12
“You’re worrying me,” Mom says, sitting on the edge of the couch. I look up at the clock, a few minutes before noon. “Sydney called me in a panic. You haven’t been answering her texts. Hell, you haven’t been answering my texts or calls either.”
“I just need to be alone. No one seems to understand that.”
Mom starts rubbing circles on my back, settling back into the cushion. “I understand completely. I lost your father. Hell, so did you. You should know it’s going to be tough, but you’ll get past it. Not now, not tomorrow, but you will.”
“He was my best friend.”
Mom sighs. “I know sweetie. Your father was my best friend. It’s going to take time.
Even now it’s still rough some days, but each day is a bit easier than the last.” She stands up from the couch, hovering over me.
“But you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t go to the service.
If you never give yourself the opportunity for a proper goodbye. ”
* * *
I’m sitting in the front row of chairs at the cemetery, flanked on both sides by Syd and Mom.
The world is muted, the words spoken about Michael sound distant and garbled. It’s taking everything in me to survive this moment, survive long enough so I can get back to the safety of the condo.
But one thing isn’t lost on me. I’ve done a quick assessment of who came to say goodbye to Michael. And not a single one of his family members showed.