Ironman

“Ironman”

Winter Park, FL

By: Sarah Flores         

            I have always thought, growing up as a small child, that funerals were sad events in which you traveled to say goodbye to your loved ones and commemorated the legacy that they left behind; this is based on the fact that I had only ever been to one, my great grandfathers’. At my great grandfather’s funeral, my family and I went to the funeral home where a memorial service was held, and everyone sat down to listen to others speak about my great grandfather and to mourn him. I couldn’t help but notice, at twelve years old, that at the end of every bench in that room sat a box of tissues. When I thought of tissues and what they were used for, I thought of wiping away tears or blowing a runny nose, and that day nearly everyone in the entire room used those tissues. Somehow something so soft and soothing held a connotation of sadness and sickness. I was heartbroken seeing everyone in that room crying with a tissue squeezed tightly in their hands, even my grandfather, who I had never seen cry before. These tissues were all ruined; they became dampened with tears and grief, and after that day I didn’t want to see a tissue for a long time. It wasn’t until the second funeral I attended, as silly as it sounds, that my outlook on tissues changed forever.

            The only other funeral that I have ever been to was this past June for our close family friend, Dale Kelley. Once again, I sat in a room at the funeral home with my family and at the end of the bench there sat more tissues. Except this time was different, this time everyone in the room wasn’t crying into the tissues. To Dale’s family he was known as Ironman, he was their superhero. Instead of tears and mourning, people laughed, people told happy stories about Dale, and posters of Ironman were set up all around the room, we were all there to celebrate his life. As I sat there and watched this beautiful scene, another close family friend to Dale proceeded to walk around the room and hand out more tissues. These tissues were also different, they were individually packaged with an “Avengers” graphic wrapped all the way around them, and in that graphic front and center was Ironman. I put these tissues into my purse and to this very day they have never been opened and have never left my purse; I carry the “Ironman” tissues with me almost everywhere.

            One of the definitions I found on the internet when I searched “Iron man” comes from the Cambridge Dictionaries Online and it says:

            Iron Man: “A person of great physical strength and the ability to continue doing something difficult for a long time”

Dale Kelley fought lung cancer for nearly 3 and a half years, and never once did he complain, never once did he share his burden with others, and never once did he treat others differently. Instead, Dale was always interested in you, he always wanted to know what was going on in your life and to know that you were living happily and healthy. This is the significance that I now relate to tissues. Every time I look into my purse fumbling for keys or my wallet I happen to cross the package of the Iron Man tissues and I am reminded that I am just as strong as Iron Man and that I can push on despite the difficulties that life carries every day. Tissues no longer insinuated sorrow and malaise; instead they suggested hope and resilience. From time to time I look into my purse and I see Iron Man, I see Dale and I smile.