Page 89 of Love at a Funeral and Other Awkward Conversations

I’m not married and don’t know the intricacies and nuances of marriage, but if what I feel for the person I love is any indication, losing your partner must take the wind out of your sails. I suppose it might be like you’re a boat stuck in the ocean, endlessly floating, not steered in any particular direction. To go from having daily routines, inside jokes, and support to suddenly nothing—it must be terrible, I thought. More terrible than what it is for me.

I’m a fully grown adult—sometimes—with the ability to comprehend complex ideas. I don’t need my father or mother to hold my hand anymore, not like little kids who lose their parents. The innocence of a child shouldn’t be interrupted by something so dismal as death. I think of all my twin nieces are missing by not having my brother around. Because they’re so young, I hope they’re somewhat shielded from the emptiness inside, but when they get older and my brother isn’t there, what will they feel then? When he’s not there to teach them to drive a car, take a picture at graduation, walk them down the aisle at their weddings, or for any other day, special or not, that he isn’t there for. I’m sure they’ll be quite familiar with the missing link in their life and family. And it must certainly be terrible. More terrible than what it is for me.

My brother and I were level, in a way. We had always gotten along, we were great friends, and there was nothing left unsaid between us. I felt like my loss wasn’t as big as everyone else’s. I saw the relationships my brother had with others as more important than mine. Therefore, I couldn’t grieve. I didn’t deserve to. I thought I needed to be strong for everyone else. But by putting others’ grief ahead of my own, I unintentionally made it worse for myself. I self-destructed. And, sadly, I think it may be true for a lot of people who experience the death of a sibling. The putting others ahead of yourself, not the self-destructing part.

What you experience with your sibling during your time together can span from black eyes to fits of laughter to screaming matches to “Hey, give me five bucks for a beer.” The connection between siblings is established from birth, and even though it can often be tenuous, it’s undeniable. We may not be burying our parents, children, or spouse, but our loss is just as great. Different, but significant. It’s a pain that deserves moments to say, “I’m not okay.”

I’ve learned it’s okay not to be okay, and we need to take time to heal. Otherwise, we’ll be useless to those people we think we need to help in the first place. Take time to scream into your pillow, cry, or get drunk in public, whatever works for you. Although, I would suggest avoiding anything where you might end up puking on a train or waking up in a jail cell.

CHAPTER 32

Acoat of fresh white snow covers the ground and rests on top of the headstones. I brush it off Ray’s then kick the bottom of the stone. “What’s up, bro?”

No one else is out at the cemetery today, probably because of the weather. I didn’t want to come today, and I certainly don’t want to memorialize the anniversary of my brother’s death. I’d rather celebrate his life, but it’s Valentine’s Day. And I have a special mission.

“The girls made these for you,” I say, presenting the homemade Valentine’s cards to the stone. I have to take off my mitten to open the first one. It’s a giant red construction paper heart folded in half. “This one’s from Lara. She drew a dog, I think. Or maybe a horse. It’s hard to tell.” I spin it around to study it from a different angle. “It says ‘I love you, Daddy. Please tell Jesus to send me a puppy.’” I laugh. “Okay, so it’s definitely a dog she drew.” Lucy’s card is flat with a bunch of rainbows and hearts all over. “‘Dear Daddy, I love you. Happy Valentine’s Day.’”

I place them on top of the headstone under a rock and put my mittens back on before sticking my hands in my pockets. “The girls both got some kind of stomach bug, so they asked me to bring you the cards.” I try to push as much of the snow away as possible. “The weather will probably soak them into mush, but…”

I clear my throat, a puff of white air forming in front of my mouth. “The girls are good. They’re already talking about being in first grade next year. Crazy, right? Shayna’s single for now, and I like her a lot better when she is. She’s got a Rosie the Riveter vibe going on, woman doing for herself. It’s good.” I blow out another puff of white air. “Mom’s all right. I mean, she’s an absolute wreck today. I can’t even talk to her, but I know she had a friend or two with her today. I can’t be around her when she gets all… It sounds bad, like I don’t support her, but I need to deal with my own stuff.”

It’s silly to talk to a stone, and I laugh at myself. “You’re a real jackass for ignoring me, you know.” My skin’s dry from the winter temperature, and when I frown, I fear giant chasms will form. “Last month, I went to confront Dad. It didn’t go well, but it didn’t go…horrible either. We’ve emailed each other a couple times. We’re supposed to be meeting for dinner next week, so…”

My voice dips as my chin trembles. “I don’t know if you’re keeping track of what everybody’s doing, but I think you’d be proud of me. I made a list of life goals a while ago and got to cross everything off on the list. Everything but one, and I thought you’d be proud.” I drop my head, crying. “I wanted to tell you that, and I want you to be proud of me. I hope you are.”

