The funeral service was surreal. The older traditional church was decorated with lilies and chrysanthemums, the favorite flowers of Andrew and Angela’s mom. The entire service had been quickly arranged for the weekend after the accident by their maternal grandparents, who used the readings they had long since planned for their own funerals—never realizing they would hear those same readings at their child’s memorial service.
The church was overflowing, mostly with fellow parishioners.
Many fellow students attended, including the majority of the girls on Angela’s dance team. Several coworkers of their parents and a few neighbors came by as well. Their parents were respected by many people. Everyone muttered words of condolence, but the pity in their eyes was nearly unbearable.
Andrew had trouble making eye contact with anyone, for the feelings of guilt inside him were too sickening.
When they all traveled in procession to the cemetery, Andrew felt alone in the backseat of the car. His black suit felt confining and his gray tie constricted his breathing. Despite his sister being right beside him, clothed in a muted gray dress, he stared at his two grandparents in the front, and wished more than anything that it was his parents instead.
Driving past all the gray tombstones jutting out of the drab lawns, the car finally came to a stop. As they joined the others around their parents’ fresh grave, they all wept---all except for Andrew. He had cried enough tears. Now his heart felt frozen and empty. His appearance was grave, but otherwise expressionless.
The priest quoted the Bible, said many blessings, and the two wooden coffins were lowered into the ground, side by side. The priest had tried to speak with Andrew and offered counsel, but Andrew had brushed him off. He knew it was wrong, but in that moment he hadn’t cared. God had forsaken him just like he had forsaken his parents. No blessings or counsel sessions were going to bring them back.
Angela stood at the open grave with her head bowed, tears running down her comely cheeks, and tossed a red rose into the ground as she whispered her silent prayer. When it was Andrew’s turn, he froze there, unsure what to say to God. He felt the stares of onlookers. He felt as though he were on stage, but couldn’t perform. He doubted he’d ever be able to cry again.
As many times as he said he was truly sorry, his words could not bring his parents back.
After Andrew flung his rose into the ground, he returned to his grandparents. They had traveled a very far distance to attend the funeral, and it had been a very long time since they had last visited. Age had not treated either grandparent fairly. Both were slightly stooped and their once brunette hair had long since turned to a glistening white.
“Your parents loved you so very much,” his grandfather began in his gravelly voice. “They strived to provide for you, to give you a strong foundation in your Catholic faith, and to love you with all that they were, each and every day.”
“We really wish we could take you in and be everything that your parents were,” his grandmother quavered as she leaned heavily on her cane. “We also wish our current financial situation was different. With our high medical bills, we can barely afford the one bedroom apartment in the assisted living center. If we still lived in our old house, maybe it would have been possible to… well, no need to dwell on all that.”
“Who is going to care for us?” Angela asked nervously as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“I will.” The words were loud and obstinate sounding.
As they turned around, they recognized the stocky man with the grizzly face.
“Uncle Billy?” Andrew asked with surprise and uneasiness.
“That’s right. Your father and I were really close once. We were regular pals. Your pops never trusted anyone else like he did me.” Billy smiled crookedly at the both of them. He wore an old dress shirt and slacks that had visible stains and tears.
In childhood, Andrew recalled from his father’s stories, they were best friends. But, they had not been close since then.
His parents had just a few distant relatives that lived far away. His paternal grandparents had died several years before. Uncle Billy, the closest relative to their home, still lived hours from there. He may have been their dad’s only brother, but Billy should have been the last resort. Perhaps he was.
You rarely came to visit, Andrew thought. And when you did, our father almost always ended up arguing with you and asking you to leave because of your behavior.
“Come on now,” Billy said with a forced smile, “we need to get you both settled in your new home.” Billy grabbed Angela and Andrew’s shoulders rather forcefully and steered them away from their grandparents. Their grandfather tried to call them back, but Billy just waved and began talking vociferously over him.
“Come on kiddos! I’ve been to your house and collected your junk, and now it is time to get this cursed drive over with. I don’t want to waste any more of my day on you guys!” Billy laughed as though to dispel his cruel words, but his eyes showed his true feelings.
The long drive to the neighborhood of Bottom Grove worried them. The streets were all unfamiliar, and it was finally sinking in that they were truly starting over. Andrew was sweating and feeling terribly cramped in his suit squeezed next to his sister in the car. It was hard enough realizing they would never get to see their home again, than acknowledging they would be living with Uncle Billy from now on. Billy hadn’t even given them the chance to say goodbye to their friends. But, Andrew reasoned, maybe that was for the best. Andrew wouldn’t have been able to stand the shame of seeing the pity in their eyes one more time, especially if everyone saw the ratty uncle they would be soon living with.
