“Hey Amy,” he said, laughing. In the early days, Derek and I were very close. His drug abuse pushed us apart, but the memories of him and I going for long walks and talking about Mom’s death erased everything else for the time being. I felt like a teenager again, and he was my little brother, trying to help me deal with the bad turns of my life.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I said.
“I am too.”
“I’m fine with you being here,” John said, jokingly. We all laughed, and I pulled away from Derek.
“Well this is a little weird,” Derek said, smiling.
“We haven’t all been home together in years,” I said.
“Not since you left,” John replied. We moved into the living room and plopped down on the couch. The house was mostly in boxes, and Derek looked around, surprised. It was emptier than we had ever seen it.
“You guys did all this?” he asked.
“Yeah, we had to. Got to take care of all this stuff while we have off work.”
Derek nodded, and gaped around him. I understood what he was feeling. It’s a strange thing to see your childhood in boxes, stowed away. More than that, it was your father’s life, his existence, gone. In a way, the empty house was the most tangible part of Dad’s death.
“When’s the funeral?” Derek asked, breaking the silence.
“It’s tomorrow,” I said.
“Really eerie, seeing all these boxes. I expected to see Dad sitting in his chair, watching the TV when I walked in.”
John laughed. “It would have been a hospital bed, for the last year or so. But he never did change that habit.”
I grinned. “Dad knew what he liked and hated to do anything else.”
Derek and John laughed.
“What time is everything tomorrow?” Derek asked.
“Why, got something to do?” John said, and I felt the old anger creeping back.
“No, I just have to be back at rehab by five.”
“Everything should be done by three,” I said.
He nodded, and then we lapsed into silence again. It felt good, comfortable, and the three of us pretended like nothing had happened in the years since we had last sat like this. There were still broken promises and turmoil lurking below our conversation, but right then it was fine, and we grieved and spoke and joked together like siblings.
24.
The funeral was a blur. I thought I knew my father in life, but as people I’d never met before expressed their condolences, I realized how much I didn’t know. I didn’t know what I expected for a turnout; close family and friends were a given, but beyond that I had no clue. That day, I met so many people my father had touched in his life, whether it was through work on his delivery routes, or old friends of his, or relatives I hadn’t heard from in years. It was a much larger turnout than I ever imagined, and the sheer number of people who cared about my Dad touched me in a way I hadn’t expected.
More than that, old friends of mine who I hadn’t spoken to in years turned up. People from college and high school were there, and came only to support me. Darcy was there, of course, and having her around made things a little easier. I was broken up and touched all at once by my old high school friends sharing their memories of my Dad.
There were reception lines and eulogies and caskets and flowers, and it all swirled around me like dust, a useless and empty gesture for my Dad, who was gone forever. I seesawed between acceptance and heavy grief.
Afterward, after the casket was lowered and the prayers were said, we walked away from his grave, tucked up under a tree in an old cemetery, buried next to my mother. John, Derek, and I leaned up against John’s old truck as the people made their way home. I waved to Darcy as she left, and she blew me a kiss back.
“Not a bad place, all told,” John said quietly, looking around. It was chilly out, and we were wearing light coats and black clothes.
“We might be here one day,” Derek said.
“Yeah, I’d like to be at least near Mom and Dad,” I said.
We lapsed into silence. It had been an exhausting few days, and I’d cried as much as I could cry. The only solace I felt was that Dad wasn’t suffering anymore, although I wanted him back more than anything. The wind moved through the trees and we listened to the sounds of cars and people talking quietly, engines starting and moving off, tires through dirt.
“I want to say something.” Derek broke the silence.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I know me and Dad didn’t get along, but he was a good father. Seeing him gone like this....” He looked out across the cemetery. “Makes me want to get my shit together, is all I’m saying.”