TWO DAYS LATER
SLEEP WOULD BE nice, but it will have to wait until some of this hoopla is over. The visitation was last night, yielding a steady stream of people bringing more food than we'll ever be able to eat. I laugh as my thoughts wander back to the food. I know my grandmother feeds the stray cats on the sly. They'll be feasting on leftovers for a long time. We'll become the Caesar's Palace Buffet for all of the neighborhood strays. It will be delightful...and great entertainment. I sigh.
When I hear the faint horn blowing signifying the morning train that has been coming through this town at the same time every morning my entire life, it reminds me of the morning he left. That was the morning we moved out of my house in North Carolina.
Squeezing my eyes closed, flashbacks flash before my lids of him. Times from the creek when we were younger, Afghanistan, and the couple of times this week. Opening them causes the visions to stop, which is good because I can't deal with him today. There's no time. Then the worrier in me lets my mind wander to a place where he leaves me again. He just decides that he doesn't want to deal with my moodiness, that putting himself out there wasn't worth the risk, and he just leaves. It makes my stomach feel sick.
The problem is in my anger, frustration, and shock. I never thought to find out where he was staying, to get his phone number, or anything. I could just kick my stubborn self. The only difference this time versus last time is that I finally have his name. That is, if he's being honest with me. That's why they were never able to locate him after the explosion in Afghanistan. No wonder I always hit a dead end. I was looking for an alias.
Saying a quick prayer, I hope that he's still around when this is all over so we can at least gain some closure. Right now, I have a funeral to get ready for, and the emotions I've been holding back while acting strong for everyone and their brother come gushing out of me. I gather my robe and head to the shower, which will hopefully muffle my cries from Memaw.
***
"THANK YOU ALL for coming today," I whisper into the microphone. My chin is already quivering and I know that speaking is going to be so hard for me. Still, I have to do it.
"Every funeral I have ever attended, I attended with my Papa. He was always there to hold my hand, to allow a shoulder for me to cry on." I pause and let a lone tear escape my eyes. "He was my strength when I had nothing left in me, when I was an empty vessel floating adrift at sea trying to find my way through stormy waters.
"Once I asked him what I'd do when it was his time. I told him there was no way I'd be able to get through it. He squeezed my hand, and he told me he didn't know either. Looking back, how morbid was it of me to ask him what I'd do when he died? I think it was actually at his brother's funeral. All I could think about was the fact that it hurt so badly to lose people that I wasn't even that close to. I'd already lost my parents. I just couldn't fathom losing him. He was my rock, my everything. He was the one solid thing I could always count on without fail." The lump in my throat is growing as I choke back the sobs. I can do this, though. I can do this. He deserves this eulogy. I need to say these things and have them count.
"But after he said he didn't know, he glanced at me with his big brown eyes...my dad got his eyes, which meant I also inherited them. It was like looking in the mirror at my own. He whispered to me, 'When the time comes, you'll get through it.'
"I shook my head. There was no way. And like so many times in my life before, it was something that I couldn't comprehend. 'No, I don't think so, Papa,' I replied." I pause again. This time focusing on the back door, pretending I can see him grinning back at me. It's strange, but I feel his presence.
"He smiled. 'God won't give you more than you can handle. You know that because there have been times when you didn't think you'd make it, but you did.'
"He was a devout Episcopalian. His faith never wavered even in the most difficult times of losing a child. At least not that I could tell.
"So see, I couldn't argue with that statement, and he knew it." I laugh. "He always loved having the final word. I gave him a weak smile, a strong hug, and told him, 'I love you, Papa.'
"'Papa loves you,' he mumbled into my hair.
"Today I stand before you, and as badly as my heart hurts, he was right. I will be okay. We all will be. Not because we didn't love him and we won't miss him every second of every day, but because he instilled in us the strength that made him so special. He is no longer suffering. He's at peace, in a better place. Today, I celebrate his life. All that he was, and I start my countdown until I am able to sit on his lap once more."
