I have to admit that I dreaded today. I dreaded getting dressed and driving across town. I packed a pocket pack of kleenex in my purse, there was 15 kleenex in it.
Those 15 kleenex went quick..maybe because they were teeny. I mean, absolutely freaking microscopic. Barely enough to wipe my nose and I have to add a little humor to this because I kept thinking about it the whole time..I had to blow my nose so badly in that church, and I couldn't because I don't have a petite nose blowing sound..at all.
So, instead I kept sniffing and rubbing and kleenex after kleenex..thank god Mandy was genius and actually packed real kleenex. Thank you Mandy.
I was touched by the words of a son speaking of his father and of a close friend reminiscing about adventures he had with a best friend. I was touched to hear the words of my husband through another man's voice and I realized that despite only knowing David for 6 years, that if you knew him, you really knew him. It was obvious when you spoke to him to know the things he loved.
Today after the service, we all piled into the hall for a reception. Mounds of poeple, lined up to sign the memory book, to look at pictures, to console each other, to eat, laugh and wait to catch a glimpse of the family and hope that you can get in a hug or a special memory.
I was overjoyed to see two friends who were expecting, because what a lift after such a sad week. To see these two ladies, eagerly expecting new babies. New life. It was a ray of sunshine in a cloudy room.
As the hours passed, I managed to finally get a hold of myself. I maintained composure after talking to Abby, David's lovely daughter. What a rock that girl is. Seriously. You know what she did when she saw me? She asked me how I was? ME! Then she hugged Nick and asked him how HE was. I couldn't believe it. This girl who lost her father, was asking us how we were coping and if we were okay. It surprised me and then we talked about some funny moments and about her mother and as she walked away, I was still shocked, that she was solid and kept it together and most of all, that she was worried if WE were okay.
I commented to her on the memory book, she said she couldn't stand the guest books that funeral homes provide. I agreed with her and she said she didn't want a generic book for her father, for friends to sign, instead she put together a scrapbook of sorts, with one picture on each page and enough room for everyone to leave a favorite memory. Next to the book was a large basket filled with dried lavendar, in small mesh bags. One for us to take with us, a small token of David, from his garden.
I mingled and chatted and sat with old friends. When Pat entered the room, I slowly made my way towards her, taking my time, waiting, so as not to ambush her. I stopped to talk to Sean. We chatted about everyday things and somehow our conversation got around to Nick. And right there, in the middle of that room of poeple, time seemed to stop as he told me something about my husband and David, something that touched my heart so much, that I started to sob. I couldn't stop. I had no more kleenex because the micro pack was all used up! So I used my sleeve. yes, my sleeve. I had too. I motioned to Sean that the tears were because what he said made me happy, that they touched me. He hugged me and told me quietly that I should keep it to myself, because really, it was something that I would. always.
That small moment, those few words that he said, touched me and filled me with the joy I needed to push the sadness out. Boy, did I need to do that. I still feel sad, undeniably sad. And angry. But I know that it won't do me any good and that brief moment helped get me through that.
It was only a few seconds after I stopped crying when Gary motioned to me and Sean said 'I punched her in the face'.
And Gary nodded and walked away.
So that's what I told poeple who saw me. Of course we all knew it was a joke, please!
I finally got my moment with Pat. What a sweet, sweet lady. I tried so desperately to keep it together while she hugged me, I sucked in the tears and reminded her that I'm here, even if for a coffee or lunch or a movie. She asked me how I was and if WE were ok. WHAT?! She said she wanted to bring us cookies! I told her no and she said yes, because she was overwhelmed with cookies.
As I said good-bye, I patted myself on the back because I hadn't broken down, I kept it together, when I needed to the most! And then, she hugged Nick and she said "Nick, how are YOU?" and I lost it.
I am a blubbering idiot.
This woman, who lost her husband, her best friend, was worried about us, and everyone else. She was unbelievable and strong and sweet. I don't know how she was doing it, I was flabbergasted. I hadn't seen her lose it and I admired her strength.
And then..she lost it. And I had to leave the room. I can't stand it. I can't stand it anymore.
I'm sad. I'm heartbroken and I am sad damnit! I'm angry and pissed off.
I know I have told myself that I can't be angry forever, but I can be angry for awhile. I'm devastated and sad for this family and for my husband and for all of structures. Aren't funerals supposed to be closure? I guess for some they are. I guess for some, they bring peace and comfort. What about for those of us who don't want the comfort? What about for those of us who would rather not have had to be there, for a man who was entirely too young and full of life to have a funeral today?
I admire Pat and Abby and even Daniel's strength. I am envious of their courage and kindness. I know that somewhere in that reception hall today, that someone else was there watching and admiring them too. Proud that his family was doing exactly what he would have done. Worry about friends and comfort those who are sad too. Who miss their friend. Who wish he was still here.
It's strange for me peeps. I am having a hard time saying good-bye. But I want to thank Sean, for giving me a special secret to keep. For something I desperately needed to hear and keep close. I guess, that was my comfort today, a brief moment with a friend, a secret to keep forever that means so very much to me. That will bring me comfort when I am having a hard time saying good-bye.
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