“Then we should go,” Grams stated emphatically.
“Really? Us?” To be honest, Maisy had considered this herself.
“Yes, us. If this matter has been on your mind all this time, then you need to act on it.”
“Is it appropriate?” Maisy asked, thinking out loud. “I know next to nothing about this woman other than what Chase mentioned.”
“It’s always right to honor the life of someone who has passed. If it’s unlikely any family will attend, then we will be her family.”
“Let’s do it.” This was all the encouragement Maisy needed.
“When are her services?”
Because the matter had weighed on her mind, Maisy had checked online earlier that morning. “As it happens, her celebration of life takes place this afternoon,” Maisy said.
“Then our timing is perfect.”
Once at the local grocery store where Grams preferred to shop, she took out her list and the coupons she’d clipped. Maisy used the app on her phone to add to the super buys for that week. Once the list was complete, her grandmother pushed the cart toward the card aisle.
“We need a sympathy card,” she said.
“We do?”
“It’s the right thing to do, Maisy.”
“Who’s going to read it?” To her way of thinking, a card was a waste of money and cards were expensive. Flowers would be more appropriate, but the expense wasn’t in her budget.
“It doesn’t matter,” Grams insisted. “If we’re going to do this, we need to look like we belong.”
This made little sense to Maisy, but she went along with it, insisting on paying for the card herself.
When they arrived at the funeral home there were a few other cars parked in the lot, which came as a pleasant surprise.
“It doesn’t seem Michelle was as much of a loner as you were led to believe,” her grandmother commented.
Once inside, they found their way to the chapel area. Maisy and her grandmother slipped into the last pew just as the service started. Counting heads, Maisy came up with a total of twenty-five attendees.
The eulogy was poignant. It seemed the minister, who introduced himself as Pastor Jameson, was well into his seventies. He appeared well acquainted with Michelle and spoke highly of her work with the children in the church’s Sunday school. Michelle, he claimed, had a deep love for these little ones. He mentioned the years of loss Michelle had suffered due to alcoholism and the changes that had come about in her life since. When he finished, Maisy noticed several of those attending had tears in their eyes.
This was certainly not the picture Chase had painted of his mother.
When the pastor finished, he looked over the small assembly. “Is there anyone who would like to say a few words?”
A short uncomfortable silence followed before a woman in the front row stood.
Pastor Jameson motioned her forward.
Maisy could tell the woman was nervous. Her mouth trembled and she clenched her hands together to the point that it looked painful.
“Hi,” she said, her voice so weak Maisy had to strain to hear her. “My name is Sandy. Michelle was my sponsor and helpedme gain sobriety. Like Michelle, I buried my pain in a bottle for several years. She was the one who gave me the courage to believe in myself with the help of God. I’d tried for years to quit drinking, failing again and again. I’ll always be grateful for the support, encouragement, and love she gave me.”
Having spoken her piece, Sandy hurriedly returned to her seat. Maisy could see the tears raining down Sandy’s cheeks.
After Sandy spoke, several others seemed willing to share their experiences. An older woman who introduced herself as Gwen stood.
“Michelle was instrumental in saving my life,” she said in a voice that was rusty after what must have been years of heavy tobacco use. Everything about the way the woman spoke and looked revealed that she’d lived a hard life.
“For reasons I’ll never understand, Michelle took me under her wing,” Gwen said, her voice grating and strong. “I didn’t want her friendship, didn’t need it. The only companion and friend I had was alcohol. We were best buds for nearly my entire life. Michelle told me it didn’t need to be that way. I didn’t believe her, but then she told me her own story; although it was nothing like mine, we were both addicted to the bottle. That she was able to break free made me listen to what she had to say.
