Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Valerie and Laurence would walk in first, followed by Mrs. Van der Graf, and then, me. Neil and Mr. Van der Graf were serving as pallbearers. I turned to Neil and took his hands in mine.
“Are you going to be okay?” I searched his face for some telltale sign that he might catastrophically break. Not that I would be able to do anything about it. But there wasn’t a single crack in the façade. I’d always thought of it as stern British stoicism, when really, he just didn’t want to make any of this harder on anyone.
I knew the feeling.
“No.” His voice shook, and he looked down. A tear splashed from the tip of his nose to the back of my hand. “I dare say I’ll never be okay, again.”
“You can do this.” I squeezed his fingers. “Neil. You can make it through this funeral, I promise you.”
“Thank you.” He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket for his handkerchief. “Thank you.”
As Valerie and Laurence walked through the chapel doors, Mrs. Van der Graf took my arm. “Don’t let me walk down alone, will you?”
“Of course not.” I didn’t know her, but I linked arms with her. I was glad to have someone to lean on, and to lean on me, as we made our way to our seats in the front.
It had been Mr. Van der Graf’s idea to hire a small string ensemble to accompany the service, as well as a singer to perform Fauré’s “Pie Jesu” as the caskets came in. We all stood as they entered, first, Michael’s, carried by friends and his father, then Emma’s, supported on the shoulders of her uncles, her godfather, Rudy, and her father. Neil carried a front corner on his right shoulder, his jaw set, eyes straight ahead. When they placed the caskets side-by-side in the front of the chapel, Neil leaned down to kiss the lid before straightening and coming to the empty seat beside mine.
The soaring soprano voice that filled the chapel would have sounded hopeful, if everyone’s hearts hadn’t been made of lead.
Sitting there, feet from his daughter’s casket, Neil wasn’t trying to keep up polite appearances. It had never been about that. He hadn’t cried at Emma’s wedding because he’d been afraid that, if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop, and it would ruin her day. He didn’t cry now, not out of pride, but because, if he did, he couldn’t stop. This was still Emma’s day, and Michael’s. It belonged to them more than it belonged to any of us.
All through the service, I held my breath, bit my cheek, dug my fingers into my palm. I blocked out the words of the minister. It was the only way I could get through it, and besides, I didn’t need anyone to convince me how amazing Emma and Michael were. I knew they were great parents, and they would have done anything for each other.
And I knew they’d been loved by their families. It was evidenced in the way Neil’s hand crushed mine as he held it, the way his brothers wiped their eyes and Rudy bowed his head to regain his composure. Every minute of the service was torture. Neil was holding himself together for Emma. I was holding myself together for Neil.
I’d never been to a cremation service before. It seemed weird to not follow a body to the gravesite. Instead, a net curtain slowly closed around the catafalque as the musicians played a somber “Nearer My God to Thee,” another hymn chosen by the Van der Grafs. When the curtain had closed, the lights behind them slowly dimmed. Valerie sobbed and hugged Emma’s blanket to her chest. Mr. And Mrs. Van der Graf held each other, weeping. Neil took a ragged breath, and tears shone in his eyes. It was the most outward display of emotion he’d made so far. I was painfully attuned to the jerking inhales he tried to control. He bent his head, his hands closing to fists on his thighs. His knuckles were white.
It freaked me out to think they might be wheeling Emma and Michael to be burned up while we sat there listening to a song. It didn’t feel like the funeral Emma would have wanted. It all seemed cheap and rushed, but then, most funerals seemed that way to me. Everyone wanted to get it over with.
After the parents and I filed into the vestibule, we waited in a ghoulish receiving line for mourners to give their condolences. Neil’s brothers and their wives hugged me. When Geir reached Neil, he fell apart, blubbering and squeezing him hard. I expected Neil to lose it, too, but he didn’t. Maybe the overt display of brotherly emotion had shocked him into keeping himself together.
Mom and Tony came near the end of the line. Tony shook Neil’s hand. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Elwood. Emma was a great girl.”