The drive was mostly a silent one. Billy made a few crude comments here and there, but no real attempt at conversation was made. Angela hadn’t spoken a word and the way her lower lip was trembling, clearly showed her internal battle.
When Billy pulled onto a gravel driveway, his house came into view. The small two-story home rested closely between two other houses. The white siding was rusted, the stairs were warped and the paint had worn away, and the screen door hung crooked on the rusted hinges.
“Welcome to your new home,” Uncle Billy said with a yawn.
Andrew and his sister walked up the old spider infested stairs, which creaked with each step. Billy opened the moth eaten screen door and led them inside. The cramped and musty smelling living room had just enough free space to walk around the retro sofa and tube television.
They followed their uncle up a narrow squeaking staircase to the second floor. The short hallway was dark; the dull orange wallpaper was peeling, and the air stank of body odor.
“Here’s your room. Took a whole minute to get it ready for you,” Uncle Billy gestured to Andrew with a chortle. When he entered it, he saw the twin-size bed in the corner, a small wooden desk, a bookcase with one or two broken shelves, and a closet. The walls were navy blue, and the ceiling showed a little water damage.
Andrew caught up with his sister down the hall, and saw that her room looked like his, water damage and all, only the walls were a shade of yellow. She faked a smile and they headed back outside to retrieve their belongings from the car. They had already packed most of their things earlier at the recommendation of their grandparents, so luckily Billy had brought most of everything important. There was to be an estate sale followed by a short sale of their home sometime in the next week. Their grandparents were overseeing the process.
After they set up their rooms as best they could and changing into more comfortable clothes, they returned downstairs for dinner. Hearing a loud voice in the living room, they found Uncle Billy glued to the shabby sofa in front of the television, watching an obnoxious reality show.
“Supper’s in the kitchen,” he called without taking his eyes off the set.
They went to the adjacent room and found an empty pot on the stovetop, and canned pasta beside it. The kitchen was old and there was a sour smell in th
e air. There were some empty beer cans in the sink and Billy had a couple of pictures of scantily clad women pinned on the refrigerator. Andrew quickly averted his eyes feeling uncomfortable.
Angela’s eyes were wide as she took it all in.
She whispered, “We should be thankful for what we have.”
Andrew recalled similar statements from their parents, yet at the present moment he could not fully agree with the words of wisdom.
“It’s not going to be easy,” Andrew muttered darkly.
His sister cooked the pasta while Andrew set the table. He placed down three plates, napkins and spoons, along with three cups of juice.
“Dinner’s ready,” Angela called out to their uncle rather timidly.
“I already had roast beef and potatoes,” he replied, sounding annoyed at the interruption. “You kids enjoy your meal.”
Andrew rolled his eyes.
He ate roast beef and potatoes, he thought, and we’re stuck with cheap canned pasta.
Andrew took the extra dinnerware from the table and put it away with a loud clatter. He then sat across from his sister.
Angela scooped up their food and put her shaky hands together, ready to pray.
With their father and mother no longer with them, Andrew led the prayer. “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Lord, thank you for this food before us, the roof over our heads, and for each other.”
“Can you keep it down in there?” Uncle Billy shouted. “I’m trying to watch my favorite show.”
Andrew narrowed his eyes and Angela lowered her head. She whispered, “Please bless our uncle for taking us in and giving us this lovely house to live in. In Jesus’ name we pray.”
“Amen,” they said in unison sharing a smirk.
Neither Andrew nor Angela had much to say to each other. They had too much on their minds to process on their own, so they ate quickly. Afterwards, they cleaned up the dishes and went to their rooms. Preparing for sleep, Andrew kneeled at his bedside ready to say his nightly prayer. Ever since he was young, he had been saying the same prayer each night and just slightly adapting it. It was a constant struggle to make his prayers more sincere, and since the death of his parents, his prayers had been getting shorter by the night. Andrew’s thoughts quickly raced over the events of the day. Nothing good had happened. He had never felt so alone. He could not think of anything to say to God. He could barely even remember his routine nightly prayer. Andrew shook his head and stood up, maybe tomorrow night he could pray, but not tonight.
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Finding Faith Page 3