It was difficult to describe the general mood of that mid-Autumn day, early in the afternoon. It was raining—though barely enough to justify the name—and breezy, but warm enough. Most ponies could suffice with a simple scarf or hat, but many chose to forgo even that. The forest green tarps gently rocked above the primary attendees, but even those outside paid the mild leak dripping from the sky no mind.
Beyond the light whistle of the wind and the occasional sniffle or cough, the scene was quiet with waiting. Everypony had said whatever they might’ve needed to each other at the brunch, earlier that day. All eyes were turned to the front, following the only movement as a middle-aged stallion made his way to a podium centered under the tarps.
The crunch crunch of fallen leaves under his hooves made a small echo down the rows. There weren’t many trees here—it was mostly just well-kept lawn—but the few around were old, old and wide, with far-reaching canopies. Though a good layer of leaves had fallen, they were still mostly full. Red and yellow and orange arms waved to and fro, creating a gentle melody that both soothed and irritated the emotions of the crowd.
Though somber in its own way, this funeral didn’t carry the typical feelings of pain or loss.
It was a moderate turn out. Few had received an actual invitation, but none who showed were turned away. Many more had visited during brunch, giving their well wishes and condolences and hopes for a good service. It was all much as she would have wanted, said those who knew. No pressure. No obligations. Just friends coming at their leisure, for their own reasons.
The stallion took his place behind the podium, tilting over a microphone with a hoof. He gave a quiet cough and, satisfied with the volume, set a small stack of cards in front of him. Before he spoke, he stood and passed his gaze slowly over the crowd, giving a knowing eye or a quick nod to those closest—his siblings, his wife, some of the older family friends.
Though most showed some tightness around the muzzle or tears drifting down their cheeks, they all gave a smile when his view passed over them. This day had not come as a surprise. It had only been a matter of time—they all knew that. And who could truly despair when it had been such a gentle passing?
For anypony who knew, this was as joyous a day as it was sad. Today had not only been a passing, but a rejoining of two hearts briefly separated. Though nopony could truly say what lay beyond the veil of death, not a one believed that such a strong and true love would fail in that mysterious after. Today, the guest of honor had simply gone Home, where her special somepony had no doubt been waiting with open arms.
“Today, we find oursel—” the stallion began, stopping to clear his throat away from the mic. His throat was a bit dry and tight, making his words raspy; he apparently had been more emotional than he initially appeared. After a second or two, he turned back, speaking more clearly this time. “Today, we find ourselves in a quandary. Tradition dictates that a day such as today should be one of somber reflection and mourning. But if my mother were still with us, she would be vastly disappointed. ‘Son,’ she would say, ‘Every day you can find a reason to celebrate. Every day you can find a reason to treasure it more than the last. Especially when the last closes on so many good days.’”
There was a brief murmur of general agreement through the crowd; a few were so touched it pushed them into the tears they were almost shedding. Not of sorrow, but of happiness that a pony could have such a marvelous outlook on life.
The stallion continued. “Mother had dozens, maybe hundreds of sayings like that. It seemed like no matter what situation—good or bad—we went through, she had her own private wisdom to share. To help others get through it like she could. So I think it only appropriate I share a few I know she’d give to all of us right here, right now.”
He flipped a card. “She would remind us that this is only an end in a small way. That all of life was like a great song, and everypony living were the notes. Some notes are long, some short. Some are high and noticeable, some low and hard to hear. Some suit the ear and others might be a little off key. But each and every one of those notes comes together to form the harmony that is life. And though the notes eventually end, the song will always play on.
“So here we find ourselves, us notes who are still playing. Still part of the song that goes on and on... Finding ourselves missing those notes that have ended. Longing to experience their sweet tune again.
“But I think in this, my mother didn’t share quite enough of her wisdom. ‘Cause I know if we could ask her now, she’d say, ‘Notes never end, Bass. They just join a different song.’ Even now, my mother’s note plays on in a tone I just can’t hear yet. And yes, I miss her magnificent melody, as we all do. But because I know someday my own note will play a different tune...I can smile. I can laugh. For someday I know I’ll hear my mother’s—both my mothers’ notes again.
“And until then, for the first time in seven months my mothers are together again. They said ‘Until death do us part’, but what they really meant was, ‘Until death do us part, then forever after.’ So though she is gone, she is not alone. She is loved, always.” He choked back a small sob as the crowd gave a chorus of agreement.
“In all honesty, I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing, standing up here before you. Before them.” With a hint of a smile, he turned to face the casket sitting above the open grave, waiting next to a closed one. “Everything I am is because of them. They gave so much—I could never give enough back. There are no words I could give to truly show my appreciation, my admiration, my love. They took me in, raised me, taught me, loved me as good and better than if I’d been their blood born.
“But the mother we’re here to celebrate...she especially taught me what it meant to be myself. Everything she did, she did for her own self. That sounds selfish, but to those who knew my mother, they know it’s nothing of the sort. Mother relished in not only her own individuality, but everypony else’s too. That was what she wanted out of life more than anything, I think: to let her life be an example to others to live true to themselves. To be free and to help free others.
“It was this view on life that so bewitched my other mother, that planted the seeds of love that would grow eternally strong. So long had she tried to live up to expectations set by other ponies, she had become lost. When she met my mother, she followed her path and found acceptance, love, and family.” He gestured to himself and his siblings near the front.
“But she had her own lessons to learn. That of not being too free. Of the responsibility as a friend, as a wife, and as a mother.” Again, some nodding in the crowd; a few smiled fondly, remembering the mare’s antics while learning said lessons.
“In my life I’ve been blessed to know many amazing ponies. But never have I seen a pair more perfect than they. With their passing comes the end of an era. Both from my own personal standpoint and amongst their profession.
“For like her love, my mother adored music to the utmost. It was her life; it was life. Through their music, both my mothers leave a legacy of creation and artistic mastery few compare to.”
He had reached the last card, but set it down, ignored. Moving to the casket, he placed a hoof upon it. He turned around and, given the nod by his siblings, flipped the switch. Slowly, the casket began sinking to its final resting place.
There was a faint thud and a click as the casket reached the bottom. Backing away, the assembled crowd took a long, silent look at the headstone. It read:
In loving Harmony,
Joined through eternal Heartstrings,
Makers of Music and Magic.
Octavia Overture Vinyl Scratch
May Your Symphonies Never End
Bass Line took a step back, facing halfway between the crowd and his mothers’ final resting place. Tears flowing down his muzzle, he said, “And so we come to today’s celebration. Her friends, her family, everypony gathered here... Gathered here to say farewell and to lay my mother Vinyl beside her love.”
Returning to the podium, Bass gathered up the cards and stuck them in his suit pocket. “Not too many ponies know that my mothers were blessed to know each other for most of their adult lives. In a stroke of luck, or destiny if you’d prefer, they both attended the same prestigious musical academy in Manehattan. There, against all odds, they struck up a friendship. Though it certainly wasn’t the easiest of beginnings, it would turn out to be the greatest thing to happen for either one of them.”
Chuckling, he went on. “It was a story neither one of them ever tired of telling Concerto, Spin, and I over the years. I think...” He looked at the twin siblings fondly, who nodded in reply.
Turning to the assembled crowd, he cleared his throat again, and said, “Here, on this day where their story comes to a close, I think it would be fitting to share a little of how it began.”
