Chapter 11
ELEVEN
“Please, please, please don't spit up on your outfit again. If you promise not to, I’ll ensure you get sweet potatoes tonight instead of peas, okay?” I find myself negotiating with a baby, quite certain she doesn't grasp most of my words.
On second thought, perhaps she does recognize "sweet potatoes" and "peas," given the former brings a gleam to her eyes and the latter, a defiant spit.
This morning's wardrobe wars with Sunny mark the second round, and with the funeral imminent, my search for another formal attire seems futile. While her attire might not be of utmost importance, I sense Mom would appreciate her dressed in tandem with the family’s somber mood.
Rather than hunting for a black dress, I settled for her gray sweater dress, dark blue cotton ones, and a maroon festive dress.
As luck would have it, she drenched the most elegant one in regurgitated milk, and the next fell victim to a diaper mishap.
The sweater dress is now the last resort unless she's game for footie pajamas at the service — a choice I'd personally favor over a dress any day.
“Alis, it’s time to go!” Mom’s voice echoes for the third time. Evidently, the universe runs on a nine-month-old's timeline today, and she's not in the mood to align with ours.
“Hold on! I’m just putting Sunny’s shoes on. We’ll be right down!” I ponder, why bother with shoes for a baby who doesn’t even walk?
Outfit complete, I snatch her diaper bag, sling my purse across my shoulder, and descend the stairs.
“Apologies, Mom. Another dress mishap meant a fresh start. Where are Alex’s folks?”
“They left with your dad about thirty minutes ago. We agreed to meet at the church.”
I exhale, relieved we didn’t aim for a singular carpool.
No limo will shepherd us today since the burial ground adjoins the church.
I’m grateful we don’t need to embark on an extended ride, followed by an endless procession to a distant cemetery.
With nearly the whole community in attendance, that would've felt eternal.
And today, of all days, I lack the fortitude to draw things out any more than needed.
Once Sunny is safely buckled into her car seat, we head to the church, the very place where I'm slated to eulogize my sister in front of the entire town. What was I thinking when I agreed to this?
Avoiding eye contact, I unbuckle Sunny and carry her into the sanctuary.
While I realize it might come off as rude to ignore others, I bank on my preoccupation with Sunny to be a good enough reason.
A moment alone before the service would have been ideal, but Sunny’s wardrobe malfunctions set us back.
Belle’s casket is closed. So is Alex’s. I yearn for one last glimpse of them, even though I understand why open caskets were out of the question.
A cold shiver travels up my spine at the thought of my sister enclosed in a box.
She's not there, Alis. She's free. Now isn't the time to indulge your claustrophobia.
As we settle into our seats, the soft hum of background music fades, and Reverend Thomas steps up to the podium.
“Good morning, friends. On behalf of the families of Alex and Isabelle Donnelly, I welcome you to this celebration of life. Both Alex and Isabelle were cherished members of our congregation, and I was blessed to have known them.”
The reverend continues sharing personal memories of his interactions with both Alex and Belle, including the day Belle was baptized, and when she brought Alex back from Ireland.
Before I know it, he signals me forward. The weight of the moment hits, and panic courses through my veins. I’m not ready for this. I’m going to break down on that stage. My palms are sweating as I adjust the microphone to my much-shorter stature.
“Hello, everyone. I deeply appreciate you all joining us today to remember Belle and Alex. The outpouring of messages, flowers, prayers, and comforting embraces over the past few days has been overwhelming. Loss like this is not something we could have ever prepared for, and I know it’s because of the strength you’ve lent us that we’ve made it this far.
“I’d like to start by sharing my favorite memories of Alex.
Despite being a newcomer, he quickly found his place in our tight-knit community.
I still chuckle remembering his first solo grocery run after moving in with Belle.
He returned, utterly bewildered, sharing how Julie at the checkout had never heard of 'black pudding.
' I played along, feigning similar surprise, all the while clueless about what black pudding was myself.
“Alex was one of the smartest men I’ve ever met, and no matter what new hobby or sport he tried, he always seemed to be the best. He was never arrogant or pretentious, but had a humble heart and attitude in all things. He truly was the best brother I could have hoped for.
