It wasn’t the prospect of having to endure my father in the closed quarters of their SUV for twenty minutes—then, however long it took us to get from the funeral procession to the graveyard, too. I could handle that. I was numb to that. It was their inevitable reactions to this news.
Their inevitable disappointment. Surely this would just prove every point my father ever had to make about me. Selfish, careless, destructive, reckless.
But now wasn’t the time to brood on things I couldn’t change. In an hour and a half, the funeral would begin. I forced a smile, glancing back at her. “You look beautiful, Ma.”
“Thank you, Cal,” she smiled, her eyes twinkling with warmth. Gramps used to say that Mom was the belle of the eastern shoreline. A beautiful, kind-hearted girl whose voice and piano skills led her to perform locally. Before her career took off, she met my father, and the rest was history.
She chased an imperfect love instead of her dream, and I’d never caught the single impression that she regretted that choice. She loved Dad with everything that she had, and he loved her too. He loved her well. Even I could see that.
“Maeve! I can’t get this blasted tie—“ Dad abruptly stopped talking, spotting her in my room. His lips flattened into a discontented line, eyes tracing what skin my black suit didn’t cover with disdain.
Mom nodded, smiling at him. She moved toward him, and they disappeared down the hall to their bedroom, Mom talking lowly. I turned to the mirror, casting one last dark glance at myself before grabbing my phone, sliding it into my pocket before heading downstairs.
Connor was seated in the living room. Her head turned to the picturesque window. She looked sad and was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear me.
“Hey,” I said cautiously, leaning against the doorway.
“Oh, hey,” my sister said quickly, standing up. “Are Mom and Dad ready?”
“Almost,” I replied, still watching her with concern. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Her shoulder lifted absently, although she avoided meeting my eyes. “Just not sleeping very well lately, and. Well…” she trailed off, eyes welling a little.
I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around her and hugging her. Words weren’t necessarily; not that I’d be able to harmoniously string enough together to provide any comfort.
Gramps was gone, and nothing I said or did would change that.
Mom’s heels clicked against the wooden staircase as she descended, and I looked up, catching her sad smile. Dad’s jaw was clenched, but his eyes were pinched with sorrow, too. I knew it pained him to see Connor and Mom upset. We were the same in that regard.
He put his arm around Mom and nodded curtly; an acknowledgement, abide silent, of his appreciation. I used to live for those silent nods of approval, broke my back trying to earn them.
“Time to go.” Mom said, feigning a positive note to her tone.
Pulling away, I bopped my sister on her nose. “Come along, Pippy,” I said, using a nickname from her childhood. Connor smiled, rolling her eyes, and pushed past me to loop her arm through Mom’s. They walked out through the front door, leaving Dad and me alone in the foyer.
A prolonged silence fell between us, and for some reason—I waited.
I don’t know what I was expecting; some kind of apology? Some kind of verbal acknowledgement that he didn’t hate me as much as Ifelthe did?
But no words came from my father. Stoic and silent as ever, he grabbed the keys from the bowl on the entry way table and disappeared through the front door, leaving it open for me. I sighed, head bobbing with resignation, and followed.
The funeral home was full of faces, both familiar and unfamiliar. Dare, Evan, and Tai had caught an early flight in, and they were already there when I arrived.
When it was time to sit, I leaned back against the wooden bench, sandwiched between my sister and my mom. I kept my gaze trained to the modest pine casket Gramps rested in.
I was caught in a sorrowful numbness; one that allowed me to acknowledge with precision, the sting of his loss.
The reverend stepped up to the podium, his gentle hazel gaze shifting from us to the rest of the guests in attendance, acknowledging everyone before he began. “Welcome, as we celebrate Frank Murphy, and the imprint he left on us all. Let us begin with the reading of a poem; His Journey’s Just Begun by Ellen Brenneman.”
The pastor paused to collect his breath before continuing in an unwavering baritone. “Don’t think of him as gone away; his journey’s just begun, life holds so many facets, this earth is only one. Just think of him as resting from the sorrows and the tears in a place of warmth and comfort where there are no days and years. Think how he must be wishing that we could know today how nothing, but our sadness can really pass away. And think of him as living in the hearts of those he touched…for nothing loved is ever lost and he was loved so much.”
Connor sniffled beside me, wiping a tissue over her tear-soaked cheeks and running nose. Mom’s jaw trembled, her eyes welling, and I slid both of my hands through theirs, giving them each a squeeze.
I held their hands until the pastor called Mom up to read the eulogy. She shared some of her favourite memories of him, her tears happy as she recalled them. She noted that she would always miss him, but that she was glad he was back in her Mam’s arms again.
After she returned to the bench, it was my turn. Stiff legs carried me to the podium, and I cleared my throat before speaking.
“I owe a lot to my Gramps. He taught me that it’s okay to be sensitive, to express myself. He gave me an outlet to be and do both of those things in music; he taught me how to play the guitar…” I trailed off, my eyes catching movement by the doorway. Harper paused, her eyes locking on mine from across the room.
