Page 47 of Finding Parker

PARKER. Six days had passed since the death of Victoria’s mother. Although Victoria didn’t appear to go through a noticeable grieving process, I’m quite certain she grieved or continues to grieve in her own way. She didn’t cry at the funeral service, a small affair over an urn of ashes in which the funeral home director gave the eulogy to a small and somber group. I, on the other hand, found the funeral to be quite sad. Based on the lack of attendance during the service, it was apparent there was very little interest in her mother’s death.

Or her life.

Kenton, Downes, Victoria, one neighbor and I comprised the entire wake.

The value of a person’s life is measured by the amount of people they touch in living it. Based on this belief, I have always further believed a person’s funeral would be a depiction of the perceived value in the life they’ve lived – the means of measure being the people in attendance at the funeral – the touched souls.

For that reason, and that reason alone, I found the funeral of Victoria’s mother to be rather unsettling. Throughout the service, I tried to think of the people who would attend my funeral. I made a conscious count of people I was satisfied would attend, and added others which may be in attendance. The result was humbling and almost as unsettling as the funeral service itself.

The total amount – six – caused me to feel regret for the life I have lived to date. Although I have attempted and continue to pursue living a life with no regrets regarding my behavior or beliefs, I have a very small circle of people who know me, love me, or have been touched by something I have said or done.

Frustrated and somewhat disappointed with myself, I sat in the service and looked over the small seating area. Downes, Victoria, Kenton, the deceased, and some unknown neighbor. With each person, I attempted to do the same – count the people who I believed would be in attendance of their funeral. With Kenton and Victoria, I believed the number to be a small one. With the others, I was incapable of guessing accurately. Based on the assumption the unknown persons had a family, I suspected the number to be considerably higher.

As I counted and recounted I began to become saddened by the fact Victoria, Kenton and I had no family. We only had each other. We would be required to develop a family of our own through reproduction, friends, associates, and those we touched through the course of living our lives.

Life is easy. Live it while you’re alive.

Because when you’re gone you won’t have an opportunity.

As the funeral director continued speaking, I held Victoria’s hand. Slowly, I slid my free hand from the armrest of my seat and onto Kenton’s left forearm. As my hand moved toward his wrist, he turned to face me, smiled lightly, and gripped my hand in his. And, as I held the hands of what little family I had, I closed my eyes made a vow.

To begin living life.

While I was alive.

VICTORIA. I gripped the handrail in my palms as I stared out at the horizon. The light morning breeze blew the smell of the beach into my face, providing me with a feeling of relaxation in an almost magical sense. Slowly it faded away, and with it, my gratification. Eager for its return, I closed my eyes and inhaled softly through my nose.

Crap, that never works.

I will always find the unexpected scent of lilacs filling my nostrils while jogging through the park much more rewarding than forcing my nose into a bouquet and inhaling the same essence. One is encountered unexpectedly, as if it were provided as a gift; and the other taken. Personally, I prefer provision to theft.

Often when there’s scent or soft aroma I enjoy, I’ll attempt to take a shallow breath to savor it even more. Invariably, the scent disappears in my eager effort to inhale it – a simple reminder of the fact that some things happen naturally, and if we attempt to force them, they’ll simply fade away. I believe the natural scents of this earth come as a gift from God, evidence when we need it the most, of his existence. When we need a reminder, he provides. If we attempt to obtain them through coercion, we question his existence; and they disappear.

“There’s a fresh pitcher of tea here, and I must say it’s even better than the last,” Kenton’s voice was soft, almost as if he were speaking to a child.

I loosened my grip on the handrail and closed my eyes, hoping for the scent of the beach to return. As I listened to the seagulls singing their songs along the beach, I became one with them, flying over the ocean without a single thought. My wings spread, the soft breeze keeping me afloat above all of the others, I soared.

“Are you hungry yet?” Parker asked.

I opened my eyes and gripped the handrail tightly for a brief second as I took an aggravated shallow breath. As I released my grip, I turned to face the table where Kenton, Parker, and now Downes were seated. Downes smiled as I looked up. Kenton and Parker’s faces were both filled with signs of wonder.

My mother began dying a slow death, one I was certain to be much more rapid than typical, the day my father died. I further believe a part of her died each and every day she lived without him. He was, at her admittance, her only love. She had never loved before, and certainly didn’t after. In retrospect, the painkillers she became reliant upon provided her ability to eliminate the pain associated with his absence from our lives.

As time passed, I grew older and she became more tolerant to the effects of the pills, requiring more of them to provide shelter from the pain. Her realization of my growth was a constant reminder that one day I too may fall in love, and move forward with my life, leaving her in pain and alone. Her death was inevitable, not a matter of if, but a matter of when.

I feel sorrow for my mother no longer being in my life, but I am not sorry she has moved on. I am of the belief she can now, in mind and possibly in spirit, be with the man she loved – living a life she would be incapable of living on this earth.

“Are you hungry yet?” Parker asked again.

“You two are driving me fucking nuts,” I snapped.

“Who? These two?” Parker asked as he motioned to Downes and Kenton.

“No, Parker. You and Kenton. Jesus. Victoria, do you want this? Victoria do you want that? Can I get you anything? Do you need anything? How do you feel? Did you sleep well last night? No. No. No. No. Great. And not exactly,” I said as I began walking their direction, shaking my head in disbelief as I approached.

“It’s because we care,” Parker sighed.

“And I know you care. I do. You don’t have to prove it. My mother’s dead, and I’m okay with it. Can you two be okay that I’m okay? Kenton, you’re mother’s dead. Parker, yours is too. But I’m not coddling you, trying to force you to drink another gallon of tea hoping it will drown the pain,” I rolled my eyes and flopped into the chair across the table from where Parker and Kenton were seated.