Friday, December 21st, 2007

I sat in silence in the passenger seat, willing myself to calm my heartbeats, to seem as cool and collected as I possibly could. A few moments passed. Eternity. I took a breath. "I think I'm going to go in now," I said.

My dad turned to look at me from his place behind the wheel. "Are you sure? We can wait out here a little longer. I'll stay with you." I smiled at him. I'm not used to him being mushy and supportive, but I guess death will do that to people. "It's okay daddy, I can go in. I can do this myself."

Admittedly, I felt a little ridiculous sitting in a car parked right outside the front doors; people invariably looked through the windshield to see who was inside, if it was anyone they knew, and that was the last thing I wanted: recognition. I got out of the car and walked into the funeral home, the same chain as the one that my grandmother is with, and immediately saw a crowd of teachers and acquaintances from high school in the lobby. All my hopes of doing this visitation thing in as much anonymity as possible were dashed. I hesitatingly walked up to them and flashed my usual smile, exchanged hellos and hugs, chuckled at old stories, and nodded at the familiar faces. I wished that I could have run into them at some other time, in any other way.

When I was alone again, I took a breath and slowly ascended the stairs with one of J's best friends. I can do this, I assured myself. I can do this and not cry, I will do this and not cry. I turned the corner.

And then I saw his father.

He was right by the door and when he saw me, immediately came over. Hello, hello. It's been a long time. Yes. It's nice to see you. How are you? I'm so sorry. Yes yes. How are you? I'm well. Thank you. Hope you're well. Yes, yes. Thank you. It's been a long time. Come by the house sometime. It'd be nice to see you. We held each others' hands tightly and looked right into each others' eyes when we spoke our halting words, muddled with emotion. When he hugged me, I cracked.

I cracked right down the middle of my left side, down through my heart, and split open into a giant pool of tears right there in front of J's friend. Between short, gasping breaths I managed to tell him that I'd be r-ri-right b-b-ack, that I just nee-nee-needed a mo-gulp-ment. I'm so sor-sorry gasp I'd be right back.

Eyes to my shoes, I bolted out the door, around the corner, and went into an empty meeting room. I sought out a box of tissues and covered my mouth with a handful of them so that when I let out that wracking sob that had been choking me from deep down ever since I found out, it wouldn't be so alarming. I held onto the table and chairs for support because my knees felt weak. I took deliberately slow, deep breaths. I don't know how long I was in there for. I remember pacing back and forth, trying to hold everything in, hold everything together, just so I could get through this and then leave. I grabbed more tissues. I tried walking out the door and promptly turned back in. I can't do this, I can't do this, but I have to, I have to. Towards the door, and back. And so it went. Eventually I went to the bathroom, avoiding the looks of others, blew my nose and splashed some cold water on my face.

I did make it back into the visitation room, finally. I saw J's sisters (my, the little one has grown up so much - how heartbreaking to think that they're going to keep growing up without their mother), his aunt and uncles, his baby cousins who weren't babies anymore, but I could hardly bring myself to say anything to them. I saw J himself, but hardly had anything to say to him either. I made my way to the back of the room and stood by the casket for a really, really long time. She looked different, yet familiar.

When I left, I looked at his father one last time. Oddly, it wasn't seeing J that wrecked me that night, it was seeing his father that blasted my heart to bits. Having him hold my hands and hug me. Tell me it was nice to see me (Really?). And though I'll probably never end up at that house again, I wonder if he'll ever know how much his invitation to visit meant, and still means, to me.
12:11 pm