That Boy (22 page)

The screen flashes.

Dad, by the grill, holding a plate of very badly burnt hamburgers with Danny's dad and Danny laughing.

The slide show is incredible. Phillip didn't want me to watch it before the funeral, and now I see why. It's like he got me the perfect gift and didn't want me to open it early.

What would I ever do without that boy?

I reach over and put my hand on top of his.

He glances at me, and I mouth
thank you
to him. He smiles at me, as he wipes tears from his eyes.

At the visitations, all the ladies were telling me what a lucky girl I was to have such a devoted and supportive boyfriend. At first, I told them that Phillip was not my boyfriend, just one of my best friends, but most of the ladies I said that to sorta rolled their eyes at me.

Like Phillip was really my boyfriend, and I was trying to keep it a secret.

When Mrs. Mac told someone that Phillip and I were just very close friends, the lady sneered and practically insinuated that close meant, uh
close
, as in based on the way he is always touching me, we must be sleeping together.

Which, well, we are, kinda. Since I can't go to sleep without his shoulder next to me. But you know, not in the way that lady assumed.

So finally both of us gave up.

It was easier to just agree, than try to explain.

So when people asked him how his girlfriend was doing, he said,
she's hanging in there
. And when people said I had an amazing boyfriend, I smiled and agreed.

And of course, Phillip had to give me some shit about that.

So last night, when it was just us, he was referring to himself as my amazing boyfriend, my support system, my devoted lover, my, uh,
close
friend.

He really does make me laugh. And being able to laugh occasionally, in a situation like this, has helped release some of my pent up stress.

At least I haven't blown yet.

The video ends, and the pastor requests that everyone join us at the
place of rest
.

And seriously, this is the part I have been dreading.

This is the part that freaks me out.

The place of rest.

As in the Cemetery.

Where they will be BURIED.

And I will
never
see them again.

Okay, yes, I know they are dead. I know they aren't coming back.

I know they are never going to talk to me again.

But for some strange reason, and I know this sounds kind of sick, but having their bodies still here, like at the funeral home and here at the church, it's like they are still a little bit here.

It kills me to look at Mom and Dad laying there in their caskets, not smiling at me, not teasing me, or telling me they love me.

But at the same time, they are still here.

Well, sorta.

I mean, I definitely believe in God and Heaven and all that. And I believe that their souls have gone to heaven, and that someday, when I die, we will be reunited.

But that doesn't mean I am ready to let their bodies go into the ground.

It feels so harsh.

It feels like the wrong thing to do.

Because it feels like that is all I have left of them.

And I'm hanging on by whatever threads are left.

As Phillip walks me to the limo, I tell him, “Phillip, I don't know if I can do this part.”

And of course, Phillip and I can't carry on a conversation because people are wonderful. They keep coming up to me, and hugging me, and holding my hands, and telling me what wonderful people my parents were, how sorry they are for me, how my parents are watching in heaven, all that stuff people say at funerals to try and make you feel better.

And it does, I know they are being sincere, but still, I have a horrible feeling of dread inside me.

Because this is it.

After we bury them, I am going to be all alone.

Phillip pulls me aside, next to the limo. “Princess, you can do this. You've got this. You stood up there and gave that little speech without crying. This will be easy compared to that.”

I whisper, “But Phillip, this is
not
the easy part because when they bury them, I am going to be alone. All alone.”

And really, that is the part of all this that scares me the most.

Phillip tenderly cups my shoulder with his hand and pulls me into a hug, then he smiles at me, touches the tip of my nose with his finger, and says, “Don't think you can get rid of me that easily. As long as I'm around, you'll never be alone. I do have my reputation to uphold as your, uh, very,
close
friend, you know. Heck, I'm going to be around so much, you'll probably be begging me to leave.” He gives me a sly little grin.

I give Phillip a little smile, but I don't get to reply because Aunt Sara and Uncle John barrel between us and hop in the limo.

Phillip rolls his eyes at them, then says, “I guess it's time to go.”

I follow them into the limo and it takes all my strength not to pull Phillip in with me.

To protect me.

I have to sit with
just
them, as in just Aunt Sara and Uncle John for the next part of the service.

I really don't know why I agreed to it, but it was important to John that it be JUST FAMILY, so I did. I figured since I planned everything for the funeral of his brother without his input, it was the least I could do.

But now, I wish I wouldn't have been so nice.

Especially when I get in the limo and Uncle John doesn't say a word to me. On the ride to the cemetery, I thought maybe he would say something about how I was brave to stand up there and speak, which so many other people have said.

Or how amazing he thought the slide show was because it showed them, as we all remember, so full of happiness and life.

But no. Nothing.

I don't think I like Uncle John very much.

At the cemetery, I take my seat next to John under the tent covering the two freshly dug graves.

We wait for the twelve most important men in my life, the pallbearers, to get the caskets out of the hearses. There's Mr. Diamond and Danny; my dad's fraternity brothers, Mr. Mac, Scott, Lance and Barry; my friends, Joey, Neil, and Brandon; my dad's work friend, Jeff; and his best high school friends and weekly basketball teammates, Todd and Mike. I really thought my mom's friends should be able to carry her casket, but it was explained to me that pallbearers are traditionally men, and I would be smart not to stray from that because caskets are apparently heavy. So I made my mom's best friends honorary pallbearers, which I hope made them all feel special too.

Of course, Phillip was going to be a pallbearer. But when we were planning the funeral, they told me the pallbearers all sit together, which meant that I was going to be sitting in the front row all by myself.

Well I mean, John and Sara were going to be there too, but I wasn't expecting any love or support from them.

That's when I begged Phillip to take on an even more important role.

