Deeds of a mourner
Funerals are always tricky - this one was no exception. I got out of the hearse and saw dozens of family members in the car park: there was Aunt Jessica, standing with a permanent grimace next to her partner Derek, his head bowed. And my Nan, Grandad, and Cousin Mark. The rest were irrelevant to me. For my older brother, Dylan, (or Dyl for short) that's a bigger crowd than he’d expect.
Mind you, he thought only two people would attend - me and Mark.
I started to walk into the funeral hall, a step out of reality and with my throat hoarse from crying. My voice was just a croak, but luckily, I had time before my eulogy.
The room was painted a pale lavender, reminiscent of a dead body. It made my stomach churn. I thought to myself “This didn’t look like the best place to put the dead to rest.”
I found a pew in the top right of the room and sat down; Mark sat down next to me. I gave a slight nod to him and hoped he couldn’t see the tear stains on my face. With my Cousin, it didn’t matter - you could run him over and he’d still try to be understanding... Probably.
Admittedly, Bohemian Rhapsody isn’t the song you expect to hear as the coffin gets carried through the aisle, but you’ve got to admit it sure as hell is a send-off.
Luckily, hymn no. 5 was about to come up., Not that Dyl wanted hymns - he thought God was a piece of shit, but when you’re put in charge of a funeral and your Gran, Grandad and the ghost of your parents look at you like the family disappointment, and try to hijack the funeral planning, you feel obliged to put in a couple of songs to appease them.
I guess I should feel lucky there’s something to guide Dyl into the afterlife; I can pretend he is safe. I’m not sure about everyone else, with the way Aunt Jessica is acting, they don’t give a fuck.
Once the song and the unwanted hymn played it was my time to give the reading. This bit I don’t mind, standing in front of the family at the podium. I get the words, out easily, the ‘ ‘I love you’s’ and the ‘we shared many good times’, knowing no one could touch these words with silly hymns or crocodile tears. They were mine - untouchable, unreadable.
Yet, in the corner of my eye, Aunt Jessica had the audacity to whisper to her partner (who's trying to hide he’s on his phone… In church). I grip my sheet of paper a little harder. They do know I’m speaking, right? She does know that, technically, this is my moment to say goodbye? I keep getting the words, but instead of my decent repetition, I got choked up by festering (?) anger, instead of grief.
This isn’t how my final recount of my brother pranking me on my 16th with silly string they took that moment away from me right now!
I finish my reading, bow my head, and go back to my pew through, gritted teeth
The next reading is from my Gran, small and could nag you to death… She sure as hell did it to me and Dylan enough. Her black attire washed her out.
“Thank you for coming here today. We're here to celebrate the life of Dylan, my grandson,” It was a typical opening and it was a decent speech. Almost nothing was wrong with it… Almost.
Then the hypocrisy began, as Nan continued, `We always told Dyl we loved him, although they had a bad time, he knew we always had their best interest at heart and could always come to us.”
LIE! You were never satisfied with what he did, you never displayed any pride, .not ever! I continued listening to the speech, biting my lip. Granted, my Nan might not know this, but surely, she should have some inkling, right? Maybe I’m being too harsh, or maybe I’m not. From that moment, I stayed fixated on the speech. We had another song (and a couple of prayers I rejected at the time of organising the funeral, but even though I was in charge Nan and Grandad vetoed that). Not that they knew what my brother needed or wanted. When he fell on the floor because he couldn’t feel his feet, it was left to me to sort out his medication, me. They never visited him before his death.
Once the hymns ended, I walked –Well, tried to walk back to the car but,. I’m sure it was more of a dash. I clenched my fists, kept my head down, and ignored everyone as I opened the door. Now to get through the wake. I dreaded being back at Dyl’s flat and the miserable buffet.
As I sat down, my Cousin got in next to me, instead of going with his Mum and Dad, “You’re not okay either, huh,” he said sadly, putting a hand on my shoulder, and then putting his seatbelt on.
I was grateful for the comfort; It was one of the few things I felt instead of being numb in the pit of my core., At least with Mark I could trust he meant it.
“No shit, Sherlock,” I said to him. “It would be better if your Mum and Dad weren’t being dicks!”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Nan and Grandad didn’t give Dyl the funeral he wanted, ignored me for what he wanted, even though I was his carer for months! Then had the fucking audacity to say they cared! This is bullshit!” I said exasperated, so furious I had a hard time buckling my seatbelt.
