Alexandra
Isitstiffas a board on the uncomfortable wooden chair, squeezing my fingers as my heels sink into the freshly cut grass. My eyes drift over the assembled mourners, close family, community friends, and my father's ex-military buddies before darting to the sun-bleached, vandalized headstones and weeping stone angels. The gloriously hot rays of sunshine beat down on me, warming my skin but failing to lift my foul mood. For unfathomable reasons, my mother opted for my father's casket to remain open during the service. Her shoulders shake with exaggerated sniffles and whines, grating on my overwrought nerves. I have a hard time figuring out if her grief is genuine or not. She is a hot mess of contradictions I could never understand as a child and frankly never will, no matter how hard I try.
Last night I followed the powerful, gravelly baritone of Johnny Cash singing Hurt, and the foul odor of alcohol and cigarette smoke to the kitchen, where I found my mother slumped on the table, surrounded by empty bottles and an ashtray full of cigarettes. She told me when she was in her early twenties she smoked and drank socially, but after she met my father, he forced her to give up both. I couldn't tell if she was grieving the loss of her husband, her caregiver role, or both. My mother has never been good at showing or sharing emotions. Seeing her in that state made me wonder if she was grieving for the wounded, broken boy that hid behind the abusive, controlling bully. Perhaps it was the boy she fell in love with and kept her from leaving him. For all I know, it might have been a hope or delusion she harbored that she could fix him with her unconditional love and devotion.The lyrics kicked me straight in my gut and gripped my chest with iron claws. I dropped to my knees and pulled her into my arms, squeezing her tight as my heart thundered behind my ribs. She wrapped her arms around me, nestling her head on my shoulder. Closing my eyes, I gently stroked her hair like a mother would when consoling her child. Audible soft cries rippled through the kitchen, making my tears come faster and harder; only to realize when I opened my eyes that it was all me. I pulled away and watched my mother stare despondently into space.
"Okay, I'm off to bed. Long day tomorrow," she rasped out while standing up abruptly. The chair fell on the wooden floor with a thud. "Oops. I might've had too much to drink." A maniacal laughter escaped her. When she stopped, she put her index finger on her lips. "Shhh, it's our secret, don't tell your father. Oh, nooo-he's dead, you can't." She dissolved into another fit of laughter. Grabbing an unopened bottle, she staggered toward her bedroom. I stood in the middle of the kitchen, opening and closing my mouth like a dying fish gasping for air. I had never seen this version of my mother.
Nudging myself back to the present, I glance at my brother George. Scratching his chin, he tilts his head closer to his partner Jacob while keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. Our mother dearest hasn't looked at him or Jacob since he told us they're together and are expecting twins through a surrogate. She surprised us both with her narrow-mindedness and judgmentalism. I always suspected he was gay because whenever they asked him when he would get married, he changed the subject quickly, hiding behind excuses for not having time to date. He also brought none of his previous partners home. It must have been difficult to keep such a massive secret hidden for all these years, but our father would have disowned him if he'd come out while he was still alive.My mother wraps her fingers around my wrist, holding me tightly while David, my father's old military buddy, recounts stories on how funny, thoughtful and selfless he was, and how many lives he saved when they were serving together in the middle east. I scrunch my face into a scowl as raw rage rises in me like a stormy tide. They got to see a side of him I never saw until he was lying on his deathbed. But what if the mask he wore in front of his friends was just a facade the whole time? Because all we ever saw was the bitter, hateful monster who destroyed my self-confidence and crushed my soul.Why couldn't I have had a father who loved, protected, and accepted me? Why did he never buy me anything for my birthday or take me to the fair? Why did I have a father who was never proud of me, no matter how hard I tried to please him? You know it wasn't his fault, I remind myself. No, he had a choice, he could have healed his wounds and changed his story, my mind rages inside me. My upper lip quivers while hot, angry tears burn at the back of my throat. I dig my incisors into the soft flesh of my bottom lip to stop myself from bawling my eyes out. I don't want to lose control. Not now. God, I wish Heidi hadn't had to go back to Seattle.
