Like death is supposed to be normal.
That is how it felt when I was younger and I went to funerals for family members I never even met before. Like my mom’s aunt Beatrice from Florida. We visited her when I was a baby so, of course, I didn’t remember who she was. Walking into the funeral home, I clutched my mom’s skirt, wide-eyed and wondering what everyone was crying over. My mom lifted me up so I could see inside the coffin. She told me that Beatrice died. I knew I was supposed to feel something, something like sadness. It looked like she was sleeping and that was it. I didn’t understand. I didn’t know who she was.
I didn’t feel anything.
Looking back on my limited experiences of death, I can’t glean anything useful. I can’t pin down the feelings that are pushing on my whole body with their sparks and twinges of pain and shame and misery. It is nothing I have felt before.
In the car, I didn't anticipate how much I would fidget. I can’t sit still, not even for a second. My foot taps, my fingers tap, I crack my knuckles, and I pick at the edges of my fingernails. I must be driving Kaitlin up the wall with my incessant moving, but I can’t tell. I think she knows I'm having a rough time and she lets it go for my sake. My mom and Maurice keep quiet, although I feel my mom wanting to try to talk to me. She has tried since Monday but I haven't been responding. My mind was spinning, reeling over what has come about. Being alone with my thoughts wasn’t what I wanted, but how could she begin to understand what I'm going through when I can barely understand?
Stepping into the funeral home, I am greeted with wall-to-wall black clothing. I scan the crowds looking for Chevy, but all I see are people from school and neighbors. I look away before they make eye contact. I don’t want to talk to them. I don’t want to talk at all. I'm afraid even to talk to Chevy, but I need to. He's been avoiding me since the hospital. I tried to call him, I tried stopping by. He would not talk to or see anyone. Roger has been trying to help him out as well, to no avail. Seymour is the one I talked to every time all week. He has been attempting to keep Noreen above water but has not been able to reach Chevy.
Lyndsay wordlessly comes up to me and pulls me into her arms. She holds me tight and then whispers into my ear, “I’ll sit with you if you would like me to.” I nod yes while she is still holding me. “Okay,” she says. “You’re going to be alright.” She takes my arm in hers and our families all enter the room.
By the time I find Chevy standing near the front of the room, there’s not enough time before the eulogy starts for me to go up to him. I am barely able to listen to what is said. I keep thinking I'm going to see John. Like this whole section of my second time through this life is the part that is really a dream. The heart attack was just a horrible prank that my subconscious is playing on me. I am going to wake up, and he will be alive. It needs to be fake because there is no way this can be real.
Some people get up in front of everyone to talk about John Thompson’s life. It gives me a glimpse into who John really was behind the alcoholism. A baseball fan, a car restorer, a former guitar player in a band in high school… I barely knew him. Yet I feel this connection to him beyond what is normal. I watched him die once. To see him die again is almost too much to handle.
I am beginning to question this second chance. I am feeling a strange feeling…like a mixture of guilt coupled with unexplainable distress that makes me want to jump out of my own skin.
It terrifies me.
I make my way up front afterwards and walk up to the casket to pay my respects. It's hard to look at him. He looks like my great aunt Beatrice—sleeping. My hand involuntarily reaches out to him, as if he was still here, but I flinch back at the last second. I hate open caskets. Seeing somebody lying dead in front of me, it pains my heart. Seeing their eyes closed, never to open again. Seeing their still chest, never to breathe again.
Seeing their lifeless body, lowered into the ground.
The anger spreads through my being. I touch the side of the casket and lean in, whispering, “You shouldn’t be gone,” as I force myself to hold in the tears.
There's a line of people surrounding the family. I stand behind them, anxiety rising inside of me. When I reach the front, Chevy is nowhere in sight. Where is he? I gather myself together and go up to Noreen. She pulls me in for a hug before I can even speak to her. I whisper quickly, “I am so sorry.”
She whispers into my ear, “Thank you so much for being there for us at the hospital.”
Tears begin to well up in my eyes. I whisper back, “Of course.”
She pulls back and holds on to both my shoulders. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Of course,” I say again.
“Please try to find Chevy and talk to him. He escaped right after the services. He'll listen to you. I need him right now.” All I can do is nod. She lets go of me and is enveloped in another hug.
I step out of the way and take in what she said. Find him, talk to him. It is the first and last thing I want to do. It scares me to go up to him. What do I say to him? I don't know how to console someone who has lost a parent. I'm afraid he won't want me there. Will not want to be consoled.
Like before.
Then I remember. This is my second chance. He needs a friend. Whether he wants it or not, he needs it. I need to do this. For him.
I sneak my way out of the building, avoiding anybody who may stop me on my way out. I open the door to a clouded-over sky. The fresh air reinvigorates me, if only a little bit to keep me walking. I look around and spot the park across the street. It's the same one Chevy and I were at not long ago. Something tells me he is in there. I look both ways, run across, and start down the path. It's nearly desolate, likely due to the threat of rain.
It doesn’t take long to find him. He's sitting on a bench facing the duck pond under a tree. He is leaning forward, staring into the distance. He seems almost as helpless as he did when I saw him in the cemetery. The fear of what he will say almost takes over. I can’t let fear win. It won in round one. Round two is not one for chickens. I swallow my pride and sit down on the bench next to him.
He doesn’t turn his head but he knows it's me. I hear his breathing change slightly at my presence. Almost like before, but not exactly. “I want to be alone,” he says.
If this were taking place way back when, I would have listened. This time I turn my body at an angle and say, “No, you don’t.” I reach out and take both of his hands in both of mine. “I am not leaving you.”
His eyes meet mine for the first time in days. I watch them trade anger for surrender. I squeeze his hands. His lips begin to tremble and he looks down, away from my gaze. I feel his tears drop down onto our hands. The next thing I know, he pulls his hands from mine and puts both of his arms around me. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close as he sobs into my shoulder. I gently stroke his hair and whisper to him that everything will be all right. We sit like this for a while. Even when the crying subsides, he doesn’t let go of me.
And I don’t let go of him.
Chapter Thirty-five
Saturday, August 25th
I don’t know what to do with myself.
I am in the last twenty-four hours of my second chance and I have no idea what to think of it. Was that it? Is that what was supposed to happen? Did fate really think it was necessary to have me start over to end up pretty much the same? Sure, not everything has completely fallen apart.
Yet.