“It’s unfair, I know - I remember the 1AM phone calls, Em, don’t worry… Listen. We’ll just get the buffet sorted at your flat and then we can complain in peace,” He looked at me. Mark being sad is new, but then the loss of Dylan is new too.
“Dylan's flat,” I corrected him.
The car ride back to Dyl’s flat was one of mutual silence, which wasn’t broken ‘til I got through the front door and into the dining room. Everything remained the same -, same tattered sofa, same TV that liked to move from HDMI1 to TV on a whim, and on the coffee table in the living room a picture of me and Mark with Dyl, his hair side-swept, his smile full. This was taken before the times where I was helping carry him from the bathroom to his bed, counting up to sixteen different meds before the chronic cough swept in and pneumonia took him.
Mark poked me in the arm, “Earth to Em, where do you want me to put the food?”
The food was set up; sandwiches, sausage rolls, and canapés were all laid on a table in the kitchen.
Jessica and her partner were already here and helping themselves to the buffet, Nan and Grandad are late, which is unusual for them… Car crash? Decided not to come? No, they’d ring, wouldn’t they? I notice their absence with around 40 family members packed into a small flat. I’m struggling to move through.
How? My brother was just laid to rest! Do they all hate him this much?
The buzzer went loudly, picking me up from whatever anxious day dream I was having. went to get the door, sighing as I opened it.
They gave me a hug and continued into the kitchen.
“Hmm, you haven’t redecorated yet, have you?” She said with a disgusted look on her face. “Maybe you should, it's your flat now. We can help get it ready for you.”
Why would I change it when this is what I’m used to? I’ve lived here as Dyl’s carer for 4 years. I'm used to his home - my home- being like this, are they trying to erase his memory already? Like the coffee table they took from Mum and Dad after they died?
“Don’t worry about it now, Nan, just grab a sandwich.” I took their coats and hung them on the door before grabbing a plate of food.
“Nan start on you?” Mark said coming up behind me to grab a sausage roll and seeing my face, he said, “That's a yes!” I assume it was one of thunder or one with an eye roll, either way, I was starting to get even more deflated than this morning.
I decided to speak to Aunt Jess and Derek (not that I wanted to) whenever I looked at them, I felt my hands gripping tightly over the paper that contained my speech, but my Mum would smite me if I wasn’t polite.
Going to the corner of the room, they were talking to one of the family members on Dad's side, Trish I think, she was going grey and you’d mistake her for my Gran at first glance, but she’s taller.
“Eh up, love, how are you feeling?” Asked my uncle smiling at me.
“I’m alright Derek, thanks, funeral went alright, I guess.” I replied, my voice quiet and meek, a sign I was getting fed up with the smiley mourners.
“It was a lovely service now, darling. Hey, now, he’s at peace, he’ll be up there walking now, you know.’ Jessica added between mouthfuls of sandwich.
Did she just insinuate what I think she just insinuated? I’m not having that, that isn’t right. Somehow, my stomach felt a blaze and not numb or deflated anymore.
“Are you saying that not being able to walk is worse than death? Are you saying his life was worthle –”
“Oh… Er no ‘cour –”
“Good, because you weren’t here for the past few years! Heck, where the fuck were ya when he was screeching in pain and I didn’t get a wink?” I might be numb in some areas, but I was aware enough to see the stain of shame on her face.
“You don’t get to say the value of his life, you don’t tell me or him whether he was in pain! Dyl would tell you but he isn’t here.” I say with an added bit of venom and leave the conversation to go and find Mark.
Except I couldn’t see him in the living room; all I could see were family members I wanted to punch, either by association, or because they’re hypocritical pricks pretending to be nice to ‘respect the dead’. How could they be so talkative and loud today?
I called out for him; my voice shaky. He runs up, guides me to a chair, and grabs me a cup of water. It’s cold, but it works to calm me down.
“Em, you’re not okay. Go get some rest,” he says quietly so no one notices the weird moment I just had. I swear I can feel Jessica’s eyes leering at me… Would be the first time this family notices something!
“No, it’s fine. Just give me a minute, just need to be away from those fucks.” I nod my head towards our aunt and uncle.
“With every second I’m glad they ain’t my parents. Want some food?”