Relief pours through me when the service ends and the funeral director closes the casket, lowering it into the ground. Hoisting myself to my feet, I step to the side, letting George and Jacob join the line of mourners waiting to say their last goodbyes. My mother clutches her chest, tears streaming down her gaunt, tight-lipped face as she throws a handful of freshly dug soil onto the coffin. Gnawing my lower lip, I fiddle with my necklace, aware of the irritation crawling underneath my skin. She might fool others with her overly dramatic displays of grief, but not me. I can see through her. People cast worried glances in my mother's direction as she staggers off towards the cemetery exit. My brother rushes to her aid, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as Jacob follows them, staying one step behind.Mourners whisper prayers, some throwing soil and others long stemmed white roses into the grave, before leaving quietly, until only I am left to say my goodbye. George approaches me, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows with a click. We've never been close, yet at this moment I want to bridge the distance between us and reach out to him. Maybe the death of our father can help us heal and build a stronger bond. I'll never have children of my own, but there's nothing stopping me from being the greatest aunt in the world.
"Let's go, Allie." He combs his fingers through his short tawny brown hair, sadness dimming the light in his hazel eyes.
"No, you take Mother home. I want to stay a little longer." I wrap my arms around myself protectively.
"You sure? We can wait for you." He fiddles with his tie, frown lines creasing his sun kissed forehead. Shuffling closer, I lay my hand on his arm to reassure him.
"Absolutely. I'll be fine, George. See you later." His gaze searches my face as if asking for permission to step into my personal space. I curve my lips into a weak but genuinely warm smile, giving him the encouragement he needs.
He reaches out to me and pulls me into a hug, whispering something too low for me to hear. Kissing the top of my head, he steps away and gives me one last look, then makes a turn and leaves. Love you too, brother. The graveyard workers hover nearby, waiting for me to move aside so they can do their job. Numbness settles in my heart and limbs, rooting me to the ground. I stare at the brown oaken casket, anguish washing over me. Damn it, he doesn't deserve for me to mourn him, to forgive him. If you expect others to forgive you, then you need to forgive him, Allie. Bending, I scoop a handful of dirt, the soft moisture of the dark freshly dug earth cooling my flaming palm. Unrelenting, bone deep ache constricts my chest, robbing my lungs of air.
"I'm sorry I couldn't say this to you while you were still alive, but I need to bury the anger, resentment, guilt and hate with you in this grave so I can finally heal and move forward with my life."
Bowing my head, I continue. "With this dirt, I release the anger that festered and spread inside me like an emotional cancer. I unshackle myself from the pain that kept me hostage and controlled me, robbing me of the opportunity to trust men and have healthy relationships. I let go of the guilt that I wasn't good enough or perfect enough for you to love me. With this dirt, I forgive you for wounding me, for not being there and for not being the father I needed, and deserved. Rest in peace, Father," the words pour out of me like water flowing through a burst dam.
Tossing the soil, I move aside and silent tears spill down my face as I watch the graveyard workers shovel the mountain of earth inside the grave. The thudding sound of soil clattering against the wooden casket echoes in the air, sending shudders up and down my spine. Wiping my tears with my sleeve, I lift my head and my eyes connect with Sebastian's. My heart guns into overdrive, turning my knees into a mush. Am I hallucinating? I blink to focus my eyes and pull myself together. Nope, I'm not hallucinating. My breath dies in my throat as I study his unshaven face and the dark circles under his eyes. Part of me wants to run to him, but the other wants him to beg for forgiveness. Get off your high horse, I scold myself. You have no right to demand anything when you're hiding a much bigger secret.
With his gaze never leaving mine, he closes the distance between us. The air between us grows thick with unspoken emotion. I inhale deeply, forcing myself to stay in control. His eyes drill into mine, going straight into my heart. But the softness in his gray eyes tells me he understands the pain and sense of loss I'm experiencing right now. Without saying a word, he opens his arms wide. Taking a step forward, I bury my face in his muscular chest, melting into him. As he holds me tight, I let the little girl inside me break down and shatter into a million pieces, knowing that I have finally found my safe harbor. With every fiber of my being, I know he will always be here to pick up the pieces.
"I'm not doing-" my words break up and incoherent sounds escape through my quivering lips. I lock my arms around his neck, holding him as if my life depends on it, my tears and snot soaking his shirt.
"It's okay, I got you. Let it all out, pet." His soothing voice makes me sob harder. Stroking my hair, he lets me fall apart in his arms. "You are strong. We'll get through this together."
The steady rhythm of his heart and the warmth of his embrace seeping into my body calms the storm swirling inside me.
"I'm sorry for blubbering on you and ruining your shirt," I mumble, hiding my face that must look like a scary raccoon.
"Don't worry about my shirt, baby girl. Let's get you all cleaned up." Scooping me in his arms, he carries me outside the cemetery. I drop my head on his shoulder, my eyelids pulling shut as exhaustion crushes through me.
"I love you, Sebastian." My eyes fling open as his body stiffens and I realize what I just said.