The morning of the funeral I woke up, and it took every ounce of energy and willpower I possessed to get out of bed, shower, and dress myself for the funeral.
I knew the limo was coming to get us at 10, the service was scheduled to start at eleven.
I didn’t want to go.
It’s kind of funny. I had never had someone close to me die, and I didn’t realize how other people comforting you almost seems to comfort them more.
I had turned off my phone days ago because I didn’t want to read any more messages of sympathy. I’d stayed away from Facebook and Instagram for the same reason.
It was just so overwhelming. People I hadn’t heard from in years were out of the blue telling me how sorry they were for my loss.
And yet, it had nothing on the people who came over to the house.
Their limp handshakes. Their soft words, as if speaking in a regular voice would cause us all to die. Their expressions of sympathy.
It was all too much.
I felt bad, in a way.
I knew they were being honest. I knew they were (mostly) being sincere.
But I still hated it. None of them knew what I was feeling, really. None of them knew exactly how much I loved my mom. None of them knew how I was feeling right then and there.
At least, that was what it felt like.
I pressed snooze on my alarm and pulled the covers over my head as I cried for the first – and definitely not the last – time that day.
After ten minutes I forced myself out of bed. This was going to be the day I said goodbye to my mom. Goodbye for the last time.
Jesus Christ.
I was too young for this. Too young to lose my mom.
Fuck.
I didn’t want to deal with this day. It just hurt too much. More than anything, I just wanted the pain to go away. Just go.
Twenty minutes later I was showered and dressed, my makeup extremely light so it wouldn’t smear when the inevitable tears came. As I stood in the doorway to my old bedroom back home I could hear the people downstairs, family and friends of Alex and my mom’s who had come over to pay their respects before the funeral.
Damn it.
I stood at the top of the stairs for what felt like an eternity, waiting for everyone to go away, but in reality when I checked my phone it was only five minutes. I sighed. Fine. I was going to have to do this, wasn’t I?
I went down the stairs. Thankfully there was no need to plaster a fake smile on my face. I walked past as people told me how sorry they were, then spoke about me in hushed voices behind my back as I moved past them.
“Your mother was an absolutely lovely person, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you so much. Thank you for being here.”
Variations on that conversation abounded until finally everyone cleared out, heading to the church for the funeral service, until only Alex and I were left in the house.
“Are you ready?” he asked me in a soft voice.
“I don’t think I could have ever been ready for my own mom’s funeral,” I replied, and he patted me softly on the shoulder.
“I know,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Michaela.”
I nodded my thanks then noiselessly grabbed my purse and put on my shoes. Ten minutes of a silent car ride later, we were at the church.
The whole time I ran every memory I had with my mom through my head. Over and over and over. I just had to. I felt like if I didn’t do it constantly, I might forget something, might forget a special moment my mom and I shared, and I just didn’t want to. I wasn’t going to be able to make new memories with her. Only keep the ones I had, and I wanted to keep them as real as possible in my head.
When we got to the church, my tears welled when I saw how many people were there. Sure, with Alex being such a big shot politician I knew a bunch of suck-ups were going to come, but there were tons of faces I recognized from my childhood: parents of friends that I’d long since moved on from, some of my old teachers, even the lady who ran the daycare centre I used to go to after school.
I knew everyone liked my mom, but I hadn’t realized just how much of an impact she’d had on so many people’s lives that they came here.
That was when the tears began to flow. Alex and I slowly made our way through the throngs of people lined up outside the church waiting to get in, and the people who had made their way in and were mingling inside. I thanked everyone for their sympathies, barely listening as they told me how sorry they were. I just couldn’t handle it. Not when I knew my mom’s body was lying only a few feet away.
Even knowing what was coming, it was still a shock walking in and seeing the coffin at the front of the room.
My mouth was dry. Tears were welled up in my eyes, threatening to leak. I couldn’t believe it. My mom. My mother was there, in that box.
I walked up the aisle as fast as I could and sat down in one of the pews in the front row. I couldn’t take my eyes off her coffin.
I’m going to miss you, mom.
I didn’t speak at the funeral. Alex did, and what he said was beautiful, about how much he loved my mom and was going to miss her. A number of other people wanted to say a few words, and I was touched by how much my mom meant to so many. I even felt a bit bad about being greedy with my grief, about feeling like I was the only one who could possibly hurt this much.
It did hurt. So much I knew I wasn’t going to be able to say anything. Maybe in a while. A few years, I thought. I’d go to her grave, and I’d tell her everything I’d wanted to say.
But I couldn’t do it yet.
When the ceremony finished, I stood up and watched as people poured out of the church.
Suddenly, in the back row, my eyes fell upon the back of a head I knew I’d know anywhere.
Jaret.
So he’d come here. I hadn’t asked Alex, and he hadn’t volunteered the info. After he had skipped the wedding, I assumed he wasn’t going to come to the funeral, I figured he’d cut ties with the whole family forever.
Still, it was definitely him. I wondered if he’d come to the wake. I hoped not. I had absolutely no desire to see him. Not after what he did that summer after we’d slept together.
He could go and get fucked. And not by me.