by Taryn Steele
“What? No … no…!” His voice get’s louder with each no.
Christopher jumps up off of the couch and starts running from room to room yelling for his father in disbelief.
I bounce from my seat and go after him. I stop him midway in the small hall between our bedrooms. I grab him by the arms, fall to my knees and pull him in to me.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. If I could bring him back I would.” I tell him.
I’m not sure how long we sat on the floor holding each other. The whole night is a painful blur.
I momentarily remember Olivia mentioning she called my parents in Buffalo and got them on the next flight. She mentioned multiple coworkers of Dominic’s have called. I am in no state to speak to anyone right now. I’m still trying to pick up the pieces from my talk with Christopher. I can’t do that again.
It’s sad that I am thankful Dominic’s parents died in a car accident when he was only twenty-one so I don’t have to have this talk again.
The entire night is a blur. I’ve gone back and forth between lying in bed with Christopher to crying on the bathroom floor to just staring out my kitchen window at Mrs. Humphrey’s garden.
Walking back to check on Christopher I see Olivia fast asleep on my couch, her golden locks covering most of her face. I don’t know what I would do without Olivia and her family. The past twenty-four hours have been utter hell and she hasn’t left my side. I kneel down beside her, wipe her hair from her face, cover her up with a blanket and whisper, “thank you for not leaving me.” Wiping the tears now streaming down my face I go back to lie with Christopher and count the hours until my parents arrive. I’m going to need a plethora of support, because right now I’m barely holding on by a thread.
Roger and Linda Cohen, the best parents a girl could ever ask for. They’ve only been here for a few hours but they have done so much for me already. They haven’t left Christopher’s side whether it has been my dad attempting to teach him how to play cribbage or my mom having him join her in baking muffins. I know they are doing their doing their best to keep him occupied.
A knock at the door startles me from my thoughts. I take a peak out of the passing window on my way toward the door and notice a Florida State Utility truck parked in front of my house. A ping of trepidation comes over me thinking back to the previous day when they were here. As much as I don’t want to I open the door, I do and find Jay standing on the other side of the door with what appears to be a plastic grocery bag.
“Hey, Abby,” he somberly greets me.
“Hey, Jay,” I acknowledge as I step to the side letting him in.
“Sorry to come unannounced. I, ugh, I just wanted you to have to this stuff from Dom’s locker at the office,” he explains handing me the bag he walked in with.
Unbeknownst to me my mother is standing behind me reaching for the bag. She knows just as well as I do that now is not the time for me to look in the bag. I have no idea what’s in there. For all I know it could be family pictures or deodorant and a hair brush. Either way whatever is in that bag will knock me down further than I already am, if it’s even possible. Jay gives my mom a polite nod. I know he was just as uncomfortable with this task and is silently thanking my mom for taking the bag of belongings.
“Abby, there’s one more thing. Florida State Utility is going to pay for all the funeral expenses,” Jay adds.
I’m overcome with so many different emotions right now. My head is spinning, more tears start to pool in my eyes.
Why are they doing this? Do they think if they don’t I will sue them because Dominic died on the job? Are they doing it because he was a good employee for many years and saw him as family? Why?
“I can’t talk about this right now, Jay. I gotta get out of here.”
I spin on my heel storming past my father who I’m guessing overheard the conversation, as I utter to him, “please deal with this,” as I step out the back door. I need fresh air. I need quiet.
I’m not exactly sure how much time passes, maybe twenty minutes and I hear Mrs. Humphrey’s back door slam closed. I look up and see her making her way toward me. In the short two minute walk between our backyards Mrs. Humphrey is already sitting by my side on my back steps with her arms wrapped around me.
“Oh, sweet child, those were some seriously loud cries I just heard. It broke my heart but I wanted to give you that time alone. Your friend Olivia told me about Dominic. I’m so sorry, dear. I know I don’t need to tell you that I am here for you and Christopher day or night.”
“Thank you, Mrs. H. Thankfully my parents took an immediate flight out and are here for however long. I’ll make sure Chris pops in over here and there. It’ll probably be good for him to get out of the house,” I admit.
Another twenty-four hours have passed and now is another day that makes me sick to my very core. Olivia and Jay have joined me at the funeral home while my parents stay with Christopher. I never thought the day would come as soon as it has where I have to plan my husband’s funeral. Dominic and I always knew about the risk of his job working high up in the air with electrical wires but it wasn’t as big of a daily fear that I’m sure most spouses have when it comes to police officers or fire fighters.
There are so many things I wasn’t aware of with planning a funeral. These people have so many fucking questions I want to jump out of my seat and tell them to plan the entire fucking thing themselves.
‘Mrs. Jenkins will it be a burial or cremation?’
‘Mrs. Jenkins do you want readings?’
‘Mrs. Jenkins what about flowers?’
‘Mrs. Jenkins what about a gathering or reception?’
Please shut the fuck up!
Seventy-eight heart wrenching minutes later I demand that Jay and Olivia take me to a bar, any bar. I need endless amounts of alcohol after that harrowing experience. Getting drunk will be the only guarantee that I will pass out and survive the rest of this day. God willing.
