Chapter Six
My mother’s funeral was small and lackluster, a sad reflection of her life.
She’d hidden in her little house, behind walls of unnecessary things, lost to an alcohol-induced haze.
She’d broken ties with everyone. Stopped working.
Stopped leaving home unless absolutely necessary.
She didn’t even know the neighbors anymore, save for one: Ilona Urban, who’d lived next door all my life.
Ilona was among the handful of mourners. A pair of funeral home employees sat in on the service as well, probably trying to make the room seem fuller.
Everyone wore black. I’d nearly worn athleisure; I was so accustomed to pretending I had Pilates on days I saw Mom.
Alicia, Camilla, and I sat in the front row, with me in the center. Jeff held Camilla’s hand on my right. Cameron wrapped an arm around Alicia on my left.
Robert had to work.
Her funeral was preplanned, a small blessing in a time of chaos. My mom had set it all up after my father died, and she’d scrambled to make arrangements through the fog of loss and bereavement.
I appreciated her forethought but couldn’t find the grief I should feel at a funeral. My heart and head were too full of unanswered questions and all the things left unsaid. Instead of sad, I felt hollow.
I dug my nails into the skin of my clasped hands as I imagined rising, walking to her body as the minister droned on about everlasting peace, and demanding she get up and fight!
Make friends. Heal. Don’t let Dad win! He took so many happy years from her life.
It wasn’t fair she’d hidden away for the rest of it.
My gaze rose to a slideshow of photos displayed on a screen behind the little podium. Images of Mom through the years. Some included me. Others had Dad. A few were taken with Camilla when she was young. Holidays. Barbecues. Days at the lake.
We looked so normal in photos. Like every other family.
The slides froze on an image of my mother in a chair, a young Camilla on her lap, and me at her side. We looked nearly identical there. Three versions of the same woman captured at different ages.
And a deep, icy chill slid through my bones.
My parents were consumed by their madness in my formative years. They completely neglected my needs more often than not, and I learned I was invisible before I learned to drive.
Then I married a man who continued that pattern.
My fall from the pedestal that Robert put me on was slow, but steady.
In the beginning, he’d convinced me I could do no wrong, and he worshipped me, so the first time he seemed unhappy with something I’d said or done, I worked hard to fix the problem.
The adoration returned, and everything was great.
For a while. Until I did something else to make him sulk, go silent, or rant.
The cycle continued for years with shorter and shorter times of happiness in between, until soon there was only criticism alternating with silence.
The loud and clear message: I was a disappointment and a burden.
I easily believed I didn’t matter, because that was all I knew.
I poured everything I had into Camilla so she’d never doubt her importance to me or this world, but she’d also seen my invisibility.
I’d modeled it for her when we waited for Robert at dinnertime, then ate a cold meal without him after he didn’t show.
When I cheered alone from the sidelines at school events.
When my Christmas stocking was empty. When no gifts waited for me under the tree.
When I made my own birthday cake, and when Robert spoke to the air, asking things like, “Where’s the remote?
” or “Are there any snacks?” And every time, I stopped what I was doing to meet his needs, without even receiving eye contact for the effort.
It wasn’t alcohol that poisoned my mother. It was a belief that she didn’t deserve better.
I’d modeled my life on that example. Though I’d tried not to, I’d exposed my daughter to a dangerously toxic relationship as well.
Chairs shifted as people rose. Alicia squeezed my hand. “Come on,” she said softly. “It’s time to go.”
And I knew no words had ever been truer.
In lieu of a proper wake, Alicia, Camilla, and I went to Mom’s house after the cemetery. The men went home. I needed to figure out what to do with my childhood home and the myriad of things nearly lifting its rafters. She’d left it all to me in her will.
We picked up paper plates, plastic cups, pizza, and wine on our way there.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” I said, unlocking the front door and letting myself inside. “I never dreamed I’d actually use this key again.”
Alicia carried the bags over the threshold. “I’m surprised she never made you give it back.”
Camilla stepped past me, eyes wide. “Wow. This is worse than I imagined, and it was pretty bad the last time I was here.”
“Yep,” I said. “It took me two days to make room for a hospital bed in the dining room when she came home in the spring. I scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom as well as I could, without throwing her stuff away, for the home health aides.”
Stifling summer heat had made the air stale and stuffy. I raised the blinds and pulled back the drapes, then forced open the ancient windows to let in the breeze.