I gather my tear-stained notes, and walk back to my pew. Memaw is sobbing, but she has a small smile. "Alex, that was beautiful," she breathes into my ear.
I nod and take the tissue she has offered me. I dab my eyes and cover my mouth to absorb the wails that are escaping my body.
The rest of the service is a blur to me. Go Rest High on That Mountain by Vince Gill is played, which only makes me more of a mess. He loved that song so much. It's followed by How Great Thou Art. I glance around as I sit and try to ignore the lyrics. He would have been so flattered to see how many people are here. There is no seating available in St. Paul's Episcopal Church today. There's really not even standing room. It makes me smile slightly, but then I remember how much I miss him, that he'll never walk down the aisle again. He'll never sing in the choir again. I look to the casket and can't believe that My Papa is in that wooden box. I want him back for just one more day. I want to tell him goodbye, but then again, I don't say goodbye. Goodbyes signify something more permanent, and I know that this time apart for us is only temporary. There is a small amount of comfort in that.
Part of me wishes I could use my ability to compartmentalize right now, but I can't completely disassociate. I don't want to. I need to grieve his death. So I clench my eyes closed, holding my chest to feel the beat of my heart, hoping that the pressure of my hands will alleviate the weight of the bricks that I've become all too familiar with.
Soon the service is over. I watch the ushers walk to wheel his flag draped coffin out of the church and onto the Graniteville Cemetery. Visitation is hard. Funerals are even harder, but nothing compares to the graveside service. Memaw grasps my shoulders and helps walk me out of the building and into the family car. I can do this. I can do this.
The bad thing about being in the family car is that we're directly behind the hearse. So for the entire ride to the cemetery, I'm watching a car carrying the body of my Papa. It's unreal. Mr. Knapp hands me another tissue. I got into the front so that Memaw's sister could sit with her. With my knee injury, it is also hard for me to even imagine climbing into the back. "Thank you," I sniff.
He glances towards me and gives me a sympathetic smile. "You're welcome," is all he says.
Soon we're at the burial plot. Mr. Knapp parks the car and comes to the side to help me out of the vehicle. "Watch your step right there, Alex."
I nod. "Thanks."
Then he ushers me and my family to the first row of seats. Just as I thought I had calmed down, looking at the hole in the ground, the grave, that has been dug for My Papa causes the tears to freely flow from my eyes. Everything is a blur.
The service starts. Thank goodness it's quick. The typical 'dust to dust, ashes to ashes' spiel. I see a car in the distance with its lights on, but the person is still inside. It's too far away for me to see who is in it, but it seems odd...out of place. Soon, I am distracted from it when I hear commands and guns being cocked.
With each round shot, my body jumps. The memories of the war flood my mind. Images of mangled bodies flash before my eyes. Grown, strong men covered in soot, dirt, and grime, carrying their beloved buddies. Guys that they would give their own life for.
Then I think of something I hadn't really ever thought about before. My Papa was once one of those men once. We never talked about his time in the war. I'm sure it was partially in an effort for him to shelter me as much as he could, but he knew. He had to have known what I was about to witness. Now for the first time, I really understand why he wanted to spare me that.
The thoughts just make my chest constrict tighter. Even though I've tried to compartmentalize what I'm experiencing right now, my cries grow into wails. I bury my face into the moist wad of tissues I've accumulated today.
Moments later, a fellow soldier brings a folded flag to my grandmother. She is holding it together surprisingly well. "On behalf of the President of the United States and the people of a grateful nation, may I present this flag as a token of appreciation for the honorable and faithful service your loved one rendered this nation."
The rest of the service is a blur. I'm far too familiar with the routine of a funeral. I sit in the folding chairs as people come by and tell me how sorry they are with the mournful look of pity and regret on their face, which is funny because I have never wanted pity. I've never wanted to be looked at differently.