“More than anything, Alex loved my sister and their daughter, Sunny. Belle nagged me about my lack of dating life these past few years, but what she didn’t realize was that between watching our dad love our mom all these years and then watching Alex love her and Sunny, I had two nearly perfect examples of how a man should love a woman, a father should love his daughter, and there’s no way I’d settle for anything less.
“I miss my brother every day, and I’ll miss him every day for the rest of my life. He was truly an incredible man, and our community will forever feel his loss.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, fighting back the rush of tears threatening to spill out of my eyes as I transition to talking about my sister. Clearing my throat, I look back up at the crowd before me and use every ounce of self control to keep myself from falling apart.
“Belle was my first friend. My best friend. My big sister and my role model. Our grandmother called her Sunshine, or Sunny, because she always provided warmth, happiness, and light wherever she went.”
Deep breath, Alis. Deep breath.
“To know Belle was to love her. She was everyone’s cheerleader, and when she spoke to you she made you feel like the most important person in the world. Her ability to make even strangers feel at home in her presence was truly remarkable.
“We used to joke that once we were gone nobody could honestly say ‘she never had a bad thing to say about anyone’. But the truth is, the only times Belle ever had something negative to say was when a person bullied or belittled someone else. And even then, her negative words didn’t stand alone — she always had something positive to say or some constructive criticism to help that person grow.
Her words were never wasted on gossip; she was a counselor and friend.
“Belle loved her family more than anything. She was dad’s first princess, mom’s right-hand woman, Alex’s love and partner, Sunny’s incredible mom, and my other half.
She made sure to FaceTime her in-laws every week so Sunny could know them, even though they live across the pond.
She loved this town and everyone in it, and I know she’s smiling down on all of us right now.
She wouldn’t want us to be sad for long, but to remember the countless good times we spent with her.
“Alex, I love you, brother. And Belle, I love you and I miss you so much that sometimes I can’t breathe.
You both were taken from us too soon, but everyone in this room can say their lives are better for knowing you.
We’ll all love and take care of Sunny and we’ll make sure she feels your love even though you can’t be here with her. ”
Wrapping up emotional speeches has never been my forte.
I offer a final word of gratitude to everyone in attendance and make my way back to my seat, flanking Mom and Sunny.
To my relief, Sunny sleeps soundly. Her nestled presence in Mom's arms, I believe, offers Mom a semblance of comfort during this trying time.
The exhaustion in Mom's eyes speaks volumes.
Days of ceaseless tears have left their mark, and her lack of sleep is evident.
Dad, in his effort to remain our pillar of strength, keeps his grief under wraps.
Yet, last night, I chanced upon him in his study, silently shedding tears as he lost himself in the warm glow of the fireplace.
He seemed unaware of my presence at the door.
Respecting his moment of solitude, I withdrew, seeking refuge in Belle's bed, hoping for a few hours of rest before the draining day ahead.
The service draws to an end with a reading of Scriptures, followed by a heartfelt prayer.
The somber procession of pallbearers then escorts both Belle and her husband to their final resting place, nestled side by side behind the church.
As Sunny stirs, I brace myself, sensing she’s about to rouse from her nap.
"Mom, I'll take her. Walk with Dad and the Donnellys. We'll follow right behind."
Handing me the drowsy Sunny, Mom offers a gentle smile, though it fails to touch the depth of her eyes. I seize these brief moments away from the crowd to center myself, drawing strength from Sunny, hoping that will suffice for the burial.
A sudden squeeze on my shoulder jolts me. "Hey, babe, need help?" It's Tori, with Skye just steps behind. I'm grateful it's them – their mere presence provides a buffer against the looming swell of emotions.
"Hey. Could you prepare her bottle? I need to check her diaper."
Tori promptly retrieves the essentials from the diaper bag, while I lay Sunny on a pew. Sunny's eyes, now open, sparkle as they fixate on the stained-glass windows.
"Thank you for staying calm through the service and not causing another wardrobe mishap," I murmur, tickling her. As I lift her, Skye playfully warns, "You might've just jinxed yourself there."
Grinning, I retort, "Then I'll be sure she's aimed in your direction when disaster strikes." Skye's mock-horrified expression soothes my aching heart, providing a moment of solace.