Being miserable is a habit, so is being happy.
The choice is mine.
There’s a saying that the definition of madness is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. If I want to refine myself I have to try new things, see what works and what doesn’t.
As a child I loved my father dearly because in my mind he was everything a child might envision a father could be. He built forts with me and Nate, and snuck us ice cream when mom said no. It wasn’t until I got a bit older that I realized his detached attitude was due to his consumption of alcohol.
A lot of bad awaits me in Florida. That is the pain of a past but I have the surf competition to judge and a young boy I hope I could potentially help. Maybe helping him will help me in as well.
I have no one to blame but myself for waking up with a God-awful hangover. It was the only way I knew to temporarily get rid of the heartache and pain. It was the only way I knew to temporarily quiet the voices in my head.
I don’t want to get out of bed. I want to avoid doing anything and everything that has to do with talking about Dominic’s funeral services. I want to avoid having to answer questions about him. I don’t want anyone’s damn pity or their tight-lipped frowns of dejection.
The only thing pulling me out of my misery is hearing Christopher’s voice in the other room. I know he’s not alone. I can hear my parents’ voices as well but he should be with his momma. I should be in there taking care of him. I’m not the only one in mourning. I need to step it up and be there for him right now.
After a few minutes of attempting to get into a seated position without vomiting or getting dizzy from the absurd amount of alcohol I foolishly consumed last night I make my way out of my bedroom. I find my mom on the sofa with Christopher watching an animated show I don’t recognize. My dad is sitting nearby reading the newspaper.
“Hey kiddo. How about I pour you a cup of coffee and make you some toast?” my dad asks with a concerned look on his aged face.
“I’m not hungry but I’ll
take a cup of coffee.”
I make my way over to Christopher on the couch, coffee cup in hand, sit down next to him, and pull him close with my one free arm. We sit quietly for at least an hour, holding each other watching cartoons - no laughing, no crying, just watching in stone silence.
Within the hour Olivia comes over to take us shopping for funeral attire. The only time I expected to take Chris shopping for a suit was maybe for a school dance, prom, or his first job interview, not his father’s funeral.
My dad said he’ll stay behind to field any phone calls that come in which is a big help. I know everyone means well calling with their condolences but each phone call, each well wish just breaks me down piece by piece. The door bell is always ringing with more flower deliveries which are supposed to cheer you up but ironically don’t.
“Christopher, let’s go!” I impatiently shout because I don’t know where he is and I want to get this dreaded trip over with.
Within seconds he emerges from his bedroom.
“I’m coming, Mom. I just need a stamp for this letter I wrote to a friend last night when I couldn’t sleep.”
Biting my lip I point to toward the kitchen as a wordless response and a reminder to him where the drawer of our mailing supplies is. I badly want to ask him if I can read it but I don’t want to upset him. I know he needs to handle this in his own way, on his own terms right now. My dad thoughtfully found some articles for me to read about children losing a parent. It’s a process, a long process. Once things settle down I want to find a therapist for both of us to talk to.
I mentioned to Olivia and my mom before we left the house I want to go to Macy’s because they sell adult and children’s clothes. One and done is the plan. I just want to go home and cuddle up with Chris on the couch like we did this morning. I know my mom needs to find an outfit. My dad has one dark suit and my mom mentioned he packed it with him so that’s one less worry for now.
Once we set foot in Macy’s we see we are conveniently in the kids section so we know this process shouldn’t take too long. I do my best to hold in my emotions while I let Christopher comb through the clothing racks to find something he is comfortable with. Being only ten years old he’s not sure so every once and a while he pulls something off the rack and shows it to me. My Mom holds on to some of the choices he picks and the three of us patiently wait outside of the men’s dressing room doors for him to show his options. I wish I knew what was going on in his head. I can’t read his face at all and it pains me. He’s blank.
Once Christopher’s suit is purchased we head upstairs to the women’s section for me and mom. I wish Olivia would just pick out a dress for me so we can buy it and leave. My emotional clock is ticking and it’s about to explode.
I stride over rack after rack of dresses, lightly grazing my finger tips on each one as I pass, never picking one up. I see my mother and Olivia eyeing me carefully as I glance back at them from time to time. Christopher is sitting patiently on a nearby bench playing Candy Crush on my cell phone.
I find myself at the end of the clothing racks with dresses and also conveniently near the fitting room. Feeling as if this rack is my last option I thumb through to find my size. It’s never easy to find a dress that fits perfect with my small waist, hips and C cup breasts. I find a size six in black so I grab it. It’s a basic Calvin Klein dress with a feminine silhouette and pleated A-line skirt.
I sling the dress over my arm and find an open fitting room to try it on. As much as I’d rather just pay for the damn thing and leave I know my mom will send me back in here any way.
“Just make sure it fits right,” is what she has always said even if it was an oversized sleep shirt. So here I am, just making sure.
Once I get the dress on I do my best at pulling the back zipper up as best as I can by myself. If I wasn't stubborn and irrational at the moment I would call Olivia in to zip it up but I don’t want anyone in here.
