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The memory of his mother's funeral creeps up on him and pounces without warning one day.
It's no one's fault, really; it's certainly not the secretary's fault, not intentionally, anyway, as she sits across from him, chewing her florescent pink bubblegum loudly as she blasts her Spotify, flitting through songs and artists as easy as blinking.
She's been mostly playing Christmas songs since Thanksgiving, just loud enough that the tinkling sounds reach Kurt's desk. Plus, she's pretty amusing as she swings slightly in her rolling chair just off the beat.
As her playlist grows more eclectic, he notices vaguely that more pop standards are playing amongst the Burl Ives classics. He wanders by to see if he can catch a glimpse at the latest list when the Bay City Rollers begins blasting.
If you hate me after all I say. It can't be love anyway. Just gotta tell her anyway.
Bye bye baby…
He freezes in place, the last moments of thought questioning how this song out of all of them is playing after weeks of holiday cheer, before he feels the familiar prickle of long-ago grief.
***
The church holds the cold in, the bare stone and wood doing nothing to keep the chill out of the air.
It's probably very warm in the summer, too. Kurt would have no idea, though, having spent very little time in these pews beyond a few Christmas and Easter services attended to appease out of town relatives.
His dad leaves him in the very front pew and stands in front of gathering of people. Kurt tugs his slightly oversized coat closer to him, feeling smaller than usual. The entire world feels still now, though, not in the nice way it usually does in the late fall, but the overwhelming way it does when it's the middle of night and you wake up in a cold sweat.
He just wants to wake up right now.
His dad has never looked as small as he does now either, standing in front of the altar, just to the side of the dark wood casket where--no. Kurt's promised himself not to think thoughts like that. If he does, he'll cry, and he has to be strong for his dad right now.
"Liz and I--we had a lot of time to talk about this. She had a lot of requests, like me bringing Sandra Bullock as a date to the funeral--I think she was pretty sure I would ignore that one," he gives a weak laugh and a slight smile. "But some she was really damn clear about."
He shifts forward slightly and turns to face the plain projector the church's single A/V person had set up before the service began. "Like this for instance. When she first told me, I said, 'over my dead body' and she said, 'no Burt, over mine.'" His dad looks down, and for a second Kurt thinks he's going to cry right there, which would be okay because then Kurt could cry, too.
"And as usual, the love of my life, and Kurt's beautiful mom was right. So she's going to say her last goodbye, not through me, but through the immortal genius of the Bay City Rollers."
The music crashes on so abruptly that half those sitting in the pews jump, startled. Kurt feels his shoulders start to shake as the plain white screen fills with pictures of his mom. Burt waits a few beats and then he and the pall-bears move to pick up the casket and carry it towards its final resting place. He makes it half-way down the aisle before one of the mechanics from his shop takes over, and Burt turns helplessly back towards his son. Kurt stands, almost on instinct and walks to follow him out the doors. He trails behind a few steps until they reach the cemetery. The rest of the mourners are a few feet behind them when Burt turns around once again and holds his hand out towards his son.
They walk the last few steps together, the song's melodic chant still ringing in both their ears.
Bye bye baby, baby goodbye.
Bye bye baby, don't make me cry
Bye baby, bye bye.
***
He feels the warm salt of the tears on his cheeks and wipes them quickly before the secretary can say anything and hurries back to his own desk. Fingers trembling slightly as he dials his father.
"Dad? Hi--no, everything's alright with me? We're still going to get together for Christmas, right?"