Last night I was thinking about the funeral and everyone who was in attendance. I thought about how I should contact everyone who was there and apologize to them for setting up that whole affair when he never really died. I thought about how angry Jim would be if he knew that I held a funeral for him when he didn’t actually die. I wondered if he would ever speak to me again. I felt bad for Tracy knowing that he would be mad at her, too because she actually paid for it. (or his life insurance did, I guess.) I felt so confused by this strange realization for a split second then I remembered that the funeral home wouldn’t have had a funeral if someone didn’t really die. Then I felt so stupid for momentarily believing that it never happened. The thing is, these flashes of disbelief seem to happen every single day. Does this mean that I’m crazy? Why can’t I just believe it?
I saw him die.
I held his hand while he was taking his last breaths, so why doesn’t it seem real?
I laid my head on his chest and heard nothing.
Why can’t I believe it? I held his lifeless hands while they were still warm.
Why can’t I believe it?
I’m really not a stupid person, so why can’t I wrap my brain around this concept? Maybe it is that I can’t wrap my heart around this concept because it hurts too much.
What if we scrapbooked real life? I mean, the everyday shit that really happens, but no one wants a picture of.
Dad yelling because the kids won’t leave his tools alone,
Grandma running to her room to get away from the toddler noise,
Mom lying in the tub, water up to her eyebrows staring into space remembering that moment when she met Death and shook His hand as He came to carry her brother away,
Some things you just don’t want to commemorate with film, I guess. And, really, who wants a f*cking sticker and die-cut of death, anyway?
I’m pissed off. I jerked my arm out to start typing then pulled it back, as if I had been burned. I am afraid to let all of this out. I’m afraid to let these feelings come to the surface. They scare me. I was scared when I watched him die. I felt like a failure because I didn’t save him and even more of a failure because I couldn’t. All I did was sit there and hold his hand. Three’s Company was playing on the TV and the smell of peppermint oil and sweat hung in the air. When I realized that he wasn’t breathing anymore and that they were going to pronounce him dead, a crazy thought popped into my head. I thought of lying next to him and just hanging on and never letting go.
“Just bury me, too.”