The Tea Series

by Sheila Horgan

  “That’s the whole thing. Didn’t you hear me? It wasn’t an accident, Cara. She’s done this over and over. This is just the first time she’s killed anyone. Almost killed two people. It’s an accident until you get behind the wheel drunk. Then it isn’t an accident anymore.”

  “I know. Will you promise me that you aren’t going to do anything until after the funeral and everything? Just wait that long. If you still feel this way later, we can talk about it then, but right now everybody’s world is upside down. Mom would not want you to do this, Rory. You know that.”

  “Yeah, well thanks to that bitch, Mom isn’t here, is she?”

  “She’ll always be there for you, Rory. You know that.”

  He hung up.

  Teagan shook her head.

  “I know.” I started walking back toward Mom. “Careful what you wish for.”

  Teagan was confused. “What does that mean?”

  “This morning, I was wishing that I would get so busy or that my mind would get so busy I’d be able to put some of this aside. Now on top of everything else, I’m worried about Rory.”

  “He’ll be okay.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s Liam I’m worried about.”

  “Me, too. Have you talked to Morgan?”

  “She’s worried. And scared. Liam is lost.”

  “We all are.”

  Mom’s hair turned out perfect. We did it in loose curls and arranged it kind of floating on the pillow. It looked full, like she likes it. Her makeup was a little too good. Thanks to Teagan more than me.

  “Teagan, Mom looks more like she’s asleep than dead.”

  I said it.

  The first time?

  My mother is dead.

  I can’t believe it.

  I had to sit down.

  When I came back to reality, it was because I heard Teagan taking a picture of Mom. I know some cultures do that, but O’Flynns do not. “What are you doing, Teagan?”

  “I took a picture of Mom.”

  “I know that. The question is why?”

  “In case at some point Dad wants to see it. If he does, I’ll have it. If he doesn’t, no one will ever see this picture. Ever.”

  “That makes sense. I guess. Poor Daddy. He can’t even come to the service.”

  “Troya was going to talk to them again. See if maybe we can get him here at least for the viewing or maybe at the church tomorrow. I don’t think that Dad is going to bounce back if he doesn’t.”

  “I’ve thought about that, too.”

  “Troya said that a doctor from the hospital and a couple of the nurses have offered to attend with Dad so they can keep an eye on him. Maybe if we can do a para-transport type thing, and then with the doctor and nurses, maybe he can do it.”

  “Does he want to?”

  “Depends on the moment.”

  “I can’t even imagine what he is going through.”

  “Me, either. It sure puts everything in perspective, though, doesn’t it? All of the sudden, all my shitty little problems don’t matter.”

  “Easy to say in the moment, hard to live by, Teagan.”

  “True.”

  “I was thinking this morning.”

  “I know that was effort for you, dingleberry.”

  “Actually, it was. All the things Mom is going to miss. Sinead’s baby. She’ll never meet our kids. They’ll never have her to love on them. Never in my whole life did I think that could happen. Never.”

  “Me either.”

  “You see all these people that take it for granted. I took it for granted. All the time. I don’t get it.”

  “Me, either.”

  “Teagan, how come there are so many mothers out there that abuse their kids, and their kids don’t like them, and families that don’t talk to each other for years at a time, and we lose our mom?”

  “Maybe we’ve had more good times than we deserve, and those other people are still working toward them.”

  “That sounds like Mom.”

  “Yeah, it did, didn’t it?”

  Liam showed up, and we tried to calm down. He’s having a hard enough time.

  The rest of the afternoon went by too fast to think about. Liam brought the music with him. They played a loop of Mom’s favorite songs.

  I hate to admit this, but the truth is, it would make Mom laugh.

  The music that we chose was actually the playlist I use for housecleaning. Whenever I’m cleaning my apartment, I have all my favorite Irish songs blasting away. They’re my favorites because I heard them all my life. They’re my favorites because they were Mom’s favorites.

  We have a cousin that’s going to sing “Ave Maria” at the church tomorrow. She vowed a couple years ago never to sing it again. Every Catholic in the area asks that she sing it for special occasions, and she was getting tired of it. We didn’t even call and ask her. She called us and offered. Even Seamus let go of a tear for that one.

  I’m worried about him. He is keeping it all inside. At least in public. We have two babies on the way in this family. Now one brother is talking about leaving his job, the thing that he has always wanted to do with his life, and the other brother is going to stroke out if he doesn’t release some pressure. Rory and Seamus are a mess. I expected Liam to be the one that completely fell apart.

  The rosary about killed me. We decided not to sit in the little family alcove on the side of the chapel. Mom always hated when people separate themselves out like that. We sat in the front pew. All the way across both sides. At first, the priest in charge of Mom’s parish wasn’t going to allow Billy to do the rosary and the funeral, but a quick phone call took care of that. I’m not sure who Seamus talked to or what he said, but when Billy walked up to talk to him, they both laughed. It was good to see.

