Chapter 5

My mother's funeral was filled with static. Everywhere I went, I couldn't get it out of my head. When people talked to me, offered their condolences, all I could hear was a muffled voice, garbled in my own head. But it ultimately didn't matter because I knew what each person would say. The only words I really cared about or even tried to listen to came from a dog. When Carmen spoke with her face, her eyes, and sometimes her gentle kisses, I listened. And the static cleared out just enough to let her words through. I was in my black dress, black tights, and bright red lipstick that my mother bought for me last year but I never wore. I got dressed five hours before the funeral, and all I did way lie in my bed next to Carmen, hoping that if I thought about it hard enough, this dream would end and I would wake up to the sound of my mother doing laundry in the next room. “Katie,” my dad would call, “did you grab my socks?” He had a habit of never putting his laundry in the hamper, and thus some necessary item of clothing wouldn't get caught in the weekly wash.

I turned my head to face Carmen's. She was staring at me, her beady brown eyes looking into mine. “I don't want to go to the funeral,” I told her, whispering it so no one else in the house would hear. I don't know why I didn't want them to hear; no one wanted to go. It wasn't a secret. But it still felt like a betrayal to want to skip your own mother's funeral.

Carmen reached her tongue over and lightly touched my nose. “Thanks, Carmey,” I said. I rubbed behind her oversized ears for a while. Her eyes slowly started to close, fighting to keep watch over me but also desperately wanting rest from caring for four lost souls stuck under one roof. It's not easy to be a dog, I realized. I knew Carmen was heartbroken. My mother had always been there and had been her most consistent companion. But she had other people to help, and Carmen was never one to put herself first. I started crying for her, realizing how much she must miss her. I put my arms around her and pulled her in close.

“I'm so sorry, Carmen. I'm so sorry.”

We stayed together for a couple of hours, and we passed in and out of sleep, but never moved. My father finally knocked on my door and opened it slowly. He peeked his head around the ajar door and asked if I was ready. He looked right past me. I said yes, gave Carmen another kiss on the forehead, and stood up. I shook off some of the dog hair, flattened my hair with my hands, and walked out with my dad. Charlie and Brad were already downstairs, waiting on us. We all looked uncomfortably dressed, as if we had paired outfits together not out of habit or of style, but of what we thought funeral clothes were supposed to look like. I looked down at my own black boots, the ones my mother bought me last year for the winter, and shifted my feet around a bit. I couldn't get my tights and my toes to align perfectly, and I knew that I'd be wiggling my toes the entire funeral, not really paying attention to what anyone was saying. Just focusing on the slight adjustment I needed to make �" so easy, and yet I wouldn't do it.

I don't remember much of the beginning of the funeral. I made the motions, but there was no thought behind my movements out of the car, toward the church, and finally to the second pew. My brothers had eyes that looked just as glassy as mine. Unfocused. Glazed. Both of them sat with their heads slightly tilted to the left, not even putting enough energy into keeping them up all the way. I didn't blame them, either. It wasn't the kind of funeral you see in movies. My father didn't give the eulogy. My mother was cremated, and the church was mostly just a way to congregate everyone who loved her. There wasn't even a display, just a vase of flowers. Carnations. Her favorite.

I had let the priest's words slip past me until my eyes landed on it. At first glance I thought it was a picture of my mother, but that's what put me back into focus: it wasn't her. I looked more closely, and it appeared to be a person at least in his or her late nineties. The person in the photo was so wrinkled and thin, with wiry gray hair, that I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. I looked from the photo to the priest, and back to the photo. I shut my eyes, hoping to open them to a picture of my mother. It was still the same witch-like portrait. My jaw dropped open a bit.

I nudged Charlie in the side, trying to draw his attention to the photo without making the whole congregation of mourning loved ones notice. He drew his eyebrows together and turned his face toward me, still in a daze. I darted my eyes toward the photo, pointing very gently with my finger toward the photo. He looked and clearly didn't notice it at first because nothing in his face changed. But then I saw it. The muscles from the intense brow started to loosen. He cocked his head to the right this time. I nudged him again, and when he turned to look back at me, he was almost smiling. I looked at him puzzled, asking with my eyes, “Who is that?” He raised his eyebrows at me, telling me he didn't know. Then he turned to Brad and nudged him the same way I had. Once Brad saw the photo, his face became serious. It seemed liked Brad was growing more upset. His lips started to form a frown and his eyes grew narrow. I thought he was going to jump out of the pew, reach for the photo, and throw it across the stain glassed windows. What have I done.