Dust motes formed clouds of silver confetti between us, fitting decor for this party.
“Is her air-conditioning broken?” Alicia asked as she looked for a place to set the grocery bags.
I checked the nearby thermostat, set to eighty, then lowered the temperature to something more reasonable and listened as the unit kicked on.
“Thank heavens,” Alicia said.
“Mom?” Camilla’s voice carried from the back of the house.
I moved in her direction, careful not to trip on boxes or bags. “Yes?”
“There’s a table and chairs on the patio. Maybe we can eat outside under the umbrella,” she said, peering through a rear window.
“That sounds perfect.”
Several minutes later we toasted to my mother with plastic cups of red wine, but all I felt was tired.
Ilona appeared in the distance, trudging across the adjoined lawns to the patio.
She was a decade older than my mother, somewhere in her mid-seventies, I guessed, but healthy and active, unlike my mom.
She’d dyed her cropped gray hair pink. She’d changed out of her funeral clothes into jean shorts and a T-shirt.
“I brought the mail,” she said. “I’ve been keeping it.
” She set the stack of bills on the table. “Been feeding the cat too.”
“What cat?” Camilla asked.
“Raisin.”
I squinted at Ilona, backlit by the sun. “Who?”
“Trina’s cat. She found him under the trailer when he was a kitten. He’s indoor/outdoor, but he hasn’t been to the vet or groomer in a long while, so I’d do that first, if I was you. He’s sure to have fleas or worms or something by now.”
I looked to the camper trailer, parked across the backyard. Mom purchased it years ago when the house started filling up with junk. She planned to live there while overhauling the cluttered house, but that never happened. Now the camper was full of junk too.
“Kitty, kitty, kitty,” Ilona called. She clucked her tongue and made soft whistling sounds while scanning the yard.
“I didn’t know she had a cat,” I said. Why hadn’t she mentioned it?
Oh, I don’t know, my mind retorted. The same reason she didn’t mention my biological father?
A dark, flat-faced cat peered around a nearby bush. Long, ratty hair snarled into mats at his ears. He watched with assessing eyes as we turned at once to stare at him.
“There he is,” Ilona said. “This is Raisin.”
Alicia wrinkled her nose as the feline lumbered closer. “What kind of cat is that?”
“We think he’s a Himalayan mixed with a little Maine coon.”
I looked to Ilona, smiling proudly at the filthy creature, and an unexpected bout of emotion clutched my throat. “He looks like something Mom would love.”
Alicia and I laughed softly at the ridiculousness of my mom caring for anything when she wouldn’t care for herself. Then again, based on the looks of Raisin, she hadn’t taken very good care of him either.
Camilla lifted a chunk of greasy cheese from her pizza slice and offered it to the cat, who approached with caution.
“Well,” Ilona said. “If you need anything, you know where to find me. I’ve got a soup on, and I don’t want it to burn.”
“Ilona,” I said, rising as she turned to leave.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. She’d told me the same at the funeral home, but I hadn’t known how to respond. Seeing the way she looked at Raisin reminded me that she loved Mom, and she was hurting too.
Ilona’s eyes misted, and she nodded. “Take care,” she said. “Call anytime.”
When I returned my gaze to the patio, Raisin had joined the group, winding neatly around Camilla’s legs.
Alicia smirked. “Looks like you inherited a cat as well.”
The words hit with a slap and panic welled.
“I can’t have a cat,” I said. “Robert hates animals.” He thought they were stinky and dirty.
He said they’d make the house smell, and shed hair on everything.
Additionally, pets were expensive and inconvenient, making it impossible to leave town without paying a sitter.
“I’ll take him,” Camilla said. Her offer interrupted my spiraling thoughts.
“What?” I blinked.
The cat perched on her lap now, purring loudly enough to hear across the table.
“I can take him. My roommates won’t mind.”
“What will Jeff say?” I asked. He didn’t live with her, but he was constantly at her side. “What about the hair?”
“A groomer will get that sorted,” she said, smiling at Raisin. “Jeff will think it’s nice I have something of Grandma’s to keep and love.” She glanced at her watch. “We can tell him when he gets here. He’s picking me up soon. I didn’t think you’d want to stay here long.”
I rubbed heavy hands against my face, pressure growing in my head and chest. “I don’t plan to stay long,” I agreed. “Figuring out what to do with all her stuff is a job for another day.”