Page 34 of Love at a Funeral and Other Awkward Conversations

“Do you want me to pine over a ghost? If he were still alive, he’d still be sleeping with that woman. Am I supposed to forget that happened? Should I pretend we had a wonderful marriage and our life was perfect?” She holds up one delicate finger, a teacher to her pupil. “I loved your brother, I still do, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to move on with my life like I would’ve done if he were still here. We would have gotten the divorce. I still would have accepted the date to go out with Todd?—”

“Todd? Who’s Todd?” I ask, my voice unusually high.

“He’s the dad of a kid who goes to school with the girls. He coaches their soccer team.”

I roll my eyes. Todd. What a dick. I don’t know the guy, but I’m offended on my brother’s behalf anyway.

“So you’re going out with a guy named Todd?”

“Yes, I am. And I suggest you do the same?”

“Find a guy named Todd?” I ask, in my most mocking tone.

She glares at me. “Move on. You don’t need to stop living because RJ’s not.”

“I’m living,” I say, the words sounding meek even to my ears.

She challenges me with one single, perfectly plucked eyebrow raise. And she’s right; I haven’t really been living, merely getting by. Taking care of my parents, working, and watching reruns of Price is Right.

She moves from the table to play with her daughters, and I deflate back into my chair.

APRIL 12

Springtime is supposed to be all about rebirth. Flowers popping up from the cold ground, animals being born…that was basically the whole plot of Bambi, right? The calendar has flipped to April, spring has officially sprung, and yet I have no daises. I have no sunshine to speak of. I’m metaphorically the Bambi of this story, still bumbling around on the ice after his mother was shot. Side note: what a terrible children’s movie.

Just when I think I’m doing okay, I’m putting one foot in front of the other, I look around and realize I’ve barely made any progress. It’s like I’m running a race in mud or quicksand, and I’ve got to claw my way out while everyone else is passing me by. Or maybe I’m simply not trying hard enough. I don’t know. Whatever it is I’m doing or not doing, life seems to be passing me by.

It’s been two months since Raymond died, and I can hear him in my head saying, “Get over it already.” He’d probably accuse me of using him as an excuse to stay in my hibernation. A reason not to step out of my comfort zone.

He once told me I write the word literally too much in my posts, but this time, I mean it. “Moving on” is literally the hardest thing I have ever had to do, especially when I’m not sure how. But I’m going to try. I’m going to do my best impression of Bambi and learn to walk again. Because if he can become the King of the Forest after humans murdered his mom and his woods are burned down, I can certainly slap on a pair of skinny jeans and try to have some fun. I’m going to find what makes me happy.

#Grief #RaymondStGeorge #KingOfTheForest #BambisMomDeservedBetter #SaveTheTrees

CHAPTER 13

Even though we’ve texted and talked on the phone, I haven’t seen Vince in about a month, and I need to see him again. Lay my two eyes on him. Feel his smile. Because that’s what it’s like.

A feeling.

Warmth and sunshine and fresh air.

And if I am going to be self-reflective about my life up until this stage, it wasn’t going great. Raymond’s heart crapping the bed was the worst thing to ever happen to me—will probably ever happen to me. But before that, I hadn’t truly been living.

Somewhere along the line, I’d stopped putting myself out there for fear of getting hurt. Though, I now knew there was nothing that could hurt more than losing Ray, so what was the sense of hiding anymore?

If I want warmth and sunshine and fresh air, I should go after it. At least, that was the plan.

While I wait for Vince’s response to my text, I check the newest comments on my post with the picture of the missing foot I ate off the chocolate bunny. People are really responding to these new posts, much more than my previous ones, including those I wrote while in New York. I liked living in the city, mostly because I was invisible there, and my posts were written that way. Not much different from what other people are trying to do—claim some kind of space for themselves.

But my grief posts are not mere space, they’re a new universe, and they’re inspiring others to join me in exploring it. Some followers message me about their own grief and talk about people from their lives who have died, others comment about how relatable the content is. They like and share the posts, tag other people, building a much wider base than I had before. People of all ages, even other continents.

When I couldn’t get the type of job I wanted, I turned my journalism degree to social media, assuming it was the new frontier. I was right about that, but my career hadn’t taken off with my social commentary and witty one-liners. But with my several thousand new followers, my anger and loneliness seem to be the ticket. Who’d have thought?

Death, the ultimate unifier.

When Vince responds to my message, we skip the banter and get right to it.

You need a friend, and I’m stuck at work today. Why don’t you come over? His text reads.

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