A Life More Complete(103)
As I speak that sentence the sound of the heavy wooden church door closing brings my eyes to meet his. He stands at the back of the church holding my gaze for a long second before sliding into the last pew. I can feel the tears begin to fall before I recognize the feeling of weakness taking control of my body. Standing in front of the church openly speaking my feelings makes me far too vulnerable, but I know I can’t stop, not now.
“I failed in more ways than I can begin to describe. I gave up, left him alone as if he didn’t exist and although he was the parent, I could have tried harder. I will miss him for all the wrong reasons. My guilt will be laid to rest with him. There will be no more nightmares, no more sleepless nights or unsaid thoughts. In the end, when I lay my own baby down at night, there will be one thing I learned from my father, what not to do as a parent.” I suck in a quick breath as I attempt to pull myself together. My eyes have been trained on the wooden doors, but I scan the people staring back at me and swallow hard when I find my mother.
“I hope that in death my father can find peace. He led a tortured life and I can only believe that his life and his soul will carry on with peace and solace. But in the end I also say to him, I’m glad you’re gone. Thank you.”
I carefully make my way down the steps of the pulpit as my knees are shaking so intensely that I can’t imagine everyone hasn’t noticed. I collapse into the spot next to Rachel before the tears begin. Falling hard and fast, my chest heaves and a heavy sob escapes my mouth. I am crying not for my father, but for the fact that the whole process has been entirely overwhelming in nature. I lean in close to Rachel and put my head on her shoulder. Her husband Paul reaches around her and rests a comforting hand on my knee. Rachel places her head against mine. I finally whisper the words I didn’t think I could bring myself to emit, “Ben’s here.”
When the service ends and the mourners begin to leave, he’s waiting for me. I go to him willingly, feeling his embrace close around me and for the first time in weeks my body calms from its perpetual state of anxiety. My head resting against his chest nestled under his chin in the place that my body knows far too well.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice hoarse with tears.
“Bob told me.” His reply is muffled as his lips press into my hair with the gentlest of kisses.
“Tyler’s not here. Please don’t ask why.”
“You know I won’t. He obviously has no idea how hard this is for you. When Bob told me I couldn’t let you do it alone.”
“Thank you,” I sniff. “I need to get going. I have to meet my sisters at the cemetery. I don’t want to be late. I’ve already made a fool of myself.”
“Oh, doubt that. Could you give me a lift? I took a cab from O’Hare. I think I saw my life flash before my eyes. Sorry about being late; my flight was delayed.”
“Are you sure you want to come?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m here. I didn’t come for the sights.”
“Maybe later. Come on,” I say as he links his hand with mine and slides the car keys from my palm. He climbs into the driver’s seat and I direct him where to go.
Ben and I meet up with Rachel and Maizey in the front row as my father is laid to rest. It isn’t like you see on television. There is no weeping widow or mournful family. The faces are somber. No one places flowers on the casket or tosses handfuls of dirt as it is lowered into the ground. The crowd disperses quickly after the final reading from the priest. Again we are alone, but this time someone is by my side. Desperate for the feeling of belonging to someone, I cling to what I have with Ben for dear life. He’s not mine and he will never be, but right now I will take what I can get.
As we get ready to leave, I’m inundated with my mother’s presence and before I can bail, she’s upon us.
“Kristin,” she says brusquely. Her lips pressed into a firm straight line as she assesses me with her eyes. “Am I to assume this is your husband?” It’s more of jab than a question. I lack the social prowess that she’s looking for in my absence of an immediate introduction.
“You assume wrong,” I reply jabbing back at her. I would really like to fill her with the line about assuming things, but I keep my mouth shut. “This is a friend of mine.”
“Well, interesting. Are you going to introduce me or should I just stand here and stare at you both?”
Turning to look at Ben I address him, “Ben this is my mother, Kim Borkowski.” My mother in keeping with her feminist views or whatever it was, chose to keep her maiden name. Yet she had no problem giving her children the name of a man she despised. Even during her second marriage to Tom she didn’t change her name. She wanted to keep her autonomy, that was the reasoning she gave Tom, but in my opinion, she never intended to stay, making it easier when it came time to divorce, not to mention the fact that it put some definite distance between her children and her. Strangely enough, I followed this same rule, autonomy, feminist views, scared to commit philosophy when I married Tyler. I didn’t change my name. I rationalized it in my mind at the time that it’s part of who I am, part of my job and changing it would just cause confusion. At least that’s what I said during a particularly heated argument with Tyler as we were filling out the paperwork at the courthouse. To appease him I agreed to hyphenate my last name, but in the end I scrapped that idea and stuck with my maiden name.