time. I don't know why, but my mother decided to make it open casket. Everyone's meeting at the church to pay their last respects to Joel before we carry him off to the cemetery for the traditional ceremony. I'm not going to look into his casket though. I'd rather die than gaze upon him like that. The image of him, motionless in my arms that night already haunts my dreams.

Black clothing with bloodshot eyes seemed to be the trend of the people gathered at the church once we arrived. I was following the trend. It finally brought into perspective the fact that so many others were suffering a loss as well, I didn't have to suffer alone. True none of them had lost their twin, but everyone in the room was mourning the death of a son, a brother, or a friend. I had confined myself solely to my room over the last week, withholding anyone one from comforting me. No one had been able to show me they were hurting as well, dealing with pain just as I was.

I saw our father. He had come; I suppose mom had tracked him down and told him. I was too tired, mentally, physically and emotionally to confront him; rather I wallowed in a shadowed corner out of view. But all the hate I'd kept locked inside because of him vanished in view of the fact that he had enough heart to show himself at his son's funeral. I no longer held a grudge towards him for leaving us. I just wished he had reappeared earlier, in time to see Joel alive - Joel had never hated our father as I had.

Imitating the other relatives and acquaintances, he walked solemnly down the red velvet aisle towards Joel's casket. I watched him peer inside, close his eyes, and move his lips in unheard words. As he placed a single white rose among the masses of flowers, I knew he had been asking for forgiveness in his own way.

I had to wondered if all the flowers now encasing Joel would have made him smile, or have made him sick; there were a lot of them. I'm sure the overly large self-portrait propped up in a frame of gold would have at least made him laugh. If he could be here, I know he'd run up front, grab it, and hide it in the nearest coat closet. Like me, he could never stand photographs of himself.

"Come on, it's time," Billy said, appearing in my desolate corner, his hand on my shoulder and the most tragic look on his face I think I've ever witnessed. I gave him a small nod and followed him to a conjugating group of men. Beside Billy and myself, Josh and Paul were there, along with Tony and Brian. We never spoke as we walked towards the casket in two lines of three. Someone had already closed and latched the lid tight, and someone else had moved it out of the garden of sympathy flowers. We all took a hold of our individual handle and lifted the mahogany box off its perch.

Step by step we marched on with the combined weight of the casket and Joel's body on our shoulders, past the hoard of sobbing spectators, and into the open posterior end of the awaiting black hearse. It slipped in easily; Josh and I closed the doors and returned to our family, feet away. I wrapped my arms around both mom and Sarah, hoping somehow to ease their crying; my efforts were to no avail.

The driver of the small black limousine parked behind the hearse opened up the side door with a courteous bow. I helped mom and Sarah in, followed by Josh and then myself. The door was shut by the same short man with the chauffeur's hat on, Blake I think I heard someone call him, once we were all inside. Everyone present in the backseat continued to let the tears fall. I found myself once again joining them. Just when I thought I'd finally dried out, that I couldn't cry anymore, a fountain began flowing gently out the two passageways to my soul. Following my brother's corpse to the cemetery where we were going to conceal him in the earth forever had broken down my dame.

The vehicle stopped and we each took our turn stepping out, in reverse order from that of which we had gotten in. The hearse was in front of us already parked, and numerous other cars were coming up from behind. Josh and I stood by the back doors of the hearse until the rest of the guys joined us and we removed the casket, bringing it to rest at its designated burial vault. Father Johnson, our church's priest and the man who had baptized both Joel and I at our christening, took the place where soon a tombstone would stand, his bible in hand.

As he read the words from it, things meant to guide Joel's spirit to a better place, and to put us all at peace about his passing, I started to wring my hands. I was preparing myself to do the same thing he was doing; mom had asked me if I'd like to say something at the funeral and I of course agreed. Everyone shut their eyes and chorused "Amen", as his speech came to a close. One last deep breath and I replaced Father Johnson at the head of the crowd.

"Joel was more than just my brother, he was my best friend, yet I don't remember ever telling him that. The words spoken at a funeral are spoken too late for the man that is dead. What a wonderful thing it would be to visit your own funeral. To sit at the front and hear what was said, maybe say a few things yourself," I started out, sniffling back my tears occasionally.

"Joel was always the strong one, the one full of life. Even if at times he was unstable, he never gave up on himself, or anyone else, he fought until the end. We were born together, came into this world together, and I don't know how I'm going to be able to go on without him; I never thought there'd come a time when he just wouldn't be there. He had so many dreams, so much he wanted to do with his life, and he had the ambition and strength to accomplish it all.

"Anyone who knew Joel, knows that he didn't deserve to be taken away so early. But as my mother said, I guess God was missing an angel. I'll never forget the passion he held for life, the blaze of love and anguish that had come so often into his face, even if in the end it burned him up. If he were here now, if he could hear what I say, I'd congratulate him on being a great man, and thank him for being a friend. Joel, I'll always love you baby bro." I wiped my face with the back of my hand and trudged back into the awaiting arms of my mother, our tears pouring into one steady stream of remembrance.

Two men appeared out of no where and began turning the levers to lower the casket into the ground. Father Johnson commenced in a chanting of, "as I walk through the shadow of the Valley of Death, I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me." Loved ones tossed stemmed flowers into the grave and sluggish began to disperse. Mom, Sarah, Josh, and myself were the last ones to leave; only departing once the sun sunk beneath the horizon and men were called in to shove dirt back over the sepulcher.

If Joel's death taught me anything, it was that I needed to live each day, as if it was my last, and I need to enjoy and be thankful for everything. I knew Joel would be looking down upon me for the rest of my life, watching over me better than he could have ever done on earth. And now I was going to live my life for not only myself, but for him as well. I was going to make him proud. Never falter, continuing on, as he would have wanted me to do. But not a day will go by where I won't think of him, miss him, and wish I could still just walk across the hallway to see him though. When the time is right though, I know our separation will be no more, and I also know he's going to make sure that it's a while before that happens.