Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Okay, newsflash … if you want people to celebrate your life, you have to live. You have to have a life. Dying earns you a funeral, blubbering over your casket, and organ music.
The day passes. People come and go. Plates of untouched food on the TV tray next to me get replaced every few hours with fresh food. Then I’m blanketed in silence, and the lights go off. It’s dark outside. I have no idea what time it is, so I close my eyes and go to sleep. Maybe Suzie will be back in the morning. Maybe Tara’s gained a little too much weight in the afterlife or she’s straight, or she’s found some hot dead chick, and Suzie will decide to come back and fight a little harder to live. Yeah, I’m banking on that.
That I’d be okay with.
As expected, by the third day—the day of the funeral—my dad and brother haul my ass out of the chair and put me in the shower.
“Fuck!” My back arches when the cold water hits me, taking my breath away.
“Good …” My dad snickers. “You feel that. Guess that means my oldest son is still alive. I was starting to wonder if you’d make it.”
My teeth chatter.
“Soap up.” Aaron forces a bar of soap into my hand before squeezing a shit-ton of shampoo onto my head.
I stand in place and shiver, letting the bar of soap fall from my hand with a thunk at my feet.
“I’m not crawling between your legs to pick that up. So bend down, pick it up, and wash your dirty ass.” Aaron gives my face a few firm slaps.
My gaze slides to his.
He frowns and deflates with a sigh. “I don’t have a good pep talk for you at the moment because I loved her too. We all did. But she wanted you there today. And it’s my job to get you there in some sort of presentable form. So unless you want Mom coming in here to wash your naked, grown ass, get to scrubbing.”
I stare at the soap on the floor of the shower for several seconds as the water warms up. Then I bend down and pick up the dented bar of soap. My body slowly goes into autopilot. I just want this day to end, but it feels like everything is on hold, waiting for me to do my part. And grieving husbands go to their wives’ funerals. I suppose that is my part. So I shower.
I shave.
I dress.
I get into the car waiting out front for me.
I sit in the front row staring at her casket.
People talk. People sing. The poem is read.
At some point, I hear laughter, but I’m not sure what’s said to draw such a reaction. It could be one of a million stories about Suzanne. She had a way of bringing joy and laughter to everyone she encountered. I could use a little right now, but she took it all with her.
After the final prayer, we’re ushered out behind the casket. I don’t have to greet anyone, hence the reason Suzanne didn’t request a visitation. She knew I wouldn’t like that. Always thinking of me, first and foremost.
The burial ends in a blink. My mom releases my hand and whispers something in my ear. I think it’s, “Take your time,” but honestly, my senses are still numb, and I’m cognitively sluggish.
A few minutes later, there’s a gentle tug on the arm of my suit jacket, and I turn. “Hey.” Emersyn blots her eyes with a tissue in one hand while holding out a bouquet of fuchsia tulips with her other hand.
I stare at them for a few seconds. “Did she tell you to bring these?”
Emersyn shakes her head. “No.” Exhaling a nervous laugh, she shrugs. “I think she probably assumed you’d bring them. But … I’m sure you’ve had other things on your mind. So I grabbed a bouquet on my way … just in case.”
Taking the bouquet, I meet her red-eyed gaze. Her blond hair whips in her face as the wind picks up. It’s supposed to storm later today. I’m not sure how I know that. I think I heard my dad say it on our way to the cemetery. It’s amazing I registered it. “Thank you,” I murmur.
“You’re welcome.” She averts her gaze and twists her fingers together in front of her. “Well, I’ll give you some privacy. If you need anything, you know where to find me … for now. I’ll be out soon. It’s high on my list.” She nervously moves her mouth so fast, I can’t catch all her words or their meaning. God, I hope she’s not telling me anything important. I can’t do important today.
When she finishes her spiel that I believe ends with her tidying up the house and mowing the lawn, I nod once.