19. Jo
Chapter 19
Jo
Second Year of Fellowship
3 Years Ago, August
“ I genuinely don’t know how the fucking fuck I’m going to make it through today.” Chloe slumps down into an oversized armchair in the corner of the funeral home. Her blonde hair is pinned up in a bun atop her head.“Can you please try not to fight with Mom today?”
Though our relationship has always been strained, the stress of Dad’s treatments put Mom and I at odds with each other more often than not. Often in the same ways she and Dad were behind closed doors.
“I promise I’ll try.” I nod my head and take a seat on the arm of her chair. We watch as Mom bounces around from table to table, straightening photos and arranging Dad’s memorial cards. The wake doesn’t begin for another thirty minutes, but we’ve been here for what seems like hours. “She’s been through enough.”
How is it fair that the family members who have suffered the most loss are the ones that have to do the most work? The last week has been a whirlwind of emotions, phone calls, and handwritten checks to make sure Dad starts his journey to the afterlife in style.
I watch as Mom’s body language begins to shift and she leans forward, palms flat on the cloth-covered table. “C’mon, she needs us.” I pull at Chloe’s arm, and she lets her head roll back with a groan as I lift her from the chair. “Let’s at least try to pretend like we’re helping.”
The first of the visitors begin to trickle slowly into the room, taking their time to examine the poster boards of photos that Chloe, Mom, and I spent hours making. The entirety of our lives preserved in the form of 3.5 x 5 inch glossy cardstock.
I feel a light pressure against my shoulder and turn to find Carmen. “Hey kid, how’re you holding up?” The simple question rips open the wound, and tears ready themselves at the corners of my eyes. “Ah, shit, I’m sorry.” She pulls me in for a tight hug, her tailored pantsuit a stark contrast to my flowy black dress.
“It’s okay, I’m okay,” I pull away, forcing a smile. “Dad would not want me to ruin my perfectly good face of makeup before we even start the day.”
“That shit is so expensive, you better make it last!” Carmen mimics an exact conversation we’ve had with Dad so many times in the past.For a man who would spend his life savings to buy his favorite classic car, he sure was a stickler about wasting money.
My attention is pulled from Carmen by my grandparents, who are seated on a couch adjacent to the casket, their eyes swollen and red. “Oh, Jocelyn,” my grandma grabs my arm and pulls me down onto the cushion next to her. “Your father would hate this,” she laughs quietly, but I know she’s right. She wraps her arm around my shoulders, lightly rubbing the skin on my arm. “Have you talked to him yet?”
A rogue tear escapes my eye and I bat it away, glancing up at the casket. “Honestly, I’m afraid to get too close. I might lose it.”
She nods, pulling me in just a little closer. “I promise, he won’t bite.”
I laugh, more heartily than I have in days, and turn to kiss her on the cheek. “I’m just so glad you made it here.”
It took a whopping twelve calls to colleagues and a trip to my hometown hospital and a lot of begging, but I managed to get Grandma medically discharged from the cardiac unit for two days. Two days for her to say goodbye.
“It’s lucky I have a famous granddaughter who can pull strings. Now, we need to talk about you getting me out of there permanently!”
I glance at my grandfather and we simultaneously roll our eyes. “Grandma, you need at least two more surgeries. You know this,” I hesitate just momentarily, “and truthfully, I worry how your heart will handle today and tomorrow.”
She scoffs, releasing me from her grasp.
“Where do you think you got your toughness from? You think that was your father?” She taps her chest with a finger and leans in closer to my face. “That was me, babydoll.”
I press my lips together and blink, two tears sliding slowly down my cheeks.
“Who do you think gave him,” she gestures towards the casket, “the strength to fight like he did?”
“It was you,” I whisper, barely loud enough for her to hear.
“Damn right. So you better recognize that my heart can handle this, and so can yours. We are Carellos.”
A few more tears roll down my cheeks as I straighten in my seat. She’s right.
Who am I kidding? She’s always right.