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OLDER

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D-LAND

GUESTBOOK

I think this entry will end the account of my step-Mom's death and I don't know how I feel about that. I keep stalling on writing it--I wanted to do it while it was all fresh in my head, and it still is after nearly a month, but I think a part of me believes that this last entry should mark the end of my sadness. I'm not ready to let go yet. If you've lost someone close, maybe you will understand when I say I don't want to let go of my sadness yet. I know I have so many memories of her that are happy, but the sadness is the most recent remnant of her, and I guess I feel if I lose that, she'll really be gone.

I thought the viewing was bad, but the funeral was worse. It was cold and infinitely grey outside. That morning, I had suggested to Dad that we bring one of Ginger's lipsticks along in case we didn't like the color that they had chosen. "Yeah. That's a good idea. But....I don't know where they are," and we can't ask her. He hadn't said that last thing, but the weight of that truth was felt with brute force. It was almost like my Dad was a motherless child, lost and confused with no one to help him out.

"Well Daddy," I said softly, "you check her purse and if there's none in there, I'm a girl. I can sniff some out." I forced myself to chuckle quietly to buffer the sadness. Dad found some lipstick and gave it to me. I put it in my pocket.

We were all ready and Dad stalled, picking various knick-knacks out of the cabinets and telling Justin their histories. When we couldn't wait any longer, we loaded into the cars and left.

We were the first to arrive, and each of our cars was outfitted with a purple flag, denoting that we were part of a funeral procession. Dad paused outside his car to speak with an old friend and fellow widower who had also arrived early. Justin took me inside so that I could see about the lipstick.

Most of the details--who I spoke to and how many were there--seem so unimportant. I just know that at some point, I was seated in the front row, between Dad and Justin. My Dad's younger brother, Scott, had agreed to be the speaker. He joked of how my Dad used to beat him up when they had been kids and how my Dad grew into a rough-around-the-edges man. But then he met a woman named Ginger and they got married. Scott credited Ginger for making Dad the man he is now. Cindy read a beautiful poem. My Grandpa said a closing prayer. We were dismissed and I broke down.

I had tried. I had tried so hard to hold myself together and be strong for my Dad, and I had done it so well....until I knew they were going to close the lid and it would be the last time I'd see her. I clung to Justin, held my Dad's hand and sobbed while people passed, apologizing for our loss. I collected myself to pass Ginger one last time.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of him. Bye." And we left.

We headed to the cemetary in a neat line. It seems so ironic to go in such an orderly fashion when emotions are so chaotic. We arrived and trekked through the mud to the canopy for a final few words from Scott, a prayer from my Grandpa, and it was done. 57 years of a life, 25 of it that I had been a part of, and it was wrapped in a neat little package and done. Dad got me a pink tulip from the floral spray and we left.

Back at the house, there was so much food, brought by the wife and a co-worker of my Dad's. Shirley had even stayed home from the funeral to cook. There was a bunch of family there. I stayed in the front room, and Justin milled about the other two rooms of guests, in order to try and keep my Dad from feeling obligated to stay put and 'entertain' people. No one stayed long; some people left before the food was even served, others stayed for maybe two hours. Before long, no one was left but the five immediate family members (7 counting my girls) and Cindy, Kathi and Julie.

We sat around the table again, talking and laughing when we could find a reason. It was a much more somber atmosphere than it had been the night before; today was unavoidably final. I gave Dad the lipstick back and I know he kept it in his pocket for days. When 5 o'clock rolled around, we had a three hour drive ahead of us that we had to get started on. We drove away from Dad's with me feeling like the worst daughter in the world for leaving him.

design by fergie

Bits of fire in the sky push me east back home. I used to live in flames but it's hard on the wings. Choke me. Smoke me. Scare me back. You try but you just can't. I peel the layers in my spare time, and you're easy to see through. I can fly, I've discovered on my own. I may be the lesser butterfly but my wings are just as strong. Who are you to tell me to find a place to land? I may be the lesser butterfly but baby watch me glide.