by J. L. Berg
“We did everything we were supposed to do,” she cried, referring to his last stroke that had put him into early retirement. “Everything the doctors told us to do after the last stroke, we did. Why did this happen? I don’t understand. He was fine this morning. Then, he got a headache, and now…”
I didn’t know what to say, so I held her. For as long as she needed, I held her.
Logan came out about an hour after arriving at the hospital and explained the stroke was fatal, and it was just a matter of time. His brain was hemorrhaging, and there was nothing that could be done. They’d given him morphine for the pain and kept him unconscious, but the rest would happen with time.
We were allowed to go in and see him one by one—to say good-bye.
I didn’t want to say good-bye.
Less than twenty-four hours later, he was gone.
I still didn’t want to say good-bye now.
The tequila bottle, now a beautiful mess of shards on the floor, sparkled under the sunlight, and the leftover alcohol bled down the wall, like tears.
“What the hell am I going to drink now?” I asked myself out loud, looking around the messy bedroom for something else to numb the endless stream of thoughts running through my head.
“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” I heard someone answer back.
How much did I drink last night?
My head lolled to the side, and through the blur, I made out Mia standing in the doorway.
“How did you get in here?” I slurred.
“You left your door unlocked, genius.”
“Did that on purpose,” I said with more slurring.
She looked around and noticed the glass. She sighed and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a trash bag and made quick work of the mess. She obviously didn’t appreciate the brilliant spectacle the sun was doing with the tiny glass fragments as much as I did. She also wasn’t drunk, so there was that.
I silently watched her as she meticulously picked up each piece, vacuumed, and cleaned the wall. She vanished into the kitchen again and came back moments later with clean hands and an expectant expression.
“What?” I asked.
“Get up,” she said.
“Why?” My head slumped back on my pillow, and I made no move to get up from my position on the bed.
“You’re not showing up to your dad’s funeral looking like that!” she exclaimed.
I looked up at her, and she was trying hard to be nice, but I could see she was annoyed. She probably hadn’t expected this when she said she’d help me.
“I’m not going, so you can just go if you want,” I said before slumping back down on the sheets.
“You’re not going?”
“Nope.”
After a few minutes of silence, I figured she had gotten sick of my behavior, and she’d left to save herself one more second of having to be around me. But as I glanced up, I found her standing in the exact same spot with her arms folded over her chest in that familiar pose she liked to take with me.
“Get up, Garrett,” she commanded.
“No.”
She took several steps forward until she was standing at the edge of the bed, hovering over me. The citrusy smell of her lotion invaded my senses.
“Get the fuck up.”
At her bold words, my eyes darted to hers. She wasn’t messing around. She was stone-cold serious. Well, two could play at that game.
I sat up so that we were nose-to-nose. I could feel her breath against my neck, and heat radiated off her body.
“I’m. Not. Fucking. Going,” I punctuated each word as the anger seethed out of every pore on my body.
I was a ticking time bomb, and she was playing with fire.
Just when I thought she would match me and give me exactly what I needed—her screaming back and offering up a worthy opponent to channel my rage—she did the opposite.
She reached out, clutching my face gently, as she whispered, “What are you afraid of Garrett?”
“I’m not scared, damn it!” I yelled, pulling back from her tender touch.
“Then, what is this about? Because I know you wouldn’t willingly bail on your family when they need you.”
Her hand found mine, and I didn’t think she understood the effect her touch had on me. Every single brush of her hand and lingering touch or taste of her lips was like taking a walk back in time. I would remember the first time she’d let me hold her hand at school or the shy smile she had given me when I taught her to ride a bike in my driveway. My dad had laughed at me, saying I had the worst game he’d ever seen, but I’d gotten her anyway. I’d been so excited to tell him that we were getting married, but I’d never gotten the chance.
“I can’t go, Mia. I don’t know how to be strong today,” I said, feeling deflated. I gripped her hand like a lifeline.
“No one is asking you to be strong. Let me be the strong one today. Just hold my hand and find a way to say good-bye,” she answered.
“Okay,” I said in defeat.
She helped me find a suit and tie and politely stepped out of the room while I changed, but I quickly called her back in. My hands were so shaky that I couldn’t button my own shirt. She gave me a sad smile and helped me with the buttons as I tried not to bend down and smell her hair. She was wearing a classy form-fitting black dress and heels. Her normally straight hair was curled and pinned back.
“Can you help me with my tie, too?” I asked, handing the dark blue silk tie to her.
She nodded and reached up to loop it around my neck. Our eyes met and held briefly before she quickly looked down and began working on the knot.
“There you go,” she said, taking a step back to put space between us.
“Thank you. I guess it’s time.”
She nodded and took my hand as I tried to find a way to say good-bye to my father.
Chapter Fourteen
~Mia~
I was full of shit.
I’d told him I would be strong for him, but I honestly didn’t know if I could be.
When I’d seen him broken and defeated, curled up on that bed like the world was closing in around him, I hadn’t known what else to do. So, I had taken charge and fought for him when he didn’t have the strength to do so himself.