Then he laughed. Not a quiet, soft laugh to himself. He cackled. I was horrified as the priest suddenly turned to our mahogany pew, his sharp eyes encouraging Brad to stop. But he didn't. He grew louder, entering into a higher pitch.

Then Charlie lost his self control. The almost smile I thought I saw turned into a full-on giggle, which turned into his awkward and deep laugh. It seemed to harmonize with Brad's treble laughter. The priest had tried to continue with his speech on the Kingdom of Heaven and the joys of living with God, but Brad and Charlie couldn't stop, and the entire funeral had come to a screeching halt. I turned around to look at my father, who was seated directly behind me. I thought he would smack me for ruining the last formal moment he had with my mother, but instead he gave me this gentle smile. I knew that if mom would have seen this photo, she would have laughed. And I think dad knew that too. My giggle started to come out, breathy at first, then louder and more boisterous. Charlie, Brad and I kept each other going until I was laughing so hard that I was bent over myself, unable to breath. I imagined many of the attendees thought we ruined the funeral.

But my mother never would have wanted a funeral. And even if she did, I knew she would have wanted us to see some happiness in it.

The funeral after-party, as Brad called it, was hosted at our house. That's when the static began again. Each person said the same thing to me and my family. There was an old man who was apparently some kind of distant cousin. He grew up in the same small town of 400 as my mom, but he left for college when she was still very young. I wondered what he looked like when he was younger, perhaps my age. What he looked like to my mother. Now he had fragments of white hair, enough to cover the sides of his head, but patchy on the top of his scalp. He was short, but he might have grown more hunched over time. He was stocky, but not fat, and his blue striped suit seemed to hang off of him, as if it was made for a man a few inches taller. His lips were almost nonexistent and constantly twitching and moving, and he had the kind of glasses I associated with old people: oversized bifocals with a brown and beige rim. He was talking about their old hometown of Melvin, but the static got in the way. I heard small things like “Main Street” and “Geraldine,” my grandmother who passed away when I was 14. I don't remember how I long I stood there pretending to listen to him, but he ate about 10 shrimp throughout, and at one point he laughed and showed bits of shrimp stuck in his front, yellowing teeth.

After my mom's old second cousin wandered off, a parade of sorrowers began, hitting Charlie, Brad, my father, and me, in that order. Probably because Charlie was sitting at the front end of the table, where people could grab plates and plastic cutlery, and I was sitting at the end, where they finally grabbed a soda. A buffet for a funeral...it seemed so silly. Why did we have to prepare food for a group of people who have known my mom throughout the years? I would have suggested chinese take-out. Then we could have sat around in our pajamas, just the five of us (including Carmen) eating our feelings and letting the television tell us what to think.

But instead we had a buffet. And we all took our places in line. I was watching the old man with the shrimp cycle back through the line and talk to Charlie when my Aunt Julie put her hand on my shoulder. She was all made up and staring off into the distance. “This food sucks,” she said. I laughed. The only comment that felt real today.

“I know,” I laughed, looking at the spread of meats and bread. “I can make myself a bread sandwich with extra bread,” I joked. “Or bread with cocktail sauce. Yummy!” I made a circling motion over my stomach.

“Well, don't be mad at me...but I ordered two extra large pizzas for us. One cheese for you and Charlie and sausage for your father. Char, Brad and I can pick at the rest.” Aunt Julie looked at me her eyes clearly saying that pizza was the best way she knew how to help.

“Thank you,” I said and put my head on her shoulder. “Wait,” I said, moving my head back up, “what happens when the delivery guy rings the doorbell?”

“I told him not to. He's coming around the back. I told him to come in about an hour so we'll have some time to rush everyone out.”

Aunt Julie. She was definitely crazy and a bit obsessed about how much education she had and that she taught at a university, but she also showed brief similarities with my mom. They both loved absurdly bad movies and had a love affair with Ralph Lauren pajamas. But Aunt Julie also had a sense that the best thing to whenever you've had a bad day is to order food and sit in your Ralph Lauren pajamas. I looked at her, her face so much like my mom's, and smiled. It was like having a piece of mom still there.

I was jolted back to the after-party when Old Man Shrimp starting coughing, looking like he choked on the shell of a shrimp. Charlie was patting his back, not sure what else to do. Eventually it all subsided and the coughing fit stopped. But by that time everyone was staring at the old man and had stopped all conversation. Aunts Charlotte and Julie looked at each other knowingly and yawned loudly.

