This was one of their rules. Each person was entitled to mourn in her own way, and each daughter set the tone for her parent’s funeral. Bridget, for whatever reason, wanted everyone smiling today, so by golly, Amy would try her best.
“There, that’s better. Isn’t it?” Bridget said when Amy finally managed a smile.
She nodded. Better was a very appropriate word for what they now faced. Things would never be fine again. They could only become marginally less terrible.
Better.
Sure.
Chapter 2
The service itself was beautiful. Bridget delivered her mother’s eulogy to a mix of laughter and tears from the large crowd who’d gathered to say goodbye. When it was finally over, Amy found herself exhausted and ready to head home.
Unfortunately, the women had already made plans to accompany Bridget to the interment and to come for the “after-party” directly following that.
Amy still found her friend’s special brand of mourning strange, but then again, Bridget herself was strange. She’d once told Amy that she’d decided to pursue veterinary studies because animals made a lot more sense to her than people ever had.
Other than the geriatric cat companion she’d had since childhood, Amy much preferred spending time with people. And those people always seemed to enjoy having her around as well.
Lately, though, it had all become too much.
Even a couple months after her mother’s death now, it was as hard as ever to find a reason to smile. How was it that Bridget not only smiled, but also found a way to crack jokes and laugh directly on the heels of her own mother’s funeral? Maybe Bridget was lying to herself, or maybe Amy needed to be stronger. Maybe she just needed to squeeze in some extra kitty cuddles when she finally returned home that night.
But first came the processional.
“You did great up there,” their friend Hazel said, slinging an arm over Bridget’s shoulder. “Your mom would have been so proud.”
Nichole and Amy exchanged a quick look as the four women marched toward the parking lot. It seemed Nichole also questioned Bridget’s cheery demeanor on that day.
Everyone piled into Bridget’s freshly washed vehicle and waited for the other cars to get in line. They were second in the procession, right after the hearse.
“I’ve always wanted to drive in one of these things,” Bridget quipped as she adjusted her rearview mirror and applied a fresh coat of lip gloss. “I love how the whole world has to stop just for you.”
Amy let out a nervous laugh. Lately everything stopped for them. That’s what happened when you became primary caretaker for someone with a terminal illness. You put your life on hold for a while, and then suddenly one day that person who’d become the entire center of your universe passed on to a better place and you were left all alone, expected to pick up the pieces of a life you could barely remember, and to be normal again.
Amy had more than a few doubts whether normal would ever be possible for any of them.
Bridget, on the other hand, flipped on her radio and unleashed a steady beat of pop music into the car. “Oh, look, we’re starting to move,” she crooned, tightening her hands on the steering wheel in anticipation.
“You’re coming to the after-party, right?” she asked next, making eye contact with Amy and Nichole through the rearview mirror, then turning briefly to Hazel beside her.
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Hazel answered for the group. She smiled wide and seemed to mean it. Of course, Hazel had been the first to lose a parent. She’d had the longest time to heal, and she’d also found love, at the hospital of all places. Her boyfriend, Keith, worked as a nurse in the oncology ward, and even though Amy had once harbored a secret crush on him, too, he only ever had eyes for his Hazel.
“Can I borrow a tissue?” Nichole asked in a whisper, her green eyes cast down as she waited.
Amy dug into her purse and pulled a fresh tissue from the bunch she always kept on her person now. “Keep it. It’s yours.”
Nichole gave the thumbs-up, then wiped aggressively at her nose while Bridget and Hazel chatted in the front seat.
“Do you think that maybe B’s being a bit too cheery today?” Amy asked, keeping her voice low, lest the object of her speculation overhear.
“Today, yesterday, and pretty much every day since I’ve known her,” Nichole answered with a new scratchy quality mingling with her already husky voice.
“What do we do?” Amy was seriously starting to worry about their youngest friend. All that repression couldn’t be healthy.
“Nothing,” Nichole shot back. “That’s the deal we made when this all started. Everyone grieves in her own way, and none of us are supposed to get in the way of that.”
Well, everyone grieved in her own way except for Nichole, who was the only one of them not to lose her sick parent. Did that make her opinion less important? Amy didn’t know. She was so happy for Nichole, but so sad for the rest of them. Might Hazel have another take on how they could help Bridget address and overcome her feelings?
“I know that look,” Nichole said, bumping her shoulder into Amy’s. “It’s the look you get whenever you’re about to announce a new project. Our friend isn’t a project, though. She’s a person, and she’s entitled to act however she wants right now.”
Amy bit her lip to keep from responding. Maybe she wasn’t any better than Bridget at the end of the day. After all, she kept her own anxiety packed away so neatly that no one ever suspected the giant, sprawling mess that lay hidden inside. Was Bridget doing the same? Or was she perhaps lying to herself, too?
What if the younger woman truly didn’t have a grieving bone in her body right now? Had she managed to work through her devastation before her mother even died? Was she celebrating a life well lived or, rather, the end of suffering for both her and her mother?
“You okay back there?” Bridget asked in a clear, commanding voice.
“We’re fine,” Nichole said, even though that was most definitely a lie.
Amy plastered on a smile and nodded, meeting Bridget’s eyes in the rearview mirror as they followed the hearse through a solid red light. “Tell us about the after-party. I’ve never been to one for a funeral before.”
Bridget turned the music down and launched into a description of the oddly celebratory evening ahead of them. “It’s my first, too,” she added matter-of-factly. “But Mom insisted on it. She wanted everyone to remember her with a smile. It was her dying wish.”
To be remembered with a smile. Was that now life’s primary aim? It was a lovely thought, but Amy had always longed for something greater. She wanted to leave a bigger imprint on the world than a string of nostalgic smiles in her wake.
Although now she was hard-pressed to find even one true smile within herself. When would the hurting finally stop? When would she at last become someone she recognized? Someone she liked?
She just had to get through today; then she could slowly begin rebuilding her life. They’d all been focused on death and dying for far too long. Maybe today really could be a celebration, not just of an end but of new beginnings.
She tried to smile again for her own benefit just as much as Bridget’s. “I like that,” she said. “Your mother was one smart lady.”