“Here,” Stella said, handing me my phone. There were numerous texts and even more voicemails. I sighed, shuffled into the kitchen, and brewed three cups of tea. After setting down cups in front of Lanie and Stella, who were both on the phone again, I settled myself on the sofa and began to return the endless amounts of messages from friends and family members. I replied to each message with information about the service and assured callers that I didn’t need anything at this time, but I would let them know if I did. It was well after 10 when I finally replied to the last message. I saw that Stella and Lanie were still busy in the kitchen and I motioned to them I was going to bed. Each one nodded and said goodnight. I made my way upstairs and quickly changed and practically fell into bed with exhaustion.
The next morning was much of the same. More phone calls, more text messages and more deliveries.
“I don’t know where we are going to start putting some of these,” Lanie mused as she signed for another flower arrangement. I shrugged and slumped down at the table as my phone started to ring again and I let out a groan.
“You don’t have to answer it,” Lanie suggested.
“If I don’t, I will just need to return the call later.”
I answered the call and spent the next five minutes listening to Aunt Judy on Jay’s side of the family talk about how much she was going to miss Jay and that he was just so special to her. I finally was able to hang up just as Stella wandered in the kitchen.
“Who was that?” she inquired, making her way directly to the coffee pot.
“Does it matter? It was another person wanting to tell me how much they will miss Jay and how special he was to them. I’m starting to feel like a priest during confessional. They don’t really want to send their condolences. It’s almost as if they want me to validate their own grief.” I sagged into my seat.
“Wow, now you sound like Lanie,” Stella commented. Lanie stuck her tongue out at Stella.
“Really?” I said, letting out a slight laugh at the two of them.
We sat around the table and chatted some more about what was left to handle before the services the following day.
“Have you thought about what you wanted to say at the service?” Stella asked.
“No. I haven’t had any time to just be,” I said, looking at my friends.
They immediately took my cue and redivided the list among themselves and dismissed me from the kitchen. I wandered back up to the bedroom and showered and dressed in sweatpants and one of Jay’s long, grey fleeces. The arms were too long, but I just rolled up the sleeves and headed down to the office. I pulled my journal from the bookcase behind his desk and sat down, skimming the pages.
Writing had always been my escape, ever since I was young. No matter what was going on in my life I could write about it. Now I sat there, staring at the blank pages. I didn’t know what to say. I sighed and put the journal to the side and turned on the computer searching for the right inspiration. When nothing seemed to work, I found myself being distracted and landing on Jay’s Facebook page. I did not have my own Facebook page. I had balked at the idea of creating one, finding it necessary to keep my private life separate from teachers and parents at school. Stella and Lanie said I was being paranoid. I just never felt the desire to share all my personal thoughts in such a public way. Now Jay, on the other hand felt very differently. He loved catching up with friends and knowing what was going on with everyone. He had written down his login and password information next to the computer so that I could use his account to catch up with the few people I did seek out through the social media world. I had to admit I enjoyed looking at all the crazy pictures that people posted.
But what I found there that day amazed me. Jay’s page had been turned into a make-shift virtual memorial. People were posting pictures of Jay, resharing favorite memories and grieving. I felt overcome with grief but also with happiness that Jay had impacted so many people.
“Look at you, Facebook stalking,” Harry said from the doorway. I swiveled in my chair to face him.
“Guilty as charged.” I sniffled, tears still streaming down my face.
“Hope you don’t mind me dropping by and all. Your babysitters let me in. The old man isn’t much for company.”
“Too sad?”
“No. I could take sad. He has been on the phone doing business most of the time,” he replied.
“Don’t tell Stella that. She will think he’s reconnecting with the mob or something,” I said, chuckling to myself. “How are you doing?”
“It’s hard to tell. I kinda feel that Jay’s just away on another business trip or something and he’ll be back,” Harry said, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets.
“I know exactly what you mean. I go to bed at night and it doesn’t bother me that he’s not there, because I keep thinking he’ll be back in a couple days.”
