THE FUNERAL TOOK PLACE FOUR DAYS LATER. IT WAS A BRIGHT, sunny day, which again seemed wrong. I’d been hoping that it would rain—the night before had been cold and overcast, but I’d nonetheless sat out on the front porch steps with the dog until my feet got numb.
I couldn’t get over how empty the house seemed now, and how without my dad there, none of us knew what to do with ourselves. Warren, for the first time since I could remember, hadn’t been able to read. Instead, he’d been spending days down at the tennis center, hitting a ball against the wall as hard as he could, returning home tired and drained-looking. My grandfather had been whittling and taking the dog for long walks. When he came back, his nose was always red, his voice hoarse, and the dog exhausted. Gelsey hadn’t wanted to be alone since that morning, and so we’d been spending a lot of time together. We weren’t talking about what had happened yet, but it somehow helped just to be able to look across the room and see my sister there—proof that I wasn’t the only one who was going through this. My mother had been spending her days organizing everything—the service, the casket, the flowers—and seemed as though she was handling things better than any of us. But earlier that day, I’d come outside to see her sitting on the porch, her hair damp from the shower, crying. There was still a piece of me that wanted to turn around and not have to face this, but I made myself keep going and sit next to her on the porch step. We didn’t speak, but I took the comb from her hand and combed through her hair in the sunlight. When I’d finished, and released the stray hairs into the wind for the birds, my mother had stopped crying. And we just sat there together for a moment in silence, our shoulders touching as we leaned against each other.
The tiny Lake Phoenix chapel was filled with people. We were going to be doing a larger memorial service back in Connecticut, so I hadn’t expected this one to be so packed. But standing by the front pew in a black dress my mother had lent me, I watched them streaming in, all these people who had shown up for my dad. Wendy was there, and Fred and Jillian, and Dave Henson, who’d sold him so much licorice. Lucy was there with her mother, Angela from the diner was there, and the Gardners, everyone from the beach—and Leland had even combed his hair.
The minister hadn’t been too happy when I’d given him the mix CD of the music we had chosen. It probably was a little unorthodox—opera mixed with Jackson Browne. But I had a feeling it’s what my dad would have wanted. He also wasn’t happy about the dog, but my grandfather had told him that Murphy was his service animal, and so, he was sitting under the front pew, at my grandfather’s feet, perfectly still.
It was just the family in the front row, Gelsey in an old black dress of mine, Warren wearing a suit that somehow made him look younger. My grandfather was wearing his Navy dress uniform, which might have been one of the reasons the minister hadn’t argued with him. My mother was sitting next to me, clutching one of my dad’s handkerchiefs tightly. I noticed we’d left an extra, open spot in our row, as though he might be joining us, but was just running a little late, parking the car. I couldn’t somehow get my mind to accept that the still figure in the casket at the front, surrounded by flowers, was him.
The minister gestured to my mother, and the service began. I let the words wash over me, not really hearing them, not wanting to hear about ashes and dust when it came to my father. After he was done, my grandfather spoke, about what my dad had been like when he was young, and how proud my grandfather had always been of him. My mother spoke, and I gave up on trying not to cry. Warren spoke briefly, reading a section from the T.S. Eliot poem Dad had loved.
And even though I hadn’t planned to say anything—or prepared any remarks—I found myself standing as Warren returned to his seat, and walked straight up to the lectern.
I looked out at the crowd and saw, standing in the back, Henry. He was with Davy, wearing a suit I’d never seen before, and his eyes were fixed on mine—supporting, encouraging, somehow giving me the confidence I needed to start.