Once everyone had taken their seats, the music started; something classical, and slightly maudlin. I thought that Lilah would have preferred something different, something that would have made her smile. The minister, dressed in a black robe with a purple and gold sash that draped behind his neck and fell on either side of his robe, rose and recited a familiar passage from the Bible. The one about passing through the valley of the shadow of death—at that point I ceased to pay attention to the events around me, but rather I retreated inside myself, and began a succession of thoughts that eased my mind and subdued my tormented heart.
As the minister spoke, I replayed the visit I’d had with A—, and how I’d left things with her. I also started to replay when I’d first met Audrey with my garbage bag that contained all of my belongings, and how each event seemed to directly lead into the next. For a brief flash everything made sense, then as quickly as I’d seen the big picture it became muddled again with memories that contradicted my initial and brief clarity.
I could tell from the minister’s tone that he was bringing the service to a close. He invited the mourners to follow the lead car out to the cemetery for the burial. The people stood quietly and then began to file out of the rows in a succinct organized manner, almost with a military sensibility.
As we drove in the processional of flagged cars, I looked out of the window and noticed that the clouds had given way to the sun, and that now the periwinkle sky was bare. Lucy’s truck entered through the curved iron gates at the front of the cemetery. We rode along the winding rode through the monuments as we went deeper and deeper into the burial grounds. It was like its own city. Each area of monuments seemed like a little neighborhood consisting of family names clustered into some small and some larger groupings. A few granite monuments were very tall and impressive, while other gravestones were small and flat to the earth, overshadowed by the larger markers. It seemed even in death some people were trying to get one up on everyone else.
The long chain of cars came to a stop in a clearing outside the perimeter of a wooded area that hung over one of the more affluent looking neighborhoods. The sun elucidated the fresh earth, and its diagonal cast illuminated the bits of dust and pollen from the flowers that were suspended in the air.
The moment was surreal. The one person I’d counted on, believed incapable of hurting me, the one person I trusted with my true self—whatever that was—was being lowered into the ground on some mechanical apparatus. It made me think back to each afternoon when that mechanical arm eased her wheelchair down until it lightly caressed the pavement and then released her from its clutches. It seemed strange that even in death some things remained the same. I was annoyed with the randomness of my thoughts. I tried to focus. I needed to pay attention and fully realize the gravity of the situation. I’d never been to a funeral before, so this was unfamiliar territory. I thought, was it possible to be so overwhelmed by sadness, and grief that somehow my brain had short circuited into a succession of random memories that were connected (if only loosely) to one another through my experiences of the past and present?
Pay attention!
Pay attention!
I clenched my jaw and forced back the tears. God, I was pissed. I felt more anger than sadness, and then suddenly the feeling would flip-flop and I would feel overpowered with sorrow minus the rage. With my head hung down in prayer my neurons started firing recklessly again as the minister recited a prayer.
Was I going to waste my life? Even though to this point it had truly sucked, was I going to give up living, and opt for just merely existing? Was I going to survive on the same pathetic plane of existence as A—? Was that my destiny? Do I even have a destiny? Ugh, I couldn’t make my brain slow down!
As the minister finished his prayer, my head lifted, and my eyes met Lucy’s red-stained eyes. Suddenly, the lump in my throat could not be restrained. I started to choke on the despair, and then the tears began to flow. My breathing became uneven, and the tears were interrupted by quick huffs of air as I lost control of my breath. I crouched down and put my face into my hands, and just did what I should have done from the beginning. I just cried, cried for everything, cried for years of sadness, cried for the unfairness, cried for the cruelty...I just cried.
Just then, I felt a hand wrap around my shoulders and pull me up. I assumed it was Audrey, but when I went to bury my head in the shoulder I recognized that it was not a woman, but a man. In my attempts to withstand and restrain the sadness of the day with clenched fists and a wandering mind, I hadn’t noticed that Will had come to the funeral. He’d come by himself and had stayed out of the way. I buried my head in his strong chest and continued to sob. I felt so selfish. I’d lived a lifetime with no one there for me, and now, here I was. I had people who cared about me, who were there for me, but I wasn’t there for them. Why couldn’t I be strong? I dried my eyes, and looked at Will. He put his arm around my shoulders and said, “Come on, let’s go.” We walked to the car, and Audrey came over as I shifted my weight from Will’s shoulder to Audrey’s. I sat in the car as Audrey crossed the front of the car to get in the driver’s side. Will shut the door and leaned down so that his head poked through the half-opened window. “I’ll see you at Lucy’s house, okay.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to. Get used to it,” he said with resolute steadiness.
Chapter Eighteen
Lilah died seven months ago, and the sting of death still felt like an open, burning wound. The most painful times were when I’d forgotten about Lilah’s death out of habit, or maybe even hope, and I would stop at three-thirty expecting to see that alabaster van pull up the driveway next door. Then reality would assail my senses, and I’d be reminded that there would never be a van lowering my friend, ever again.
When I think back to Lilah’s funeral, I am grateful, albeit in a strange grief-stricken way. Grateful for the second chance I’d been given to travel my own path. Grateful for the pain I’d endured. Grateful for the opportunity to see what friendship and love truly felt like. Grateful to think outside of myself for once. Grateful that while God may not have given me parents, what he did give me was brains, and the power to forgive.
Will and I graduated the following May, something that I thought I would never accomplish. Audrey and Lucy came to the ceremony, and while I argued against the open house celebration, I finally relented. It was a small gathering of just a few friends, and I had overwhelming feelings of comfort, safety, and happiness.
The summer was once again in full swing, and while I hadn’t thought of myself as the college type, I contemplated taking a few classes at the community college. Music, photography, and of course finite math. Will had planned on taking a full load at the community college, and wanted to earn a degree in music. He planned on transferring to Michigan State after two years. I didn’t know if I’d be going with him, or maybe he would come with me, wherever it was that I was going. I wasn’t sure where it was that I was going to, but I knew it would be somewhere.
I’d given up the idea that my life was worthless. Lilah taught me that a life is never worthless no matter what circumstances you find yourself in. A life, my life, can have a positive impact on the people around me, if I so choose.
I remembered back to the day when I saw the idyllic chaos of the wild flowers reaching up through the cement to find the light and bathe in its glorious illumination. Lilah was like that wild flower growing in the alley. A bright delicate flower full of strength emerging from the cement and finding its way up through the cracks to appear with a ravishing beauty of spirit that will remain in my thoughts forever.
I had no idea what the future held for me, but I knew that it was up to me to steer myself in the right direction, to be that idyllic wild flower standing as a lone reed among the chaos.
I’d never heard from A— after that meeting in Florence. I had no idea if she ever stayed straight or relapsed into the life she’d always relied upon to get her through.
I, better than anyone, understood, shared, and was the victim of the destructive nature of her turbulent personality.
When it came to her, I’d come to a kind of compromise with myself. It was only when I stopped thinking of her as my mother that she became human. An extremely flawed and miserable woman who needed help. Although I couldn’t be the one to give her the help she needed, I could silently, within the corners of my own conscience, give her the forgiveness she and I both needed, rather than disdain that ate me up alive. She no longer was my mother, she was a wounded soul named Alina, and my heart broke for her.
The Idyllic Chaos of My So-Called Life Page 19