A Life More Complete(99)

The hospitality room is set with large trays of pinwheel sandwiches and platters of cookies, carafes of coffee permeating the small room with its overwhelming aroma. The hours slip by and no one comes. The day fades and a few people shuffle through the door and introduce themselves. Old neighbors, childhood friends, an AA sponsor from twenty years ago, but no one of substance, no one from his recent life, all with condolences, but with that look of harbored sympathy for his tortured children. Rachel’s mother and father-in-law make an appearance along with Kevin’s brother and sister; all attending from out of town, yet here to support what has now become their family. Gia’s parents hug and kiss each one of us with prayers and kind words. But everything is minimal. No one stays long, no one eats the food, no one can look us in the eye. Later in the evening, Gia and David come and stay longer than anyone; nonetheless it doesn’t make the loneliness any easier. When the time comes to end the wake my mother still hasn’t shown up. For me to expect anything different would have been unwise, yet to this day I still do. Waiting on my mother promises nothing but emptiness. It’s like waiting on rain in the desert, only sadness looms when day in and day out you wait but the sky brings nothing. You wait for that one-day when it will open up. You hope for something wondrous, but it never comes.

The three of us stay an hour after the wake service commences. Each one of us knowing exactly what we are waiting for, but none of us saying it. When it doesn’t happen, it breaks us; it takes a piece of us and never lets go. We leave, accepting the fact that she’ll never come through, her ability to care is non-existent.

The day is so draining that Tyler is the last thing on my mind when I arrive back at the hotel. I plug my phone in and begin the daunting process of writing a eulogy for my father’s funeral mass tomorrow. Somehow I was appointed when I wasn’t looking. After a small attempt at arguing with my sisters I gave in.

I pull out my laptop set to create a eulogy that will rival even the best. Ten minutes pass and that feeling of greatness is fading fast. The words won’t flow, my mind is blank, and when it does finally clear all that’s left is indifference.

Hating my parents would make this easier. The dilemma is that I don’t. Among the mess that was my childhood I should harbor some serious hatred, but it isn’t there. I honestly feel for them and how they chose misery over seeking pleasure from their life. My thoughts bounce around in my head as I wonder if anyone could legitimately hate their parents. I hated their actions at times, but I always felt an overwhelming need to forgive and let go. Harboring feelings of hatred would eventually lead me to be bitter and angry. I would become my mother. The one person I looked at as guide as to what not to do. With that, I begin the furious typing of my father’s eulogy.

Somewhere near an hour into my second editing session my BlackBerry lights up on the little hotel desk discreetly tucked into the corner of the room. I try to ignore it for what seems like a lifetime, but it’s really more like three seconds. I don’t actually get up. I won’t be appeased with a late night text message from Tyler anymore. His apology needs to come in the form of some serious groveling coupled with major attempts to make me happy for once. I won’t be bought with expensive gifts and half-assed apologies only to be plagued with annoyance by him a few moments later. Ten minutes pass and the phone blows up again, this time three times in a row. My only thought is...work. Everyone in the office is aware that I’m out of town for my father’s funeral and even if they don’t know the situation I would hope they have the respect to not contact me. In addition to letting everyone in the office know, it is included in my out of office reply for my email, duly noted that I am in fact attending a funeral. I purposely include the detail about it being my father, since most of my clients have this belief that I was created out of thin air to only serve them. I can’t imagine that any one of them would have the gall to contact me now. Watching the phone light up like the Fourth of July for a fourth time, I’m like a moth to a flame. Before getting up I hit save on the work I have spent the last two hours pouring over.

I grab my phone in a huff like I’m suddenly perturbed by the fact that I was forced to leave my place in bed, when in actuality I feel I have let my annoyance with Tyler fester just long enough. Picking up the phone I find three missed calls from Tyler, one voicemail and a text from Tyler. The text ambiguous in nature, which is none too surprising, far be it from him to actually admit guilt immediately. All the text says is, “Sorry to bother you, but call me.” The voicemail is reticent of the text, but hearing his voice makes my heart rate skyrocket even with every attempt to control it. Obsessively, I listen to it again trying to gage some interpretation of its meaning from the tone in his voice, but find nothing. The third attempt brings nothing, except I notice the absence of sound in the background. Closed up in his office? At home? In a restaurant bathroom? He said he would be working all weekend, so I picture him in his office because anything else will lead my thoughts to run amok with craziness. As I debate whether to call Tyler back the phone rings. Looking down, the screen notifies me that it’s Melinda and as much as I hate her right now and the requisite two week anger period is still in effect, I answer.