Jay would often have to take off for several days or weeks or to fly back up to Massachusetts for business. It wasn’t unusual for me to be at home alone several nights a week.
“Looks like it’s gonna be just you and me kid,” Harry said, and while his statement was probably meant to be comforting, a small knot began to form in my stomach. The thought made me uneasy. “Listen. You wanna get out of here and go grab a drink or something? Change of scenery would be good for you,” he said.
“I really shouldn’t. I’m trying to write a eulogy,” I explained.
“I see. I’m not a detective or anything, but looked to me like you were playing on Facebook.” He paused. “Should you really be doing that anyway … writing a eulogy?”
“I want to do this.”
“You’re better with words than I am. Jay will get a kick out of it. You up there in front of all those people saying something from that journal of yours … the one you are always scribbling away in. Yea. That will make him happy.”
“Why don’t you see if Stella or Lanie want something? I’m sure one of my so-called babysitters needs to get out,” I said quietly. I hadn’t realized Harry knew about my journals.
“Yea. Sure. I’ll go see.” He paused as if he had something further to say but thought better of it.
I sat there in Jay’s chair for hours, unsure of what to say. I started so many different versions of what I wanted to say, but none of the words I put down said exactly what I wanted to convey. How do you sum up a life in a couple moments? It was morbid, but I thought back to all the funerals or memorial services I had attended in my lifetime. The list was short. I had attended my mother’s funeral when I was younger, the funeral of my grandmother on my father’s side several years after that and Lanie’s grandmother’s funeral a couple years earlier. Nothing helped.
I spun around in the chair to look at the vast collection of books that sat on the large oak bookcases behind Jay’s desk. Skimming over the titles, I found the book I was looking for. It was old and tattered and the pages had yellowed with age. Pulling it down, I gently flipped through its pages. This particular book had been mine by default. When I was younger, my mom had taken me to a pumpkin patch around Halloween. I was determined to pick the best pumpkin that year and I walked through that patch, picking up and inspecting each pumpkin. Under one particular pumpkin I found a book. My mom turned the book in to the older woman who was working the register. The woman said they would keep the book just in case someone returned to claim it, but if no one claimed it within the next two weeks, she would mail it to me. Sure enough, two weeks later, the book arrived in the mail with a short dedication to me, written on the inside cover. I was so excited I asked my mom to read to me from the book almost every night. The book was mostly poems and short stories and at that time I don’t think I understood most of the tales. After she died, I put the book away for a long while. Now, I held the book in my hands, looking for guidance. As I flipped through its pages, a particular entry caught my eye, and as I read through it, I knew I had found what I was looking for: a way to say good-bye.
CHAPTER 8
‘“When Tomorrow Starts Without Me’ by David Romano,” I started to say, my voice shaky as I opened the faded book to the page I had dog-eared the night before and set it on the podium. I could feel the tears stinging my eyes and I paused to take a ragged breath, trying to steady myself. I looked out into the sea of somber faces of friends and family. Taking one last, deep breath I started to read.
When I was done I closed the book and slowly walked back to my seat, passing by Jay’s coffin and letting my hand trail along the outside edge of it. The church was silent except for the occasional sniffle or cough. I took my seat next to Stella, who reached over and grabbed my hand. I closed my eyes and let out a big sigh and started to cry.
CHAPTER 9
T
he only people left in the church were Harry, Stella, Lanie and I as Gary Swanford approached.
“Jill, we are going to move Jay back to the funeral home and prepare him for his final journey,” he said. I nodded. I still hadn’t left my seat in the front pew of the church.
“Do you need a minute?” he asked and I nodded again. Stella and Lanie both nudged me to move. I slowly got to my shaky feet and approached Jay’s coffin one more time. A beautiful spray of yellow roses sat on the top of the coffin and the fragrance was overwhelming. I rested my hands on the coffin’s shiny outer surface and leaned down and kissed it. I didn’t have anything else left to say. I took a step back and nodded to Gary. He and several other men dressed in suits approached and rolled the coffin toward the side entrance. Stella and Lanie walked next to me as we passed through the front of the church with Harry in tow behind us.