When we were lying in the hammock, looking at the stars the other night because I couldn't sleep, I told him that he's been my rock through all this and asked if he would continue that most important job and PLEASE sit with me at the funeral and hold my hand, so I wouldn't fall apart.

Actually, I kinda begged.

Something about having Phillip squeeze my hand helps me keep it all together.

The pallbearers each grab a handle, as the caskets are slid out of each hearse.

Then they start the long walk up the grassy hill. Before today, many of the pallbearers didn't even know each other, but right now they look like brothers, all in dark suits and all with the same solemn look on their faces.

I forget what they told me the caskets weigh, but I remember them saying they were easily supported by six men. What they didn't say, was that the emotions they seem to be carrying are much, much heavier than the caskets ever could be.

They all look like they are carrying the weight of the world.

I'm sure if I could see my own face, it would probably look the same.

The pastor has started speaking, and I'm trying to pay attention.

I listen to the words and prayers he says, trying to find some comfort in it. And well, honestly, I'm not really feeling it.

Because internally, I am freaking out.

The pastor asks us to stand for the final prayer, and I know its getting close.

As pre-planned, the caskets will get lowered into the ground. John, Sara, and I are then supposed to sprinkle dirt over the tops of each. Then we are supposed to slide one of the long stemmed roses out of the floral arrangement and drop it into the hole, as well.

I wanted to fight that part too.

I was fine with the dirt because I get the whole ashes to ashes and dust to dust thing, but the rose bothered me for some reason.

Throwing the rose in, I thought, would feel like it does when you throw a coin in a fountain and make a wish.

I mean how sweet would it be if I could wish them both alive, throw the rose in, and have them pop out of their caskets, alive and laughing.

I don't know. The rose feels wrong to me, but I agreed to do it.

I don't know where my will power has gone.

I did ask why people throw the rose, and I didn't really get a clear response. No one seemed to know why, they just knew people do it.

Finally, John got frustrated with me and told me it was out of respect.
And you want to be respectful, don't you?

But then I looked it up on the internet and found out the reason you stay to watch them get lowered into the ground is not out of respect. This process is supposed to be harsh and difficult for the mourners. It is supposed to force them to face the reality and finality of the death. Which in turn, is supposed to help the grieving process.

We'll see about that.

All I know is when you start doing google searches on caskets, pallbearer etiquette, and funeral traditions, something in your life has gone very wrong.

As you can imagine, lots of people have been giving me advice about how to handle this. About how to handle death.

And how to feel.

How to deal.

And I can't remember all of it, but one piece of advice evidently stuck in my mind.

I was sitting on the couch at the Diamond's house. We had all eaten dinner there and were getting ready to go to the visitation. Danny wrapped his arm around me, pulled me in tight, kissed the top of my head, and told me everything was going to be alright. Mrs. Diamond, who lost her own mother when she was only 22, was sitting next to us giving me advice, but I was having a hard time concentrating because Danny looked so sexy that I wanted to just jump on top of him and start kissing him.

Sadly, I haven't kissed Danny since the night of the party. With him going back and forth to Lincoln for classes and offseason football workouts and me being constantly surrounded by people who are worried about me, I haven't even had a second alone with him.

But when I look over and see two butterflies flitting around a nearby gravestone, well, I remembered what she said. She told me to let myself see a little of God everyday. And for some reason, watching those butterflies offered me more comfort than any of the prayers.

But then, while I am standing there getting my courage up, I watch in horror as John and Sara walk up to the caskets, do what we were supposed to do, and then walk away.

Uh. HELLO!?

Wait a minute!

They were supposed to wait for me.

We were supposed to do that TOGETHER!

And then, boom!

All my comfort and courage are gone.

I seriously feel like I could faint, or puke, or die myself.

I am frozen in my spot, and I want to scream out loud.

I CAN'T DO THIS!

I CAN'T HANDLE THIS!

THIS IS SO NOT THE WAY MY LIFE'S SUPPOSED TO BE!

I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO BE BURYING MY PARENTS!!!

The pastor clears his throat to get my attention. He is waiting impatiently for me to come up and do what I am supposed to do.

He might as well have yelled at me,
MOVE IT, MISSY,
it would have felt the same.

I know you're probably not supposed to cuss at a religious ceremony, but I can't help but scream aloud in my head, SHIT!!!

My hands start to shake, and I think my head may explode.

I am also seriously contemplating jumping into the dirt myself, so they can just bury me with them.

I feel a hand on my back, turn my head, and there's Phillip.

“I can't do this,” I whisper.

“We'll do it together, okay?” The same words I used on his dad at the hospital.

Phillip holds my hand and guides me up to the caskets.

Well, maybe pulls me up to the caskets is a more accurate description.

I am seriously shaking.

He gives me a handful of dirt, and together we sprinkle some dirt on the caskets.

And I don't know where it comes from, maybe the butterflies, but I decide to stick to my guns.

I pick out two roses, put them up to my nose and breathe in their wonderful smell, but I don't drop them into the dirt.

I can't.

I'm keeping them.

Taking them home with me.

I'm sorry, but I don't need any more harsh reality.

I've had enough of that.

So I repeat the mantra I've been telling myself all week, through the planning, the visitation, and the funeral.

Don't lose it. Stay in control. Put on your game face and get through this.

You can do it.

And now with Phillip holding my hand, I think maybe I can.

We turn away from the caskets, toward everyone. I take a deep breath, clamp my back teeth down tight, hold my head up high, and walk away from my parents for the very last time.

And I didn't know it, but apparently after I dropped the rose, the people who attended the graveside service were supposed to come up and do the same thing.

Say goodbye and drop a flower.