by Kelly Risser
What teenager ever imagines she would attend her mother’s funeral? I certainly didn’t. Although Mom joked that she wasn’t going to die right away, she didn’t make it through the night.
She woke one more time and asked for more tea, but she fell asleep before the second cup grew cold. As she slept, we listened as her breathing grew raspy and irregular. The night nurse kept an eye on her vitals and administered morphine, but otherwise sat discreetly in the corner of the room. Around two, my mom stopped breathing. Her face, relaxed in sleep, looked peaceful. I gave her one last kiss on the cheek before I collapsed on the floor.
I didn’t remember much after that. I woke the next morning in my room, and the days that followed were a blur of funeral planning. My father and grandparents handled most of the details. I only spoke when someone asked me something.
Evan was by my side whenever he could slip away from school. I worried about him falling behind, but he told me not to. The awkwardness between us faded. I knew he had forgiven me, although he never said as much.
I reread the card Kim sent that arrived the day before. She apologized that she couldn’t be there, but she provided just the right words of comfort. I missed her. I set the card back on my nightstand and rose to draw back the curtains. How appropriate that the sky was thick with angry clouds. A bitter wind blew, and thunder rumbled in the distance. I felt the electrical charge in the air—the barely contained fury. I wondered absently if my father was behind it—if the pending storm was a manifestation of his grief.
I dressed methodically, slipping into the black dress I bought the day before. I brushed my hair, but skipped the makeup. I would only cry it off anyway.
Evan waited in the living room. I was grateful he was here. He looked handsome in his dark suit.
“Thanks for waiting,” I said. He crossed the room and held me close. I relaxed into him. He was so warm, and I was so cold.
He slid his hands down my arms as he stepped back, grasping my hands in his. “Are you all set?” I was glad he didn’t say “ready”. How could anyone be ready for this?
The drive to the chapel went too fast. I wanted to run, to hide, to go anywhere but inside, where I would face the inevitability of my mother in a coffin. The finality of it all.
It was a fruitless wish. Nothing changed the fact that she was gone forever.
My grandparents stood next to David in the front. Mourners continued to arrive for the visitation. I felt obligated to stand near them, although I stayed as far away from the open casket as I could. I didn’t need or want the closure of seeing her lifeless body. I had all the closure I could handle for the moment.
Evan stood beside me and held my hand. The line of visitors grew—it seemed everyone one in town and the surrounding area had come—people I didn’t even know and never saw before. The strong perfume of flowers cloyed the air, and it was difficult to breathe. My throat started to close, and I collapsed against Evan. He caught me, his movements so subtle that I doubt anyone else noticed. He leaned over and whispered something to my grandfather, who looked at me and nodded briskly.
Next thing I knew, Evan was leading me out of the chapel and down an empty corridor. He sat me in a chair and pushed my head toward my knees. “Breathe, Meara,” he instructed firmly. “You’re about to pass out.”
I breathed slowly, deeply, closing my eyes and concentrating on the movement—in, out, in, out. With a barely audible sigh, I sat up. I felt a fraction better, one step back from the edge. I focused on my surroundings, the creamy brick walls, the dark blue linoleum tiles, and the long row of fluorescent lights. One flickered at the end of the hall. Evan crouched in front of me, his hand resting lightly on my knee. His eyes were shadowed in concern. I attempted a smile, but grimaced instead.
“I’m better. Thanks,” I said.
Evan ignored me. “When was the last time you ate something?”
I tried to remember. Was it yesterday? The day before?
“I thought so,” he said when I didn’t answer. “Stay here.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was more than happy to avoid prying eyes and stay in the hall.
“There you are!” I looked up and saw Ula hurrying toward me. I almost didn’t recognize her. She swapped her vintage hippie chick for subdued black dress pants and a black, silk blouse. Her hair was a riot of curls. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” she continued. “Thank goodness I ran into Evan.”
She hugged me before sitting on the floor next to my chair. She rummaged through her worn leather backpack until she pulled out something wrapped in brown paper.
“For you,” she said with a flourish. “Evan said you were hungry.”
I unwrapped it and discovered in was a salt bagel, my favorite kind. It felt a little warm. I took a huge bite. It was chewy and delicious.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I have water, too.” She handed me a metal water bottle.
