Jen's in-laws are watching the boy, so E and I can go in and see dad together. By this time I've had it and the two of us just stand there until the people waiting behind gently herd us to the back of the church.
There are a lot of people. It's hard to say that without seeming proud of that fact, but I was - and there were a lot of people.
Mom had stopped near the entrance to the church and a line of people formed almost instantly - each person waiting their turn to offer condolences to the widow. Mom kept moving forward to greet people and soon she was in the driveway, with people lined up into the parking lot in the sun. I brought her inside so at least these people would be in the shade.
E's sister arrived with her husband, they'd had a hell of a trip up from Chicago, but they were here.
Jen moved through the crowd greeting and visiting - she knew so many of them, and she was always better at this sort of thing. I found an out of the way place to stand and readied my pat responses. Thank you. Yes. Thank you.
A classmate, a co-worker, uncles, cousins. They keep coming and I run out of things to say.
The service begins, and we file into our reserved seats. Front row, center. Three feet from dad's casket.
The pastor tries hard, but there's nothing he can say to me. He'd barely met my father, and is only a little older than I am. He talks of an end to suffering and is mercifully brief.
A family friend sings my dad's favorite hymns. It is for me, the first genuine moment of the service.
Then L stands to deliver the eulogy. He's been a wreck all morning, but there's no doubt he'll pull it together. He's a politician, a former radio host, and a natural showman. He's polished, funny and well-spoken - and I am in no mood for any of it.
He said "Guess God must have wanted something fixed." I laughed - we all did - but it was the kind of joke that goes sour almost instantly. I stare at the casket and go into my own head.
Part of me has been wanting to speak at the funeral since that first day. I'd been mentally preparing ever since. Mom put paid to that idea when she said that the wanted the funeral to be short and simple. "I don't want this to turn into a drawn out affair," she'd said more than once.
It was the right decision for so many reasons. If she invited more than one person to talk, everyone would. A prolonged lament wouldn't be good for anyone.
I really wanted to say something, though. Say all the things I'd never said to dad when he was alive. My eulogy would not have been uplifting. It would have been filled with self-reproach, self-pity and regret. I doubt I would have been able to pull it off in front of a crowd. It would have been exactly the kind of thing mom wanted to avoid.
The service ends and the family stands and files out behind the coffin. I've spent the end of the service shutting out the whole room, so it's a bit of a sudden realization that we will be walking out first - past the entire congregation. As if anyone would care what I looked like, I try to keep my composure on the way out. This holds until I run into some friends from college I didn't know were coming. A&C had somehow found out and driven until they were standing right in front of me. They are such decent people - and the sight of them just ruins me.
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