The movement of the car in the distance catches my attention for a moment. There are multiple exits to this cemetery, and I watch as the car leaves the one furthest from us. It renders me speechless. I don't know what it is about that car, but seeing it leave stirs something deep within my soul. For some strange reason it has been a comfort to me through this part of the ceremony. Maybe the feeling is loss. I'm losing something that soothed my inner being, even if only slightly, and like everything else, I'm losing it. I shake my head realizing I have no relationship with that car or the person in it.
***
GLANCING AROUND, I realize everyone has left. Mr. Knapp is waiting for us beside the family car. Placing my hand on the small of Memaw's back, I open my mouth to speak. My voice is raw and hoarse from the crying. "We need to go. I'm sure they're waiting on us back at the church." She brings her tissue to her face, blotting each eye and then her nose. She places her hand on the casket, and tears pour down her face. I can't bring myself to say anything, to break this moment. So I just wait patiently, hoping a reminder won't be necessary.
"I love you, Lee," she whispers. Trying to be strong, the tears that are on the verge of escape from my eyes are quickly swiped away. She turns just as my arm is back by my side. "Okay." She looks me in the eyes for a brief moment before she extends her hand to me. Placing mine in hers, we start our walk to the family car knowing the next time we come here, there won't be a hole. It will just be ground once again. He'll really be gone.
When we reach the car, Mr. Knapp opens the door and we climb into the car. He asks, "We're headed to the church, right?"
"Uh huh." Is all I'm able to mutter.
The sound of the car is magnified by the silence and somber atmosphere inside the car. Every bump that makes the car bounce, every turn causes my body to move with the car. It's almost as if I'm not even here. It's like my soul, my being is drifting afloat somewhere lifelessly.
It only takes a few minutes for us to get back to the church. Mr. Knapp doesn't cut the ignition off, he just puts the car in park. Then he gets out and opens our doors like the gentleman that he is. "I'll be back in a couple of hours to pick you up."
Smiling to the best of my ability, I thank him. "Are you sure you don't want to come inside and have a bite to eat with us?" My smile becomes more genuine. "I'm sure those Episcopal Church Women have prepared a feast in the Parish Hall."
He chuckles. "That is very tempting, and so nice of you to offer, Alex. You know, it's not that I don't want to, but I'm working."
"I know we've paid you, but he was your friend."
Mr. Knapp glances down and his feet shuffle a little. "He was," he says as he glances back up to me. "He's going to certainly be missed. The world lost a little brightness because his smile will never shine again." I swallow back the tears that are threatening again. The lump in my throat growing by the second. Thankfully he must notice because he pulls me into an embrace, and suddenly my face is hidden. "Thank you for the offer. Y'all enjoy your meal. I'll be back later, okay?"
As I push myself away from him, I brush his jacket. "Okay," I sniffle.
In the time I had been hugging him, I guess Memaw had joined me by my side. When our eyes meet, she turns her head slightly to the direction of the ramp leading to the Parish Hall. My lips curve up when it occurs to me that we're both trying to be strong for each other.
We take our time walking to the door. Before we're even there, the scent fills my nostrils. These ladies didn't go to a fine culinary school. No, they were taught by their mothers, who were taught by their mothers on how to make the best food to feed a soul. They call it 'soul food' for a reason. "Mmm. You smell that?"
"I wish I had an appetite." She frowns.
I shrug. "I wish I didn't." It's funny how when I was younger and lost my parents, I couldn't think about eating. I was just too sick with worry and grief, yet I can this time. I feel guilty for that. It's not like I didn't love him as much. I loved him with all of my heart. I loved him hard.
She looks puzzled. "Why would you say something like that?"
"I couldn't think about eating with Mom and Dad. It makes me feel bad that I can with him."
She stops and takes my arm in hers, turning me to face her. "Alex. Don't do that. It's different, and it's okay. He knew how much you loved him."
The burning in my eyes becomes too much so I close them. "I loved him so much. All of them."
"And they knew it," she assures me, rubbing my arms in a soothing motion. "Let's go inside. The only medicine for times like these is family and friends...fellowship."
