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I’m not prepared for all the guilt.
It’s another thing Kelly warns me about that I accept when she says it but doesn’t really internalize. It’s damned remarkable how much guilt there is. Of course, there’s the guilt over my sister. That guilt is an old companion.
Guilt that tells me if I were a better brother Rose would never have been addicted to heroin.
That guilt is older than Angel. Now, that guilt has a corollary and makes sure I know if I were a better brother Rose would still be alive. It’s an old companion and it’s just as irrational now as it always is. I know it’s baseless but it’s still there.
What surprises me, though, is the other guilt. I’m at the airport waiting for my parents to walk through their arrival gate and I’m looking forward to seeing them because it’s been a year and a half. There’s a lot of guilt floating around in my head for looking forward to seeing my parents when it’s for a funeral. For that matter, there’s guilt at any joy.
When Angel laughs and it fills me with joy, the guilt always hits hard. It’s like any happiness is a betrayal of my sister and my grief for her. Noting that I’m keeping the house a lot neater since Angel’s arrival, not letting dishes sit in the sink and all that, immediately crushes me as though the thought of something positive happening is me saying I wanted my sister to die.
I know none of it is rational.
I know it’s my mind grieving.
It still sucks.
And none of it can come close to the guilt I feel over the feelings I have for Kelly? How can that not impact me? I want her but once again my sister’s death will be the source of one of my greatest joys. How in the world can I even come close to reconciling that? How can I even begin to wrap my mind around that?
I can feel myself spiraling down and under ordinary circumstances, I would go hit something or find somewhere private to shift. The edge of the guilt disappears, though, when I see Mom and Dad step through the gate. They seem to be holding up all right, and I imagine some of that has to do with them having each other for support. Dad sees me first, nods in my direction, and points for Mom. Her eyes light up for just a moment when she sees me. Then, I imagine the same guilt brings sorrow back to her face.
Soon, Mom’s in my arms. Dad claps a hand on my shoulder. I usher them through baggage claim and then out to my car. It’s only then Mom says, “Where’s Angel?”
“She’s with the neighbor,” I say. “Kelly. She has two kids of her own. She’s been a big help.”
“Not good enough,” Dad says with a smile.
“I know,” I say. He isn’t talking about whether or not Kelly has been a good enough help. He’s talking about my attempt to avoid the conversation. He means I couldn’t hide my feelings for Kelly when I spoke and Mom’s going to interrogate me.
Mom surprises me and says, “That’s nice Honey.” Dad looks at me and raises an eyebrow. He wears a sad smile when he does. We share a glance essentially agreeing that Mom’s hit very hard by Rose’s death. Or maybe, like me, she can’t interrogate me about a relationship I might have in the works because she can’t deal with the guilt of there being anything making us happy at the moment.
Mom surprises me again. “I hope you rely on her, Raybee. I don’t know what I’d do without your father here for me.” Raybee. It’s my childhood nickname. It’s actually Raybee Baby but theBabypart pretty much disappeared years ago.
“We’re new, Ma,” I say, “but she’s helping me.”
We drive in silence for a little while and Dad says, “It’s always strange to come here. We lived here for what?”
Mom says, “Thirty-two years, and you’re right, Love.”
“Maybe it’s the air,” Dad says.
“Or the light, maybe,” Mom replies. “But always.”
This is their fifty-first year together. It’s amazing to me how they communicate about thirty percent with words and seventy percent with, I guess, their relationship. I wonder if Kelly and I will ever reach that point. Naturally, the wonder makes me feel guilty.
I want nothing more than to go home with my parents and spend the rest of their visit talking and grieving together but they only have a week here and a lot of work remains before Rose’s memorial in four days. So we socialize on the drive home and as soon as we arrive, we start making plans. Kelly has agreed to keep Angel at her place on the first day so my parents and I can arrange everything for the funeral.
We visit the funeral home and select a casket. We choose a beautiful mahogany casket with gold handles and a heavily padded calfskin interior. Mom seems comforted by the casket, and says, “At least my baby will have a nice place to rest now.”
I do a good job of being supportive but inside I am seething. Not at my mother but Rose. How could she leave us like this? How could she leave our mother with no comfort but the knowledge that her fucking coffin is comfortable?
I carry that anger with me as we make arrangements for flowers and the service. I carry it with me as we contact family and friends and invite them to the memorial. I carry it with me on the day of the memorial when Kelly and Angel sit next to my parents as the chaplain prattles on about eternal life and God’s mercy and all the other bullshit people tell themselves so they can pretend death isn’t the end of everything. I carry it with me until the end of the service when Angel walks up to the casket and lays her new meerkat stuffy on top, then says, “Goodbye, Mommy. I’ll miss you. I hope you won’t be sad anymore.”
Then I can’t be angry anymore. I break down and collapse to my knees and the only thing I remember through my sobs is feeling Kelly’s arms around me as she says over and over, “I’m right here, I’m right here.”
Later at home, I watch my dad talk to Kelly while Mom plays hide-and-seek with Angel. Angel is smiling and laughing as they play and watching Angel smile is enough to lift my spirits. Kelly catches my eye and smiles tenderly at me and I offer her a half-smile in return.
The next three days are easier than the first four. My parents absolutely adore Angel and I can tell Kelly is leaving a good impression. When I drive my parents to the airport my mother says, “Kelly is wonderful, Raybee. I’m so happy for you and Angel.”
