When Storm Clouds Hover

49: Izzy - Feeling numb

The day of the funeral, Izzy was still in bed when she received a text message from Dom. She was surprised to hear from him. They'd been avoiding each other successfully for weeks now. She read and re-read the message.

Dom: Iz, I'm sorry for everything but mostly I'm sorry about your Mum. There aren't words. I don't expect a response. Just wanted you to know I'm thinking about you today. D

Izzy thought about everything that had happened between them. It was a momentary distraction from the way she was feeling−the awful emptiness, but her thoughts returned to the past couple of days almost immediately. The image of how unwell her Mum had been in her final days, how she had struggled, filled her mind. There wasn't anything that she wanted to say to Dom that could be conveyed in a text. She put her phone down on the night table and reached for the cup of tea her dad had left by her bed. It had long since turned cold, but the liquid was still sweet and welcome.

Izzy could hear her sister in the next room, getting ready. Reluctantly, she swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood up, her mind turned to wondering what she would wear that day. Nothing seemed appropriate but that wasn't a surprise. She felt that way about everything now. Nothing fit.

Earlier in the week, a friend of her mum's, who was a doctor, had prescribed Izzy some valium to calm her nerves. She eyed the box of pills by her nightstand but decided against taking one. There was no pill in the world that could help her through this day. She knew that.

Later that day, Izzy walked down the aisle of the church at her mum's funeral with her family beside her. Her legs were weak, and her stomach churned. The church was packed to the rafters with mourners. Bouquets of apricot-coloured roses lined every aisle and to the left of the altar was a large, framed photograph of her Mum sitting on the bow of a sailing boat, smiling, her hair looking wind swept. Izzy and Mia had picked the picture out a couple of days earlier, from a bunch of old holiday snaps. They'd laughed together at the time. Now, Izzy couldn't bring herself to look at her mum's face.

Izzy knew that her teachers had organised a minibus for her friends from school, to attend the service. Though it was comforting to know they were there, she focused on her feet as she walked towards the front of the Church. She was terrified she'd burst into tears if she made eye contact with anyone that she cared about.

Much of the sermon washed over Izzy's tired mind. When her mum's coffin was carried down the aisle by pallbearers, she tried to take in the fact that there was an actual body inside that elaborate box. Her mum's body...just a few steps away from her! It was unimaginable.

A friend of the family stood up to give the Eulogy, and again Izzy tried to force her brain to focus on the words. They were beautiful, and heart felt. She laughed at something that was said and felt immediately mortified for laughing. Towards the end of the sermon, two of Mia's friends sang Bette Midler's The Rose. Izzy could think only of how her mum loved the song and how proud she'd have been of the girls for getting through it. She glanced around and took in how many people were in the church. So many, that there weren't seats for everyone.

Izzy realized that her aunty, her dad's sister, who was in the pew beside her, was looking at her. She smiled briefly and wondered if she had been doing something wrong. She felt so out of her body that it was impossible to know. She adjusted her expresion. Her aunty squeezed her hand gently, grounding her for a moment. There were unshed tears in the older women's eyes. Izzy hadn't cried since that night that her mum had left them. The feeling of emptiness was so all consuming, it didn't leave room for emotion.

Afterward, the reception was at their home in North Sydney. The flowers from the church were brought over to the house and scattered throughout the rooms. There was plenty of finger food to go round and a table where people could help themselves to drinks. The familiar living room was crammed full of people, all chatting animatedly. Izzy kept herself busy by taking around a book of condolences to all their guests and waiting politely whilst they wrote their kind words.

After a short time, Kath pulled her aside. She'd been in touch with Izzy everyday since her mum had died and Izzy didn't know how she would have made it through without her.

'Are you going ok, Iz?' Kath asked gently. 'Can I get you something to eat?'

Izzy nodded and Kath disappeared to find a plate. When she returned, Izzy said: 'Hey, do you mind taking the girls and Cole to my room?' She was conscious of how awkward this day must be for her Watford friends. They didn't know many people there and this was probably the first funeral they'd been to.

Kath agreed and left Izzy, so that she could round up the gang.

Later, when Izzy went down to her room to check on her friends, she was hoping they'd all be watching Netflix or something, but when she entered the room, they all huddled around her. Izzy clutched the cross she wore around her neck and ran it up and down the chain, wishing she was anywhere but there. The day continued like this for what seemed like an eternity until finally the last of the guests left the house. Her aunty stayed back and quietly started cleaning up. Izzy wanted to offer to help her, but she was so tired she could barely stand. As soon as she could, she took herself to bed and slept for twelve hours straight, with Atilla at her feet on the end of the bed.

Soon after the funeral, Izzy tried to mentally prepare herself to go back to school. Her mum had wanted her to return to class as quickly as possible, and her dad would take no argument. It had not sunk in for Izzy that her mum was dead. Not really. Not deep down. She still hadn't cried and on her last day at home, she woke up with the same surreal feeling she'd had for days, as though she was in a dream and would wake up any second. She wished she could stay home forever, curled up on the couch watching movies with Mia and Atilla. They'd begged Nan to stay on with them a bit longer in Sydney, but she had explained that while she loved them all, she wanted to be in her own home to grieve. Izzy understood. Nan had lost her only daughter.

After she went back to school, Izzy tried to speak with Mia every day on the phone at least once but often, it turned out to be twice a day. Mia was concerned about their dad. A quiet sadness had fallen over him since their mum's passing and whilst she tried to involve him with household chores, like the shopping and cooking, he seemed to be at a loss to do much. Rather, he took himself off to his room for hours on end and closed the door behind him. The girls both knew that their mum's medical bills had taken a huge toll on the family's finances, and that their dad was worried about that too. They talked at length about what to do but really, they didn't know how to help. Their dad was grieving a great love and he needed time and space to do that.

One night, when Mia dropped their gran at the airport, she came home to the news that their dad would be going back to work that week. Mia called Izzy immediately. She was beside herself with worry.

'He's not ready, Iz. I can tell. This is not good.' Mia said.

'Let him be, sis,' Izzy responded. 'It's for the best.' She paused and took a deep breath, then she said: 'He needs to get back on his feet. Work will help with that.'

Mia reluctantly agreed not to say anything to dissuade their father. 

Shortly after getting off the phone with Mia, Izzy called her dad. It was an awkward call. They so seldom spoke on the phone together, but Izzy wanted to make sure for herself that he was ok.

Her dad was as brief and short on words as usual, but he reassured Izzy that he would be alright to return to work. That it was what he wanted and needed to do.

'Please, call me if you ever needed to talk, ok?' Izzy pleaded.

'I will darling,' her dad responded. 'You don't need to worry about me.'

These words should have reassured her but, Izzy knew that her dad wouldn't call her. Not for any reason. He wasn't built that way. It had always been their mum that called in the past. Their dad didn't really like to talk much at the best of times and sharing his burdens was something he never did with either of his daughters. He'd shoulder his grief on his own.