“The silence is killing me.”
“Me, too.” But there’s nothing else to do. Talking and listening will only make me say or hear things I don’t want to hear or know . Dad and I have walked around one another like shadows in a house that’s dying.
He’s been on the phone. I know he’s making “arrangements” which is why I don’t want to be here. Don’t want to talk. Don’t want to listen.
“There’s been an offer for— ”
“For what?” I snap.
Dad sighs. “For your mom to be buried at Arlington. With all the war correspondence and…”
Shit. Bury Mom. Mom. Tears should stream down my face , but it’s like I’m too numb for them to come. No relief. Not for me. Bury. Underground. Mom. Because she’s gone. She does n’t need air. Bury, bury, bury… Coffins . Suffocation. Mom.
I grab my hair with my hands and wish I could push or pull or scream loud enough to make everything different. Make everything change. Instead I push it down. Push my tears back. I start to lock it all up. I can hold it in. H old it back. I ’ll just have to push harder, work harder.
Dad steps toward me.
“Get out of her room!” I scream. My voice is hoarse and not working right.
He back s up into the hallway.
I breathe in. T he faint smell of her favorite perfume is here, but for how long? How long will it be before she fades away?
- - -
I’m in a suit. A fucking suit, because people want to tell me how sad they are and how much they’ll miss my mom. My mom. Not theirs. Mine .
Even Dad looks decent.
It’s all real.
This is Mom’s services in New York . And I know she wouldn’t think she was worthy of Arlington, but she deserves it . She won’t be buried while we’re here .
A limo picks us up. Dad tries to tell me about money and the apartment. I know how much money Mom has. She’s always been open with me. We’re in a smaller apartment than we need to be in. She drives a small Mercedes when she drives. I have a shitload of money , and I don’t care. At all.
The room is packed. Who the hell organized a funeral at the Plaza? Mom would have rolled her eyes. Dad and I are ushered to the front. People I would have bragged abou t being friends with a week ago shake my hand, give me hugs and wipe tears as I walk past, but I don’t care. Screw them all. Whatever sadness they feel is nothing like what’s chewing on my insides. I don’t feel their hands when we shake. I do n’t meet their eyes. W e don’ t share the same pain. The same loss. No way.
Dad’s quiet next to me. He doesn’t put an arm around me. Doesn’t try to tell me everything will be okay. He knows as well as I do that none of this is okay. He’s close, though. And my dad is someone I never thought I’d gain comfort from, but he’s what I have right now.
My eyes well up with tears at that thought. Mom’s supposed to be all I have. Couldn’t Dad die in a boating accident or something and leave me my mom? If on e parent had to go, why did it have to be her ? I suck in a breath and push it down and in— into the steel cage I’m building to keep this locked up. I’m not going to be the freak show in the front row that can’t stop crying.
Someone stands at a podium. He starts to talk about Mom , Liz Preston . I want to scream at him. That’s her news name. Mom’s Olivia and goes by Liv. For TV she goes by Elizabeth, and then by default, Liz. But it’s not her, not who she is. So seriously, what the hell does he know? He didn’t know her. Not like I did. My stomach seizes up as I see the coffin behind him. Mom pre-picked it. No doubt. Simple, metal, functional. Shit. She’s in there. Mom’s in there.
I look away. This is hell. Really, and truly. This is hell. Mom’s right there, but she isn’t the re. Not anymore. Where did she go and why can’t she come back? I sit back in my chai r. Dad’s eyes are on me. I know him well enough to know he’s worried. Hell, I’m worried. I don’t know what to do with all the
“Me, too.” But there’s nothing else to do. Talking and listening will only make me say or hear things I don’t want to hear or know . Dad and I have walked around one another like shadows in a house that’s dying.
He’s been on the phone. I know he’s making “arrangements” which is why I don’t want to be here. Don’t want to talk. Don’t want to listen.
“There’s been an offer for— ”
“For what?” I snap.
Dad sighs. “For your mom to be buried at Arlington. With all the war correspondence and…”
Shit. Bury Mom. Mom. Tears should stream down my face , but it’s like I’m too numb for them to come. No relief. Not for me. Bury. Underground. Mom. Because she’s gone. She does n’t need air. Bury, bury, bury… Coffins . Suffocation. Mom.
I grab my hair with my hands and wish I could push or pull or scream loud enough to make everything different. Make everything change. Instead I push it down. Push my tears back. I start to lock it all up. I can hold it in. H old it back. I ’ll just have to push harder, work harder.
Dad steps toward me.
“Get out of her room!” I scream. My voice is hoarse and not working right.
He back s up into the hallway.
I breathe in. T he faint smell of her favorite perfume is here, but for how long? How long will it be before she fades away?
- - -
I’m in a suit. A fucking suit, because people want to tell me how sad they are and how much they’ll miss my mom. My mom. Not theirs. Mine .
Even Dad looks decent.
It’s all real.
This is Mom’s services in New York . And I know she wouldn’t think she was worthy of Arlington, but she deserves it . She won’t be buried while we’re here .
A limo picks us up. Dad tries to tell me about money and the apartment. I know how much money Mom has. She’s always been open with me. We’re in a smaller apartment than we need to be in. She drives a small Mercedes when she drives. I have a shitload of money , and I don’t care. At all.
The room is packed. Who the hell organized a funeral at the Plaza? Mom would have rolled her eyes. Dad and I are ushered to the front. People I would have bragged abou t being friends with a week ago shake my hand, give me hugs and wipe tears as I walk past, but I don’t care. Screw them all. Whatever sadness they feel is nothing like what’s chewing on my insides. I don’t feel their hands when we shake. I do n’t meet their eyes. W e don’ t share the same pain. The same loss. No way.
Dad’s quiet next to me. He doesn’t put an arm around me. Doesn’t try to tell me everything will be okay. He knows as well as I do that none of this is okay. He’s close, though. And my dad is someone I never thought I’d gain comfort from, but he’s what I have right now.
My eyes well up with tears at that thought. Mom’s supposed to be all I have. Couldn’t Dad die in a boating accident or something and leave me my mom? If on e parent had to go, why did it have to be her ? I suck in a breath and push it down and in— into the steel cage I’m building to keep this locked up. I’m not going to be the freak show in the front row that can’t stop crying.
Someone stands at a podium. He starts to talk about Mom , Liz Preston . I want to scream at him. That’s her news name. Mom’s Olivia and goes by Liv. For TV she goes by Elizabeth, and then by default, Liz. But it’s not her, not who she is. So seriously, what the hell does he know? He didn’t know her. Not like I did. My stomach seizes up as I see the coffin behind him. Mom pre-picked it. No doubt. Simple, metal, functional. Shit. She’s in there. Mom’s in there.
I look away. This is hell. Really, and truly. This is hell. Mom’s right there, but she isn’t the re. Not anymore. Where did she go and why can’t she come back? I sit back in my chai r. Dad’s eyes are on me. I know him well enough to know he’s worried. Hell, I’m worried. I don’t know what to do with all the
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