“Are you always this prepared?” I joked. “What else do you have in that magical pack?”
“You never know what you’ll need.” Her mouth curved up briefly before she frowned. She moved from sitting to crouching in front of me, placing her hand on my knee and searching my eyes. “How are you?”
“Better now,” I said after I swallowed a bite.
“Well enough to go back out there?”
I grimaced. “I’d rather not.”
She patted my knee. “I don’t blame you. I’ve never understood human customs surrounding death. Placing the body out to be viewed. Burying the remains in the ground.” She shuddered.
“What do Selkies do?” I asked with curiosity.
“We send the body out to the sea, of course,” Ula said. She recited, “From whence we are born, we return.”
I wondered if that was their mantra or something. “Isn’t that like a funeral?”
“It is not an event,” she explained. “We do not wait for a time that is convenient for the survivors; we do not invite others. Whoever is there performs the blessing, and the sea takes the body away. It’s much simpler.”
I thought of the lines of people waiting to offer their condolences and the ceremony to follow, orchestrated by a minister who didn’t even know my mom. “Sounds nice,” I said.
Ula nodded and smiled. “You’ll like being a Selkie, Meara. I promise.”
“I’m not sure…” I looked down the hall, hoping that Evan would come back. I didn’t want to talk about this at my mom’s funeral.
“But of course, today is not the day to discuss this,” she said. She stood, brushed off her pants, and offered me her hand. I took it and stood. “I’ll stay by you for the service, if you like.”
I squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”
We walked back into the parlor. The pallbearers stood in the front of the room with the caretaker. They were preparing to close the casket. I’d been gone long enough that the ceremony was about to begin. Evan stood with his family, but when he saw me, he came over and took my other hand.
“Feeling better?” he asked. He kissed my cheek. “At least you have a little color now.”
“Where’s my dad?” I scanned the room, but didn’t see him.
Evan gestured to the door. “He stepped out.”
“Is he coming back?” I asked. Now that I understood Selkie custom, I realized how much harder this day was for him.
“I think so,” Evan said. “He didn’t say.”
“How much time until the service?” I asked.
Evan looked at his phone. “About five minutes. Are you going to look for him?” I nodded. “Do you want me to come?”
I gave them both an apologetic smile. “I’d rather go alone.”
“Hurry back,” Ula said.
I found my dad around the corner, sitting in his car. His head was in his hands. He was so still that I wondered if he was asleep. I opened the passenger door and slipped in.
“Dad?” I touched his arm. “Are you coming in for the service?”
He rubbed his face before looking at me. His eyes were bloodshot. I could tell he’d been crying. He cleared his throat before he gruffly said, “I don’t think so.”
“I understand,” I said. “Ula told me your customs.”
When he gave me a sharp look, my face grew hot. I probably shouldn’t have said that. I may have just gotten her in trouble.
“What customs?” he asked.
“Regarding death,” I said. “Sending the body to sea.”
He nodded curtly before he reached inside of his suit coat and pulled out a sealed envelope. “Your mother asked me to give this to you once the funeral was over. I imagine this is as good a time as any.”
“Thanks.” I took the envelope, tucking it into my purse so I could read it later in private.
“I’m going away for the night.” He frowned at the sky. It was quickly changing from gray to black. “I don’t trust myself right now.”
Was he creating this storm? What was he going to do? “Are you going to Change?”
He looked at me a moment before answering. “Yes, but I will be back. Will you be okay for a night?”
“I’m not a child,” I said, and then softer. “I’ll be fine, Dad.” I pointed at the blackening sky. “Are you doing this?”
He looked a bit sheepish. “I imagine so. I’m struggling for control. Spending time as my true self will help.”
As he turned to leave the car, I felt the strangest impulse not to let him go. “Dad?”
“Yes?” He turned back, his eyes filled with pain.
I threw my arms around him. “I love you.” It was the first time I said it, and I realized I meant it. Somehow, in the past few months, he became my father.
He hugged me tight, resting his cheek against my hair. When he pulled back, his eyes were full of tears. “Thank you, Meara. I love you, too.”
I watched him walk away, and then hurried back inside. I was probably late for the service, but I didn’t care. Mom was already gone, now my dad was too, if just for the evening. For the first time, I wished I could have gone with him.