Nodding, I start to walk again. Then he creeps into my mind. The only person I wanted to fellowship with when they died was him. Pushing him away seemed so easy. The same way it was easy to push away people after Mom and Dad's accident. Except, I never really regretted that. Is that what this is? Regret? No. As my hands push the door open to the Parish Hall, I push him out of my brain.
Ms. Rudy greets us at the door. "Elizabeth, Alex. Help yourself." She motions to the long tables that have been pushed together and covered with white linen table cloths. Seriously, like probably five of those eight foot tables. Completely covered with every type of food you can imagine.
It makes me smile because this brings back so many good memories. They host Sunday covered dish dinners for holidays, when the bishop comes, and special occasions...and times like this. Most everything is homemade. Some people bring chicken from Wifesaver, a local chicken place. They definitely have the best chicken tenders I've ever had in my life.
Making my way down the table, I fill my plate with all the foods I've been longing for. There were times in Afghanistan where I thought I'd never be able to do this again. The thought never crossed my mind that the next time I'd be doing this for Papa.
As much as my heart hurts, I manage to focus on the task at hand – fixing my plate, eating, and fellowship. When I glance back to Memaw, it only takes a second to notice her plate is half empty. She's gotta eat more than that. Something about telling my grandmother what to do doesn't sit well with me, so I bite my tongue and keep my thoughts to myself.
We make our way sit at the table we always use for these types of functions. After putting my plate down, I make my way to the drink serving bar, picking up two Solo cups of iced sweet tea. Usually we'd have Memaw's sweet tea here, but when we're on the receiving end of this...benefit? Benefit doesn't seem like the right word. I don't want to benefit if it's like this. Recipient. Yes, when we're the recipient of the wonderful cooking after such a devastating loss, bringing our own tea isn't really an option.
My plate is overflowing, and once again it makes me feel angry and guilty. Only for a second because I reassure myself that the reason why I am probably scarfing food down like there is about to be a ration of the overabundant spread is that I've not had such good cooking in so long. There are a few things I miss, though. Miss Shirley passed away a few years ago. Others try to duplicate her recipe for her layered chocolate fudge cake, but I've yet to put a slice in my mouth that is even a fraction as good as hers.
When I place my drink back on the table, it's like Memaw's having the same thoughts as I am because she leans in and whispers in my ear, "None of this tea is fittin' to drink. They don't put enough sugar in it."
I laugh. "Your sweet tea is enough to put someone in a Diabetic coma." I shake my head as I take another bite of the brown rice that is nowhere close to as good as our family recipe. Oh and brown rice isn't like the brown rice bought in a bag and cooked. This is white rice with a stick of butter and all kinds of broths that make it brown after it's been cooked. Best. Rice. Ever. "Your tea isn't healthy. And combined with everything on this plate, it's like a coronary waiting to happen." My body freezes as I say it. Not funny, Alex. Not funny. "Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry," I gush.
She laughs. "Well, I guess we're all gonna die of somethin'. One thing that can't be said is that your Papa didn't eat the very best food while he lived." She picks at her bread. She's barely touched the little bit of food on her plate. Funny how roles reverse as we age. "You know he'd been doing better with his diet the last several years. He cut out all of his salt. Watched his potassium. You would have been proud of him."
I swallow the lump in my throat. My appetite is suddenly gone. "I was always proud of him. Don't you know he could do no harm in my eyes? If there was ever a saint in my life, it was him?"
She glances over to me. "You know he felt the same about you. I'd try to punish you when you were little, and he always got onto me."
I roll my eyes and smile. "I can only really remember once when he was stern with me. It was about Drew." Drew. I pushed him away because it was easy. I don't have anything left in me to give to him right now. "Speaking of Drew," I say as I take a swig of my sweet tea. "Did he happen to say where he was staying while he was in town?"
She shakes her head. "Nope."
I toss my napkin in my plate. "You finished?" I ask as I point to hers, stand, and pick up my trash.
Nodding, she replies, "Not much of an appetite."
I kiss her head. "I know that feeling all too well."