Jenn and Michelle fight just before the viewing so only Jenn shows up and I hate them both for being so fucking petty . My adoptive parents have a trip planned that weekend , so my mom comes to the viewing but not the funeral , and I hate that there are only ten people there , that there is no gravestone . My boyfriend of four years escorts me , watches me be a good daughter , and I hate him too , because I know I don ’ t love him . He comes back to my parents ’ house and tries to comfort me , but I send him away because it seems so cheap . I have to sign my name with her rapist husband ’ s last name , because my entire family is ashamed that she gave me away to a woman who loved me better , and I hate that no one sees how brave she was .
Years from now , I ’ ll accompany a different boyfriend to his best friend ’ s father ’ s funeral . I ’ ll dress in black instead of grey , and walk with him from the church to his friend ’ s house . There , I ’ ll be stunned by the sheer amount of mourners — family and bar friends and work friends and neighbors . So many people that , despite it being early December , we have to prop the door open , and let the frigid night air waft in . With a guitar , a brother will lead a small group in singing Neil Young songs , the deceased ’ s favorites , and street light will illuminate their sad-smiling faces . Stories will be told in the dining room , laughter will ring in the kitchen . Homemade Bailey ’ s will be brought out , and a shot given to every mourner — some in proper shot glasses , others in the bottoms of drinking glasses and measuring cups . I ’ ll raise a shot glass with the Tasmanian Devil on it and shout “ To Neil !” with the crowd . As the fire runs down my throat , I ’ ll be struck by the fury of their mourning , like the screams of a thriving newborn compared to the stony silence of a child born dead .
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I do have a favorite memory of her that I might have told at a raucous party in her honor . I was probably supposed to be in bed , but like always , I wasn ’ t doing what I was told . I crept down the steps and she had the old wooden record player going , Billy Joel spinning furiously on deck . She and Gary were pressed together , cheek to cheek , dancing the way older people do with one hand on his shoulder and the other clasped in his . “ Uptown Girl ” seemed to play all night , and they spun around and around the living room . She kept tipping her head back and laughing , but she never broke away from him , and his arm stayed firm around her waist . I was so sleepy , but I couldn ’ t walk away — it was the only time I ’ d seen her look so happy , so alive . I wondered then , like I wonder now , if it was him she loved or just the feeling itself .
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