The reception was only a few blocks from the church and we had decided to walk. The Draft was an old firehouse that had been converted into a bar and restaurant. It had become an establishment that Jay spent a lot of time in, especially during law school. We were the last to arrive and found that the restaurant was packed with our friends and family. In the entrance, Lanie and Stella had arranged a table full of pictures of Jay from his baby years to the present, along with a stack of cards on which people could leave their thoughts or favorite memories in lieu of a formal guestbook.
I sat at a table in the middle of the room with either Lanie or Stella by my side at all times. As I sat there, I observed all of our friends and family chatting, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Many snacked on the appetizers Lanie had preselected or drank Jay’s favorite drink—Johnny Walker Red Label over a single large cube of ice with a lemon wedge—that Stella had arranged with the bartender to have in stock.
Slowly, the guests would all come by the table. They all wanted to talk about Jay and most shared their favorite memory or story. I just smiled and listened as Stella, Lanie or Harry continued to keep vigilance over me. People began to leave in specific groups. My coworkers were the first. The teachers and parents slowly gathered around and asked a couple questions before leaving.
“When do you think you will come back?” Jennifer Bentley, my principal, asked.
“I’m not sure now is the best time to discuss that,” Lanie interjected.
“Of course. My apologies,” Jennifer said before leaving.
Next was the handful of Jay’s coworkers who had traveled down from Massachusetts. I had met them all once at a work function, but I couldn’t remember their names. They seemed the most awkward and quickly gave their condolences. One guy, Denny, made arrangements with Stella to stop by the following day before his flight to collect Jay’s work papers and laptop as they would need to be returned. Stella tried to confer with me, but I just shrugged my shoulders, indifferent to when they collected his belongings.
Peter and the few family members who attended left next. Most had traveled down together on a private chartered jet and would be leaving in the morning. All were very somber and quiet during the reception. Harry insisted on walking Peter out to his car so he could say some final words in private. Before he left, Peter gave me a big embrace and made me promise that we would see more of each other. When they walked out, I knew that would be the last time I saw Peter Greenfield.
Those left mingling in The Draft were the liveliest of all the guests, mostly because it consisted of Jay’s law-school friends and Harry’s police-force buddies. Both groups had a large overlap, given the type of work they each did, and many took the occasion to catch up with each other and share stories. Others let off steam from the job and some seemed to be drowning their sorrows. Harry spent a large portion of time mingling with everyone, thanking them for coming and sharing many shots in Jay’s honor. Stella also did her fair share of mingling with the law-school buddies as she had shared classes with half of them and had probably dated the other half.
The bartender announced that the bar was getting ready to shut down and the rowdy bunch ordered one last round of shots.
“I really don’t think she is in any state to be doing bar shots,” Lanie said when a friend of Jay’s offered me a shot.
“Lanie, you’re never going to win against this group,” Harry said, slurring his words.
“Yea, Lanie, you’re not going to win,” Stella chided.
Lanie shrugged her shoulders in a suit-yourself kind of way.
“In Jay’s honor,” I said. Shots were being handed out to everyone left in the bar. Even Lanie finally caved and took one. I was ushered into the center of this large group and with everyone holding up their shot, someone shouted “Speech.”
“To a man of integrity,” one person shouted from behind me.
“To a man of honor,” added a lawyer named Nicky.
“To the best damn lawyer south of the Mississippi,” another shouted and several chuckled.
“To a good friend,” another added.
“Best of friends,” Harry corrected.
“He was a stubborn SOB,” an officer added.
“He was a fierce competitor. He hated losing,” added another lawyer I didn’t recognize. Again, this comment drew chuckles.
“He was the man we should all strive to be,” added a lawyer named Billie.