I got the zipper up more than halfway and I can tell there is enough room around my collar bone area that it will fit fine. It’s not tight in my chest and fits just right in the waist. It’s actually kind of perfect. Perfect. A perfect dress for my husbands funeral.
Oh God.
That one thought is all it takes for me to break down and the tears come pouring down my face. I collapse to my knees on the fitting room floor. Memories of my time with Dominic flood my thoughts.
… our first date …
… the first time we had sex …
… our long weekend in Cancun …
… crying together when Christopher was born …
… our first Christmas as a family of three …
We’re never going to have a holiday as a family again. I have to raise Christopher to be a man without a constant male influence. I have to teach him to shave and have the sex talk. That was going to be Dominic’s deal. If we had a daughter I would teach her to shave her legs and have the sex talk. I’m a single mom now, a widow.
“Abby? Did you try on the dress?” I hear Olivia quietly calling for me.
I pull the curtain back while still on the floor and look up at Olivia with tears still streaming down my face. Olivia does exactly what I need her to do. She doesn’t say a word. She gets on the floor with me and hugs me and holds me tight.
Once we get back home my dad tells me that Jay called to let us know the company is sending a limousine for transportation to the funeral tomorrow. One less thing I have to worry about I guess.
My dad gave me sleeping pills last night. He said I would thank him in the morning. I’m not so sure. I feel groggy but I did sleep, so I’m not entirely sure I can be mad at him for the suggestion.
Stepping out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel I stare of myself in the bathroom vanity mirror. I don’t recognize the face staring back at me.
We had the wake last night. I still feel like I was having an out of body experience. I’m sure it’s because I still can’t believe Dominic is gone. I knew all eyes would be on me and Christopher. I just kept repeating to myself ‘just get through this and one more day.’
I knew everyone was waiting for me to breakdown and cry but I was determined to hold on strong, especially for Chris.
Now I still stand, dripping wet hair, bags under my eyes wondering if I can stand strong through one last service. The longest of them all, an all day affair.
I slip on my robe and go check on Christopher and my parents before I start getting ready myself.
Anything to delay the inevitable.
Just as I expected my parents are already dressed and making Christopher breakfast while he’s on the couch watching a surfing show on ESPN. I grab a seat next to him and pull him close until he pushes me away because my wet hair is dripping on him which causes us to temporarily giggle. I think we both needed that.
My dad hands me a steaming cup of coffee and an english muffin. I stare at it with disgust.
“I know you either don’t want to eat or don’t feel you can stomach it but please try. It’s going to be a long day and you need a little something in your tummy,” he tells me with pleading eyes.
I know he means well.
I will try my best.
I take the coffee and the english muffin and make my way back to the bathroom, passing my mom who gives me a warm smile. I know she wants to hug me and not let me go until she knows I’m okay. It’s how I feel with Christopher as well.
My hair has been blown dry. My dress is on. I applied light foundation to my face so my face doesn’t look so blotchy from crying. Staring at myself in the mirror I decide against applying mascara and grab my favorite Kat Von D lipstick. Dominic always made sure I was fully stocked in my favorite shade Berlin. He said it was the perfect shade of warm rose for my tanned Florida skin. The thought makes me smile but the sadness of the thought quickly overcomes me and a lone tear trickles down my cheek. I swiftly wipe it away and reach for Dominic’s second favorite. I spritz my wrist and neck with his favorite scent of mine, Dais
y by Marc Jacobs. Again, a warm smile comes across my face as memories flood me when Dominic would come up behind me, wrap his arms around my waist, kiss my neck and moan when he caught my scent. More tears stream down my face at the heart wrenching memories.
I’ll never have those moments again…ever.
I take one last look in the mirror, not really knowing what I’m looking at or looking for. I take a deep breath, tilt my head up, close my eyes, and say a silent prayer that I can be strong and get through this day for Christopher and myself.
It’s time to say goodbye to my husband.
Text from Dr. Pine:
Great things take time.
Never stop learning.
Positive mind = Positive life
There’s no right or wrong way to live your life.
It’s been nine months since Dominic passed. My parents just flew back home to Buffalo three weeks ago. I am so thankful they are retired, and were able to stay for such an extended period of time with us. With Dominic passing away so close to the holidays there was no way I would have survived it alone. I know we have a large support system but it’s not the same as your parents. Christopher struggled going back to school. I took three months off from work at the hospital, and slowly worked my way back in part time and just started back full time last month. Not having Dominic around this summer I had to find a program to sign Christopher up for. Of course Mrs. H said to save my money, and she would watch him but I felt it would be better for him to be around kids his own age keeping busy all day. When I heard about the towns Park and Rec program it sounded perfect. So many of Christopher’s friends, including Kane are in it. His day is filled with a variety of sports programs, arts and crafts, and some times a field trip.
While Christopher and I are in the kitchen preparing our Taco Tuesday dinner he is telling me about his day at summer camp. He cannot stop laughing about the water balloon challenge they had.