A Backwards Funeral

A Story by blink182427

Another assignment for my creative writing class, we were supposed to write a personal narrative and I chose to write about my dad's funeral.

On November 20, 2009, I remember my mom coming into my room and asking me to sit down at the kitchen table because she had some news that she needed to share with me. I was 11 at the time and the first thing my tiny brain imagined was that my beloved cat, Jake had passed away and gone to kitty heaven.

“What happened?” I asked her. I could see the somber look on her face and I knew that something was not right.

My mother had me sit at the head of the kitchen table and she pulled the chair diagonal to me over so that she could sit facing me.

“Did Jake die?” I frantically looked around for any sign of my cat, hoping and praying that he was still alive but I saw no sign of him. “Jake died?!”

“No honey.” My mom grabbed my hand and squeezed it, there were tears welling up in her eyes and the suspense was killing me. “Sherri just called me.” Sherri was my cousin on my biological dad, Gary’s side. “Gary died last night.”

I remember sitting at the table just kind of looking at my mom’s hand holding mine, not quite sure how I was supposed to respond. A million things started running through my naïve, eleven year old mind. How was I supposed to react? I was just told that my father was dead. Something that most people would burst into tears after hearing. However, I was frozen and couldn’t think whatsoever. I didn’t know this man. He was a stranger. Someone I probably wouldn’t even recognize in passing. He was already dead to me. So I said the only thing that seemed acceptable to me. “Awesome!” I now realize that was completely inappropriate and that the ear-splitting silence preceding my utterly naïve comment was much better than the comment itself.

My mom sat in shock for a few seconds then said, “I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m glad you’re taking this so well. The funeral is on the 23^rd in Chicago. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But I want to give you the option.”

“Yeah, I want to go.” I don’t remember exactly what was going through my mind when I decided so quickly that I did want to go, but I still have mixed emotions about it. I had no idea what was going to happen at the funeral, but one thing I did know was that there were going to be a lot of people I had never met and that it would most likely be the most uncomfortable situation of my entire life.

On November 22, 2009, my mom and I loaded up her Jeep with our two suitcases. My cousin, Sherri was also tagging along with us. We would arrive in Chicago that night and the visitation would be the next day, starting at 4:00pm with the funeral following immediately afterwards at 7:00.

As I was lying there that night I began to comprehend how life changing the next day could be for me. I was officially scared out of my mind. I feared my family’s rejection the most, but I think what helped was that I wasn’t even expecting their acceptance in the first place.

The next morning was a complete blur. I can’t even remember the drive to the funeral or what I wore. I just remember walking in with my mom and my cousin Sherri, expecting to see a casket with my father’s dead body in it, but instead, I saw two large rooms with pictures lining every wall and a few laptops open with slideshows of pictures. The pictures, however, were not of my father. Every single picture was of my half-brother, Jake.

The three of us walked into the building together, my mom holding my hand in an effort to show that it was okay and that I was safe even if it felt like a hostile environment. I did not recognize anyone in the first room we walked into. There was a small crowd gathering around the front, where I assumed that since there was no casket, was his urn. Though I didn’t know if he was cremated or not, I assumed since I didn’t see anything. However, when one person moved from the crowd I realized that they were not crowding around his urn, but they were crowding around Jake. There was no urn or casket at this “funeral”.

Almost as soon as I started to walk up to the crowd, a strange woman with hair whiter than Kate Upton’s teeth approached me and hugged me. “Oh Lexi!”

I looked at my mom with a terrified look on my face. I had absolutely no idea who this woman was. All I knew was that she clearly did not know me well enough to know that I despised being called that.

The strange woman let go of me and as soon as she did, my mom said, “Alex,” stressing the ‘A’ vowel so as not to confuse this lady, I assume, “this is Gary’s mother, Elaine.” I had to chuckle a bit, my mom refused to give Elaine any respect. She didn’t even introduce her as my grandmother. I wouldn’t complain, she didn’t deserve that title in my opinion. Grandmas are supposed to bake you cookies and cheer you on at your middle school basketball games. All this woman ever did for me was give birth to a man who participated in creating me, and who did not participate in raising me the way a father should.

“I have missed you so much!” Elaine faked a smile and went to hug me again and I was hit strongly with the scent of Red Door perfume. I nearly choked.

Elaine and I carried on a conversation for the longest five minutes of my life and then I approached my half-brother, Jake who was standing with his girlfriend, my Aunt Sue, her two boys, and her husband.

“Hey.” I said to him, interrupting their conversation, but not caring one bit. He interrupted my life by being the second biggest nuisance I ever had to deal with, right behind my father. This was nothing compared to that. “How have you been?”

“Oh hey Alex.” At least he had the decency to call me by my accepted name. “It’s been alright. The last time I saw you, you came up to my shoulder. Now I come up to yours.” Everyone laughed except my mom and I. I thought it was just oh so delightful that he brought up the last time we saw each other, which was when I was seven, making him look like the good guy. Everyone in that room worshipped him anyway. He didn’t need any help.

“Yeah Jake, it’s been a while.” And with that, I was satisfied and my mom and Sherri followed me into the next room to look at the pictures plastered onto the walls of the funeral home.

“I feel like I’m at Jake’s funeral.” Sherri whispered to my mom.

“Me too, these are all pictures of Jake.” My mom responded. It was true. There were only two or three pictures of my dad in an ocean of pictures of Jake. And not a single one of me.

It’s a mortifying feeling to be in a room filled with people who are supposed to be your family, but yet still feel like a stranger to them. I was looked at like an alien. To them, I wasn’t welcomed at my father’s funeral. I really didn’t belong there. I remember as people were asked to go up to the podium to say a few words, the most common phrase was, “Jake, your father was a wonderful man.” However, in my head all I could think was, REALLY? What made him so wonderful? Was it when he abandoned all of his other children? Or maybe it was when he promised to buy me a bike for Christmas but cancelled on me three times? Or maybe it was all those times he never paid child support to the children he helped create? Was that what made him a wonderful man?!

While everyone spoke to Jake about how majestic and flawless his father was, no one spoke a word about me or my half-brother, Trevor or my half-sister whose name no one seems to know. It seemed as if someone just took white out to all our birth certificates and crossed Gary’s name out completely. Apparently our mothers were all able to reproduce asexually. And maybe they would have been better off that way. He never did anything for any one of us except Jake. Because apparently Jake was conceived by the Holy Spirit and he was perfect.

Before the three of us left the funeral, Elaine promised to keep in touch with me. She promised to come see me and call me on a regular basis. She promised me a relationship with her. And when I got home I naively waited for days on end for a phone call, a letter, or anything from her. However, it has been 1989 days since she made that promise and I have lost all hope in ever reconnecting with Gary’s mother, Elaine. In fact, it has been 1989 days since I have had any contact from any of the people I saw at Gary’s funeral, and I would like to keep it that way for the rest of my life.