As we walked into that church on this hot summer day, with his fingers curled around my own, I seriously doubted my ability to be all that he needed me to be. But I would give everything to try. Immediately after entering the church, we were greeted by an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a name tag that said Betty with the church logo. She gave Garrett a sad smile, recognizing him at once. He looked so much like his father that it was hard to miss the resemblance.
“You must be Garrett,” she said, taking his free hand in greeting.
He nodded, and she offered her condolences to which he just stared at the floor and swallowed hard.
“We’ve set up a room over here,” she said, pointing to the right of the sanctuary, “where the family can wait until it’s time to enter.”
I saw her quickly glance at our joined hands, and I didn’t miss her eyes darting to Garrett’s ring finger.
“Your friend is free to take a seat in the sanctuary until the service begins,” she said politely.
“She stays with me. She is family today,” he insisted.
We turned away, leaving the woman stunned and speechless.
Judgmental old bat.
The church Garrett and Clare’s parents attended was large and modern with high ceilings and updated decor. Every church I’d ever been in always had a distinctive musty odor, but walking into this church felt more like walking into a performing arts building. It was huge.
We entered the room designated for the family and found them all gathered together tightly. Everyone was talking in hushed tones and passing around boxes of tissues. I suddenly felt out of place, like I was intruding on a private moment. Garrett must have sensed my hesitance because his hand tightened on mi
ne, and I was suddenly reminded why I was there.
This day wasn’t about me or how I might feel. It was about the man standing next to me. He needed me, and no matter what was going on between us, I would be there for him. I owed him that much. Regardless, I wanted to do this for him. I would do anything for him.
All eyes turned to us as the door shut behind us.
“Garrett,” his mother said, rising from her seat to greet us. She pulled her son in a tight hug and stroked his hair, which I found endearing.
She turned toward me, and to my surprise, she also pulled me into a warm embrace. “So good to see you again, Mia. Welcome home. We’ve missed you.”
She remembers me?
Before I had much time to contemplate that thought, everyone else in the family greeted us. Everyone, even the children, hugged me. Clare’s daughter, Maddie, took to me immediately, asking who I was.
Most of us found seats while others made coffee or grabbed water.
Maddie sat down next to me and asked, “Did you know my Papa?”
My heart hurt that she’d lost her grandfather at such a young age. Grandparents were one of the best parts of being a kid. They loved unconditionally, spoiled their grandchildren rotten, and would let them eat sweets even if vegetables were skipped over. My grandparents made the early years of my childhood better. I never knew my mother’s parents. They had died before I was born, but my father’s parents were great. I always wondered what happened to my dad, having come from such an amazing set of parents.
“I did know your Papa. He was a wonderful man,” I said.
“He always had M&M’s in his coat pocket. Whenever I’d see him, he’d always share with me. They were always mushy from being in his pocket, but I liked them anyway.”
“Well, now, you always have something special to remind you of your Papa, huh?”
She thought about it for a minute and shook her head. “No, I don’t think I can eat them anymore. They’ll make me too sad.”
“Memories of our loved ones shouldn’t make us sad after they’re gone. Happy memories should make us happy. Why don’t you try to think of all the happy memories you had with your Papa every time you eat an M&M?”
She twirled her strawberry-blonde curls and contemplated my advice. Finally, she gave me a ghost of a smile. “Well, I do love M&M’s,” she said.
“And you love your Papa. It’s perfect.”
She cuddled with me for a few minutes and talked about her brother. He was currently running around the room, chasing Leah’s daughter, Lily. They were both oblivious to what was going on. Their laughter and cries of glee were misplaced but a welcome change to the mournful atmosphere of the room. Sometimes, being so young must be a blissful alternative.
Garrett was in the corner, speaking with Leah, but his eyes were on me, and I wondered how long he’d been watching me.
The door opened, and the annoying woman from earlier entered.
“It’s time, if you’re ready,” she said, giving her best sad, empathetic face.
Laura, Garrett’s mother stood in front, and everyone paired off behind her. Clare went to Logan, Leah found Declan, and Garrett stood next to me. All the kids attached themselves to their parents, and we lined up. The other family members were already seated. Only the immediate family would be ushered in, and the fact that they had always included Leah made me love their family even more. The Finnegan’s always welcomed everyone into their home with open arms, but Leah was special. Leah was family, regardless of blood ties.
Garrett’s hand sought mine, and I turned to find him standing next to me with his eyes closed. He was breathing heavily through his mouth, like he was gearing up for a fight.
Taking a step, I moved in front of him and placed my hand on his erratically beating heart. His eyes opened and locked on mine.
“I’m right here, okay?”
He nodded, and I fell back into line. We took our first steps out of the room toward the sanctuary.
~Garrett~
Every step we took closer to those double doors leading to my father lying lifeless in a casket made me want to turn and run even more.
Ever since Mia had left, I’d been surviving life by avoiding everything. I hadn’t wanted to move on, so I didn’t. I’d immersed myself in college. When that had been over, I’d become a workaholic, all so I could avoid having to deal with the fact that she’d left, and I’d have to find someone else.