I wipe my face, the tears hot against my cold skin. “I—” I sniffle. “I grew up a lot since last year. Bet you didn’t think it was possible, huh?” I wipe at my eyes again. “One of my professors from Columbia’s been mentoring me on my writing, and I got a literary agent and everything. Hopefully, a publisher will want this book I wrote about you. Well, it’s not about you per se, more inspired by you than anything. Don’t get too excited.” My smile fades and I fidget. My feet can’t stay still. “It’s crazy to think all these good things are happening to me, and it’s all because you died. I had to climb out of the hole I fell into, but I did, and now I’m living on my own, getting regular paychecks. I even have benefits and a retirement plan like a real adult.” I bite my lip. “Sometimes I wonder what I’d be doing if you were still here. I’d probably still be a lost boy wandering Neverland.” I shrug. “I don’t know.”

Bending over, I succumb to a racking cry that’s difficult to breathe through. I still can’t believe I am here, talking to a grave. I haven’t seen my brother or heard his voice in a whole year. I made it through the longest, hardest year of my life, and all I get for it is to stand here, where he’s buried. It’s cruel.

“I m-miss y-you,” I stutter after a minute of concentrating on my breaths. In my nose and out my mouth, I let the sorrow wash over me. “I m-miss you a l-lot.”

Straightening, I take off my mittens. They’re soaked from wiping at my tears. “I had my makeup done,” I say, rubbing my index fingers under my eyes. “I’m gonna ask Vince to forgive me, and now I have to do it with a raccoon face because I’m crying over you.” I sniff a few times, my chest expanding on full, deep breaths as I roll my shoulders back. “I thought about doing it on a different day, but it is Valentine’s Day, and I refuse to have this made-up, Hallmark holiday be completely ruined all because your heart happened to crap out on it.” I lower my attention, watching snowflakes land on my black boots for a moment. “I hope he doesn’t completely hate me. If he does, I may have to take February 14th off my calendar permanently, and then what would I use for an excuse to eat chocolate all day long?”

I knock on the side of the headstone. “All right. I don’t plan on coming here a lot. It’s creepy and weird, but I guess I’ll see you around. Don’t be afraid to flicker my lights or something. I promise not to scream too loud. I love you, you dumb jerk.”

I smile and wave, out of habit, I guess, and then return to my car.

I was right. I am a raccoon. I try to fix myself, but it’s useless. I drive to the drugstore and head straight to the cosmetics aisle. If I’m going to meet Vince, I refuse to do it with smudged makeup. I snag only the essentials: foundation, powder, bronzer, blush, eyeliner, and mascara. And cover-up. And ChapStick. It’s not my usual brands, but it’ll do in a pinch.

By sheer luck, there’s a small display of bagged chocolate-covered pomegranate seeds by the counter, and I purchase it all, then shuffle back to my car. Butterflies multiply by the minute as I apply a new face with trembling hands. I haven’t seen Vince for months, and I’m not sure what he’ll say.

Or if he’s even moved on. I wince. The idea of him with someone else breaks my wretched heart, and it gives me pause, rethinking if I want to go through with this plan. But I can’t give up if I want to cross this final goal off my list: number six, tell the people you love that you love them.

And I love Vince.

With an application of my signature color lipstick, I start my car and begin the heart-pounding ride to Vince’s house. I run up to the front door before I can lose my nerve and ring the doorbell. I wait a few seconds and then ring again. I don’t hear any movement in the house, not even Gracie.

“Stupid,” I whisper to myself, thumping my forehead with my hand. I only know of one other place he might be. With a little less haste, I get back in my car, gather up whatever courage I have left, and head straight to the Underworld.

The parking lot of Mancini Funeral Home is packed, and I take the first spot available. With my nerves bungling my brain, I scuttle to the side door, closest to me, open it, and—goddamn it—interrupt again.

“I’m so sorry,” I say to the people around me. A couple of the rows in the front, by the casket, are full of mourners, while a few other people are scattered throughout the room. I try to back out, but my foot catches on a chair leg, and I stumble. “Oh, sorry.” The man I bump into gives me a bland look as I hurry to get the hell out of here.

“Cass.”

Someone tugs at my elbow, and I already know who it is before I turn around. “I didn’t mean to walk into the middle of this,” I tell Vince in a whisper. “My brain is like…” I wave my hands by my head. He curls his arm around my waist, pressing against my back so I’ll move forward. “I’m sorry. Can we talk?”

When he doesn’t answer, my pulse quickens to light speed, and if I thought my brain wasn’t functioning before, it goes into overdrive now. I pull away from him. “We have to talk.”

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