“No, thanks. Go talk to someone else if you want, I’ll be fine.” I sipped another bit of water. Mark raised his eyebrows at me but then left to go and join his Mum and Dad.
I was starting to calm down till my Nan and Grandad came up to me, “Emily Parker, why are you sitting down? Go and socialise, everyone will think you're impolite.” Nan grabbed the water out of my hand and put it next to the sink in the kitchen.
Why can’t she leave me alone to grieve how I want? I’m literally sitting down. Surely, they’d understand, would it make it easier for them to notice if I started to look at the photo on the coffee table? I took the photo and I went to the tattered sofa from the car boot sale of ‘09 and stared at the photo trying to remember some of the good times. I felt a bit more complete looking at the photo. It was a memory where Dyl managed to get a strike rolling the ball backward at the bowling alley, and Mark spilled slushy on himself. I chuckled. It felt a bit silly at his funeral and hypocritical seeing as I’ve moaned at everyone else. I didn’t see them plan this funeral, though.
“Emily, go and present –” I could hear my Nan cutting off the complaint as she saw the photo in my hands. “That's one of my favourite photos of you three, it's a bit old though Em… Don’t you ever feel like changing it?”
“No.” I say sternly.
“But there's plenty of others you know, if you went for the one on the –”
“I said NO didn’t I,” it was bold of me to use such a stern tone.
“But it’ll be good for you, y’know,” she says grabbing for the photo frame.
“I don’t care, I like these photos, Nan.” I try to move the photo out from her grasp but she manages to knock it to the floor and it breaks.
The picture doesn’t shatter, but there is an epicentre of cracks around Dyl’s face. Heat rises up from my stomach again, I know it's only a photo frame, but that's the original, the one Dylan wanted and now I have to change it, and I don’t want it to change. I'm comfortable with how this house is.
Everybody is staring now.
“Why can you never leave me bloody alone when needed to, and when you are actually damn needed, you’re not here!” I shout picking up the photo frame and putting it back on the coffee table, now out of place.
“I’m-...” Nan stuttered.
“Shut it, you’re not! if you were, you would’ve been here two years ago helping me with my brother. Why are you always so useless?”
I can hear a ‘whoa’ coming from somewhere before my grandad comes along.
“Listen, Em, we can replace the photo frame, okay? Calm down.”
“No, you shut it! You couldn't let Dyl have the music he wanted. You didn't visit him once in the last year when he couldn’t get out of bed. Heck - even his own funeral had to have hymns in to suit your needs, I can't even keep the original damned photo frame!” They looked to the floor. I wanted to run away right now, but I didn’t want them to know this. I shut up and stare at the floor. I can’t ruin Dyl’s funeral.
Well, that was till I heard the words be (not so well) whispered from Aunt Jessica to Derek, “Would help if he wasn’t a psycho that got himself in a mental institution every other month.”
I flung at her. I shouldn’t have, but to disrespect my brother - my Dyl -like that, on this day, wasn’t going to go unchallenged. As I lunged at her I shouted, “What did you just say?” And tried to slap her. I'm not sure if anything landed. All I know is that the pull of a defensive family member was keeping my muscles going. Many family members tried to break us up. Mark was struggling and had to ask his Dad to help. They separated us; I was a bit too strong and between me, Mark and his Dad, we broke the coffee table. The photo frame went flying, going to pieces this time.
The sound of the photo frame breaking, like an ice lake cracking open, was the thing that got me out of my fight. Seeing the table splintered was a surprise. The photo frame hurt more though; I know it was broken by my standards before, but this was worse - I could barely get the original fixed now, and the photo was all torn up.
Great, more things of my brothers I’ve lost. More change I didn’t need. I didn’t need them here neither. Did they help? No. I admit the table breaking was my fault, but Nan started it. why can’t these people let me grieve in my own way!
“Get out!” I shouted as the rage at losing more parts of my brother from my life became too much. I repeated it over and over again, throwing cushions and then breaking down crying as more people started to leave. I was still crying in the middle of the living room when I felt two arms around me and the line, “I get it Em, calm down,” being repeated to me over and over. I was surprised he stayed but then he’s the only decent one in the family… He must be if he wants to comfort in the oblivion, I caused to Dyl’s flat, knowing I couldn’t even get past the wake.