  The sounds got to me. There were so many people sniffing and crying, and every time I heard someone cry, my heart broke into more pieces. I was successful in holding myself together. Mostly. Mom would not appreciate us being overly dramatic, and let’s face it, since the moment it dawned on me what Teagan was saying, I’ve been over the top.

  I don’t care.

  This is one thing I’m not going to push to the back and deal with later. I’m going to allow myself to feel everything that I need to feel and cry all the tears I need to cry because if I don’t, that woman sitting in jail is going to become a focal point for me, and that won’t be good. Oh wait, she’s already out of jail, and my mother isn’t even buried yet. I took a breath and let that go. For now.

  I hate the part where everybody lines up to look in the casket, to say that the person in there looks so good, and then lines up to say something to the people left behind. I’ve always hated being in line trying to figure out what it is I’m supposed to say, but this time, when the line is forming for me and mine, it’s a million times worse.

  Everyone kept saying the most inane stupid things, and I had to smile and say thank you or my mother would haunt me for the rest of my days.

  One woman came up, a woman that had never been kind to her mother or children, and said that she knew exactly how we felt. Really? In my ear, I could hear my mother whisper to be kind. Not to point out the obvious.

  People showed up that I hadn’t seen in years. They had nice things to say about Mom. Told stories about how she helped them in ways that I’d never heard about.

  You would think it would help me, to hear all that nice stuff, but it just made it hurt more.

  After the rosary was done and everyone had a chance to hug the grieving family and everyone finally cleared out, we stayed. Just the O’Flynn kids and the married-ins.

  We asked Mom to watch over Daddy.

  We prayed that he would be with us, not her, as selfish as that sounds.

  We thanked her for being a good Mom. A good wife. A good example. The best of everything in life.

  We read some Irish stuff to her. I couldn’t even tell you what it was.

  The grandkids did some drawings fo
r her, and we put those in the casket with her.

  I put her favorite teacup in. White with little green shamrocks on it. Gold around the edges. Reminded her that she owed me a cup.

  Mom’s hands would swell when she was pregnant, and she was pregnant a lot, so my dad bought her a plain gold wedding band to wear instead of her usual diamond wedding set. We had them take her wedding rings off and put her pregnancy band on. She always said that being pregnant was the favorite time of her life. Just her and the babe. That’s how she saw it. Even with a bunch of kids pulling at her for one thing or the other, she felt when she was pregnant that she had a special time with each of us.

  I couldn’t think of anything else I could do for Mom, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave, either.

  Rory broke the silence. “We need to get to the hospital. Tell Dad that we’re okay.”

  “Do you think all of us should troop over there? It’s getting late.”

  “I’m going. You guys do what you want.” We ran out of patience days ago.

  We all caravanned to the hospital. When we got to the nurses station, we were intercepted. “He’s been moved back to intensive care.”

  “What? What happened?”

  “It’s a rough day for him.” The older nurse was so kind. “His friend Aldo was sitting with him as you arranged. He noticed that your father was distant. That would be expected. Aldo insisted that something wasn’t right. After a full examination, we saw that your father is having a bit of a time with some leakage. Internally. We have changed his medications. He should be just fine, but as a precaution, we have moved him. He can be more closely monitored there.”

  “Where do we go?”

  “Only two at a time can visit. Just like before.”

  “No problem.”

  We all stayed all night and left only long enough to get ready for the funeral, attend it, and then a quick wake.

  Mom has always been into beautiful funerals. She’s always told us it was a sign of respect, not only for the dead, but for the living as well. All things being equal, we didn’t do a great job with Mom’s funeral, and that’s going to haunt me for a long time.

  She had a beautiful casket.

  We said all the right prayers.

  But the food at the wake was catered instead of homemade.

  And Daddy wasn’t there as he should be, and would have been, if not for the setback last night.

  And me, the woman that was going to make her living writing eulogies for other people’s loved ones, felt completely incapable of writing one for the most loved woman I know.

  I hope Mom understands.

  I saved a copy for Daddy.

  I read it over and over and over again in the apartment so that I would be able to read it in church without completely falling apart.

  I prayed Mom would approve.

  My mother loves my father, and he loves her. Completely. My whole life — when I thought about it and when I didn’t — that inarguable fact created a world for our family that was nothing short of magical. Many think that the life my parents created for us is fantasy. That somehow with the swipe of a wand, they raised all of us to be whatever it is that we are. We are truly blessed, but it’s the blessing of parents that loved each other — and us — enough to put in the hard work necessary to build a family. What my mother created for each of us was so much more than a fantasy. Mom provided a rock-solid foundation that made each of us the best people we know how to be. She guided us, sometimes dragging us against our will, to choose the positive over the negative. To choose to be present. To choose to help when we could, and if there was “nothing to be done of it,” to pray at the very least. To be available to each other and those outside of our family.

