Page 91 of Love at a Funeral and Other Awkward Conversations

Curious eyes scrutinize us.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Vince says in his most professional tone, “I apologize profusely for my inappropriate behavior. It is not my?—”

“No,” a distinctly feminine voice says, stepping between two bodies in the small crowd.

I cover my face with my hand, mortified. I don’t know if I should run to Vince’s office, say something, or pretend I’m here to mourn and take a seat. I can’t decide, so I only squeeze Vince’s hand.

“Don’t apologize,” the woman says, moving to stand in the doorway. She’s tall with short gray hair, and her tawny skin has a pallor that I’ve seen in my own face, but she’s smiling. “My father died two years ago, and my mother has missed him every day. They were married for sixty-four years. She said they were soul mates.” She motions for us to come into the room, and the small crowd parts for us as we amble to the aisle in the middle of the chairs. Everyone’s attention is on us as this woman speaks only to Vince and me.

“Mom read romance novels voraciously, even more so after Dad passed, and this…” She settles one hand over her lips as her voice wobbles. “This moment between you two, it was the perfect way to send my mother off to meet my father.”

Vince bows his head, and I think he’s tearing up from the way he skims a knuckle over his eyelid. I peel away from him to meet the woman. We embrace, both of our smiles watery. She’s a complete stranger, but in this moment, we are bound together by love and death. I hold her hands in mine.

“I hope you can find peace in your grief,” I tell her.

She squeezes my fingers, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “You’ve already given it to me, darling.” Her gaze drifts over my shoulder then back to me. “Now, go get your man.”

So, I turn around and go get my man. Applause breaks out all around as I wrap both arms around Vince’s neck and kiss him with every bit of love I have in my heart.

Persephone is staying in the Underworld, but it’s okay.

I’m okay.

FEBRUARY 14

It’s Valentine’s Day today, and I spent more time than I’d like to admit browsing the candy aisle. Three years ago, on this day, I received the worst news of my life. In the 1,095 days since, it hasn’t changed. It’s still the worst news of my life—hearing my brother died—and it’s still hard for me to believe it’s real, to imagine my life without him. Every day, at least once a day, I have a thought about something, usually inane, I want to share with my brother, so I do. I tell him I can’t believe our mother is on a dating website. Or that I had another fight with my fiancé about how he never remembers to close the bathroom door and the dog keeps making a home in there among the toilet paper the cat rips up. And that said fiancé wishes I’d go to some of the baseball games for the team he coaches, but baseball is really boring.

I also ask my brother to keep my secret—although it’s not so secret anymore as I’m about to tell you, my internet friends—that my fiancé isn’t my fiancé anymore. He’s my husband now since we went to city hall last week. Surprise! We’re still having a bigger ceremony in April, but I needed something for myself. Partly because it was giving me anxiety, and partly because my brother’s not here to be the man of honor.

But with every voiced thought, I’m met with silence. What’s that saying? Insanity is doing something the exact same way every time but expecting different results…

I am by no means in a rush for my life to end, yet if there is anything my brother’s death has taught me, it’s that there is an end. There is an end to what sometimes feels like endless human agony, and that is what makes all of this…whole being alive thing kind of beautiful. My brother is gone, and I hate it. It causes me pain every day, but that same hole in my heart, that thorn in my side, reminds me to spend every day soaking it all in. For as long as I’m here on this rock, I will live and enjoy and find a way to smile even when it all sucks, because one day, it’ll be gone.

I look forward to the time I finally receive an answer from my brother when I ask him how he’s doing. Maybe we’ll croak it to each other when we are reincarnated as frogs or blaze the answer across the sky as shooting stars or speak in tongues as angels with wings. I don’t know. But one way or another, I will hear from him again. And until then, I’ll bear the pain because it’s a reminder of how much we loved each other.

This isn’t a romantic Valentine’s Day post, but it is a reminder to take care of your heart, because when you love someone, you give them a piece of it. And most importantly, if you’re lucky enough to receive a piece of someone else’s heart, hold it close. Their heartbeat is in your hands. It’s their life, for the love of Zeus, take care of it!

---