Belle: “Oh, what’s that? He’s her BOSS?! This is too good.”
God: “Quick, grab the popcorn! We’re about to get to the really good part where her past hurts bubble up to the surface and she’s forced to deal with them.”
Belle: “Wait. I thought she spent the last nine years healing from all the trauma?”
God: “Concerning losing you, yes. She may have fooled herself into thinking she dealt with all the other drama, but she hasn’t even scratched the surface of that shit storm.” (I don’t know if God would say ‘shit storm’, but in this instance it seems appropriate.)
Belle: *rubs hands together* “Oh, goody. I’m sooo here for this. I can’t wait to see what happens!”
I bang my forehead against the tile wall, annoyed at Belle, the imaginary sadist sister. I know she’d never revel in my misery, but she would find some way to impart wisdom while simultaneously bringing levity to the situation. She’d coax me out of my analysis paralysis, give me the necessary tools to slay my past demons, and then swat me on the butt and say, “Good game, sis!”
I miss you. I need you. Help me through this, please. I can’t do any of it alone.
After I dry off from the shower and slide into my most comfortable sleep shorts and camisole, I crawl into bed and dream of a life without so many complications and uncertainties.
ELEVEN
9 years ago
“Please,please, please don't spit up on your outfit again. If you promise not to, I’ll ensure you get sweet potatoes tonight instead of peas, okay?” I find myself negotiating with a baby, quite certain she doesn't grasp most of my words. On second thought, perhaps she does recognize "sweet potatoes" and "peas," given the former brings a gleam to her eyes and the latter, a defiant spit.
This morning's wardrobe wars with Sunny mark the second round, and with the funeral imminent, my search for another formal attire seems futile. While her attire might not be of utmost importance, I sense Mom would appreciate her dressed in tandem with the family’s somber mood. Rather than hunting for a black dress, I settled for her gray sweater dress, dark blue cotton ones, and a maroon festive dress. As luck would have it, she drenched the most elegant one in regurgitated milk, and the next fell victim to a diaper mishap. The sweater dress is now the last resort unless she's game for footie pajamas at the service — a choice I'd personally favor over a dress any day.
“Alis, it’s time to go!” Mom’s voice echoes for the third time.Evidently, the universe runs on a nine-month-old's timeline today, and she's not in the mood to align with ours.
“Hold on! I’m just putting Sunny’s shoes on. We’ll be right down!” I ponder, why bother with shoes for a baby who doesn’t even walk?
Outfit complete, I snatch her diaper bag, sling my purse across my shoulder, and descend the stairs.
“Apologies, Mom. Another dress mishap meant a fresh start. Where are Alex’s folks?”
“They left with your dad about thirty minutes ago. We agreed to meet at the church.”
I exhale, relieved we didn’t aim for a singular carpool. No limo will shepherd us today since the burial ground adjoins the church. I’m grateful we don’t need to embark on an extended ride, followed by an endless procession to a distant cemetery. With nearly the whole community in attendance, that would've felt eternal. And today, of all days, I lack the fortitude to draw things out any more than needed.
Once Sunny is safely buckled into her car seat, we head to the church, the very place where I'm slated to eulogize my sister in front of the entire town. What was I thinking when I agreed to this?
Avoiding eye contact, I unbuckle Sunny and carry her into the sanctuary. While I realize it might come off as rude to ignore others, I bank on my preoccupation with Sunny to be a good enough reason. A moment alone before the service would have been ideal, but Sunny’s wardrobe malfunctions set us back.
Belle’s casket is closed. So is Alex’s. I yearn for one last glimpse of them, even though I understand why open caskets were out of the question. A cold shiver travels up my spine at the thought of my sister enclosed in a box. She's not there, Alis. She's free. Now isn't the time to indulge your claustrophobia.
As we settle into our seats, the soft hum of background music fades, and Reverend Thomas steps up to the podium.
“Good morning, friends. On behalf of the families of Alex and Isabelle Donnelly, I welcome you to this celebration of life. Both Alexand Isabelle were cherished members of our congregation, and I was blessed to have known them.”
The reverend continues sharing personal memories of his interactions with both Alex and Belle, including the day Belle was baptized, and when she brought Alex back from Ireland.
Before I know it, he signals me forward. The weight of the moment hits, and panic courses through my veins.I’m not ready for this. I’m going to break down on that stage.My palms are sweating as I adjust the microphone to my much-shorter stature.
“Hello, everyone. I deeply appreciate you all joining us today to remember Belle and Alex. The outpouring of messages, flowers, prayers, and comforting embraces over the past few days has been overwhelming. Loss like this is not something we could have ever prepared for, and I know it’s because of the strength you’ve lent us that we’ve made it this far.
“I’d like to start by sharing my favorite memories of Alex. Despite being a newcomer, he quickly found his place in our tight-knit community. I still chuckle remembering his first solo grocery run after moving in with Belle. He returned, utterly bewildered, sharing how Julie at the checkout had never heard of 'black pudding.' I played along, feigning similar surprise, all the while clueless about what black pudding was myself.
“Alex was one of the smartest men I’ve ever met, and no matter what new hobby or sport he tried, he always seemed to be the best. He was never arrogant or pretentious, but had a humble heart and attitude in all things. He truly was the best brother I could have hoped for.
“More than anything, Alex loved my sister and their daughter, Sunny. Belle nagged me about my lack of dating life these past few years, but what she didn’t realize was that between watching our dad love our mom all these years and then watching Alex love her and Sunny, I had two nearly perfect examples of how a man should love a woman, a father should love his daughter, and there’s no way I’d settle for anything less.
“I miss my brother every day, and I’ll miss him every day for therest of my life. He was truly an incredible man, and our community will forever feel his loss.”