  Mom told me once that when it was all said and done if her only accomplishment in this life was to bring a smile to the face of those that allowed her to pass through their minds, she would consider her life to be grand and complete.

  I hope she knows how many smiles she has been responsible for and how many she will continue to inspire.

  Mom living to be a hundred would not have surprised me in the least, but this, losing her so young, rocks me to my core. I hear her. In my head. Just like always. Giving me bits of insight. Pulling me back to center. Loving me. Helping me.

  When I sat down to try to write a eulogy for my mother, the hardest thing I have ever done, it was her voice in my ear. “Love, please do not trouble yourself. There is no need to go on about it. I have lived a life that speaks for itself.”

  Mom’s right.

  Thank you for being a part of her life. She loved each and every one of you, and each and every one of you enriched her life beyond measure.

  I know it sounds weird, but I’m grateful I didn’t have to go to the cemetery and watch them lower the box with Mom in it.

  I know she’s gone.

  I get it.

  But I couldn’t handle that right now.

  Once we have her ashes, and Daddy is able, we will bring her out to the cemetery and put her to rest, and maybe by then, I will have calmed down a little bit. I just can’t think about that right now.

  The wake was at Mom and Dad’s house. Thank goodness we did all the little touchups when they were in Ireland. Mom would be pleased that her house was at its best.

  It was hard to watch as people wandered around looking at all the family stuff. Things Mom had collected over the years that none of us even noticed anymore. Pictures of the family. Mom’s favorite this or that.

  When someone commented on the pictures on the fridge that Jordan had given Mom a couple of weeks ago, another woman enthused, “I remember her calling to tell me all about it. She loved that boy so. She was so proud of him. He is doing so well in school. He came over to work in the backyard with his grandfather, and he ended up at the table with her, teaching her how to draw those…” and she pointed to the figures in the picture.

  Jordan was standing close enough to hear.

  He crumpled into himself.

  I held him close.

  “I didn’t get to know her long enough.”

  “None of us did, sweetie, but those ladies are right. Grandma loved you with all her heart, and she always will.”

  “I love her, too.” We cried together until Morgan came and took him from me.

  My heart will never be the same.

  Over the next few days, we were all lost.

  We tried to talk Sinead into attending some classes. That didn’t work.

  We tried to talk some of the others into going back to work. That didn’t work, either.

  Adeline has been great. She’s up in Virginia, but she has been keeping in touch on the phone and making sure that everyone in the family has everything we need.

  I’m grateful.

  At about midnight, I was sitting with Daddy. His monitors started making some weird noises, which scared the supreme bejuzus out of me. He stirred. “Cara?”

  “Yes, Daddy?”

  “I’ve a talk with your mother.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just took his hand and listened.

  “She doesn’t want me there. She wants me to stay and care for the lot of you.”

  “Daddy, you know she always puts the kids first. She wants you, but we need you.”

  “She said the same. You tell them to go. Go on home. I’ll be alright.”

  “They aren’t going to go home until at least three doctors and maybe a shaman tell them that.”

  He smiled. Something I hadn’t seen in a while.

  “Did you lay her peacefully?”

  “We did, Daddy.”

  “She was a good woman.”

  “The best.”

  “I love her with all of me.”

  “She loves you too, Daddy.”

  “I’ll not understand for the rest of my days.”

  “Some things aren’t meant to be understood.”

  “You are more like her than you know, Cara.”

  “I hope so,
Daddy.”

  He fell asleep.

  The next day, he was better.

  The day after that, better still.

  Daddy was home from the hospital for four hours — four hours! — when they contacted him to explain that they were working on a plea deal. The woman that murdered my mother would go to rehab. My father was incensed. With all that had happened, I’d not seen him cry. Not due to the pain. Not due to the loss. But when that bureaucrat told him that my mother’s life was worth no more than a four-month stay in a rather nice rehab facility, it was more than he could take.

  He got very quiet.

  He responded with more dignity than I would have been able to muster.

  “If it had been a person that was seen by the masses as important, can you honestly tell me that you would be making this call?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Name an important female. Now or in the past. If she had killed one of those women, what then?”

  “Sir…”

  “I’ll miss my wife no less than those women would be missed. The loss would be no greater. I want the woman held accountable for her actions. I do not wish her any more sorrow than she has created for me and mine.” He put the phone down gently.

  The next couple of weeks were full of activity.

  We took turns driving Daddy to his physical therapy appointments.

  We tried to make sure that he didn’t spend much time alone.

  We made sure his fridge was full, even if his heart was empty.

  My father has always been a quiet man. He was kind of like a background person. My mom was always out front. She did the talking and the stuff that most people saw, but it was my dad that really facilitated all of that.

  A.J. and I talked about buying a house and asking Daddy to move in with us. I know he is too young for that, but I was grasping at anything I thought might help.