I had used avoidance as my crutch for my entire adult life.
As I walked into that sanctuary and found so many eyes on us, I really wanted to turn and run. I could just get in my car and go anywhere just to avoid this new reality that was now my life.
My father was a well-respected man in our community, and seeing so many people attending his funeral should have made me proud, but it didn’t.
It just made it real, and I didn’t want to face it.
Curled up on my bed with a bottle of tequila had made it easy to forget what I’d seen in that hospital room. The alcohol had made everything dull and fuzzy. It had eased the pain and made the hurt go away.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said.
My sister clutched my hand outside my father’s room in the ICU. “Just talk to him, Garrett. That’s what I did.” Her eyes were red and puffy from the tears she’d shed.
We were all saying good-bye. I had held out, hanging back in the hallway, until there was no one left but me. It was now or never.
Clare squeezed my hand one last time, and I took the remaining steps into the darkened room holding my father. The room beeped and echoed as the machines did their work.
Just one look at him brought me to my knees. The tears rolled down my face, and my chest heaved. Oh God, why?
There were tubes and wires everywhere. He looked nothing like the man who I’d seen just days earlier. This made it real. They’d told me he was dying, but seeing him made it a reality.
I was losing my father.
With shaky limbs, I managed to reach his bedside, and I took his lifeless hand. “Hey, Dad, it’s me. Where do I even begin?”
I hadn’t been able to say enough that day. How could I say good-bye to the greatest father in the world?
Sitting down on those uncomfortable church pews with my family brought everything rushing back with crystal-clear clarity.
There were programs and boxes of Kleenex laid out on the pews, and I had to move them to sit down next to Mia. She picked up a program and handed it to me. On the front was a picture of my dad. Dressed in his signature Hawaiian shirt and khakis he loved to wear so much in the summer, he looked happy with a huge grin that took up his entire face.
Mia’s grip on my hand never failed, and she leaned into me. Feeling her beside me anchored me in a way I couldn’t explain. The feeling to run was still there, but with her here, I felt grounded. Every time I felt like the walls were collapsing around me, her steady hand was there to help pull me through to the other side.
My eyes focused on the casket and wouldn’t budge. My mother had chosen a closed casket, and I was thankful. The last memory of my father was hard enough without having to see him embalmed and lifeless.
A minister I didn’t know took the podium and began quoting scripture before speaking about my father. I guessed he knew my father. My parents had attended this church for a while, and my dad was a social guy. Everyone had loved him.
Everyone loved him—past tense.
I didn’t like talking about my father in past tense. It made me angry.
Finally, the minister opened the podium to family members. My mom had mentioned this part to us last night. She’d wanted to give all of us the opportunity to speak about Dad if we wanted.
Logan was the first to take the podium. “Hi, my name is Logan Matthews, and I was lucky enough to call Thomas Finnegan, Dad. The first time I met him was about four years ago at one of their famous cookouts. I was scared to death. I was dating his daughter, and I was convinced he was going to kill me.”<
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The audience chuckled a bit, and Logan gave a hint of a smile.
“He took one look at me, and I thought I was a goner. When he pulled me to the side and started grilling me, I thought for sure I’d never see Clare or Maddie again, and they’d find my body floating along the James River. Something I said must have convinced him I was good enough for them because he pulled me into a tight hug and welcomed me to the family…just like that.”
The room was silent, and Logan was fighting back tears.
“Sometimes, the people who give us life aren’t capable to take on the role of a parent, so we spend a lifetime trying to find someone to fill that gaping hole in our heart. Thomas Finnegan was that person for me. He was the only real father figure I’ve ever known, and I am so lucky that I had him in my life. He gave me the love of my life and a family. I will be indebted to him for the rest of my days.”
He stepped off the podium, wiping tears from his eyes. After him, one by one, my family spoke. Clare said Dad had a tremendous heart. My mother recounted the tale of their fairy-tale wedding day, but she couldn’t make it through, and Leah stepped in to help her. Leah’s speech was much like Logan’s, speaking of how he was the only real father she’d ever known. Her biological father was currently serving a life sentence for attempted kidnapping and abuse.
Soon, there was no one left but me, and I knew it was time. Mia squeezed my hand—her way of telling me it was okay if I didn’t go up there, but for once in my life, I didn’t want to avoid the hard stuff. I wanted my dad to be proud of me.
The distance between the front pew and the podium felt endless, and by the time I took my place behind it, my heart was rattling in my chest. I looked out to the audience and saw my family staring back at me with encouraging tear-stained eyes. Mia had slid over next to Leah, and they were holding hands.
“My father was always a man of words. Growing up, when we had math or science homework, we went to Mom, but if we had a paper to write, Clare and I knew to go to Dad for help. He always knew what to say and when. He had a knack for it, and he was this way with advice, too. In my sophomore year of high school, we were working on fixing up an old car, so I’d have something to drive once I got my license. We were always doing projects together, and unlike some teenagers, I never grew tired of hanging out with my old man. We’d talk about school and football. He’d ask about my friends and my girlfriend.”