“Boy oh boy,” Aunt Charlotte said, stretching her arms, “I sure am getting tired! I imagine these O'Conners are too. Why don't we give them a chance to settle down for the night?”

It was 5 o'clock.

But the guests took the hint and agreed in a general mumble. They filtered out slowly, making sure to say how sorry they were and how wonderful Katie was before they left. I appreciated the gesture, but at the time, it just wasn't what I needed to her. I needed my mom.

And after about 40 minutes, when the last guest had left and my aunts were in the driveway talking to their cousins, it was just me, my brothers, and dad. Carmen, overwhelmed by all of the people, ran upstairs at the beginning of the gathering. Dad was staring at the table, looking at the disarray of meat slices and buns, spilled mustard, and empty coke cans. It looked like he didn't even know where to start, so I walked over to the cabinet where we kept garbage bags, grabbed the biggest one I could find, and opened it next to him. I held it wide with my hands by one end of the table. Brad walked over to the meat tray, picked it up, and gently laid it in the bag. Then Charlie walked over, grabbed a coke can, and lifted it up like a basketball. He pretended to dribble, focused, and tossed it into the bag. I laughed and said “Goal!!!” Charlie looked at me and said “Wrong sport, dummy.”

I looked down at the giant black bag, looked back at my dad and pointed my head toward the shrimp tray. He picked it up slowly, hovered it over the bag, and dropped it in. After that, we cleaned up as usual, as though it was a normal party. The dining room table trash had taken up an entire bag. I told Charlie to grab another bag from underneath the sink and tied up mine, taking it outside. I walked out the back door and immediately saw Aunt Julie with two giant pizza boxes. “I am the pizza fairy!” she declared and tapped her feet together. She walked past me and Aunt Charlotte held the door open for her. I dumped the garbage and run back inside, excited to have some food and be with just my family. Brad was already grabbing more sodas from the basement fridge and dad was getting out some plates for each of us.

We gathered around the living room, each taking a few slices, and the second we plopped down, I heard a jingling coming from the stairs. Suddenly Carmen peaked around the corner, looking at the pizza longingly. Dad, who never gives Carmen table food, ripped off a piece of crust and motioned for her to come get it. She bounced along, almost taking his finger with the crust, and chewed on it with the rest of us. Everyone was silent for a few minutes, each of us almost swallowing our slices whole. I hadn't realized it until now, but none of us ate at the funeral. Thank god for Aunt Julie.

Ryan took a sip of his soda. “Worst party ever. There weren't even balloons.”

Charlie gave his half smile. “No party favors, either,” he said.

“No cake,” dad laughed. It was the first time I heard him laugh in a week. “Your mother would have hated it.”

Then we all started laughing. The same laugh as the one in the church. Loud, unhindered laughter. “Mom...” I said, trying to subdue my laughter, “mom would have served ice cream and pie.”

Ryan butted in. “No, not just pie. Pie and whipped cream. Or really whipped cream with a side of pie.” We all doubled over. My mother's diet was a mystery. She loved sweets and applied multiple coats of whipped cream to anything sweet.

“Did I ever tell you that I once found your mom eating just a scoop of Marshmallow fluff?” Dad asked, still grinning. “She was in the kitchen and just eating it out of the jar. I was so disgusted I couldn't even say anything.”

“To be fair,” Aunt Charlotte interjected, “I've done that too.”

“What the hell is wrong with your side of the family?” Charlie asked.

Aunt Julie waved away his question. “Oh please, like you've never had anything disgusting a few times.”

“Charlie used to drink Electric!” I muffled, pizza still in my mouth. “You know, that crazy sugary soda when we were kids? He had four of them in a row. Tried to climb to the roof.”

“In my defense, that wasn't as disgusting as Marshmallow fluff. That was stupid.” I thought about it for a moment. He was right, it was stupid.

“So maybe your mother and I didn't really instill very good diets in you kids,” Dad sighed.

“You didn't. Look at Em, she's a vegetarian. Hey, Em, you want some of the sausage pizza?” Brad had somehow mimicked Charlie's old joke.

“Oh my god, now I'm getting it from two fronts! Brad, I thought you were my ally.”

“Hmm? Sorry, couldn't hear you over the deliciousness of this sausage pizza.”

“This is gross, I want to move from the couch. Aunt Julie, want to sit in between Charlie and Brad?”

“Nope, on your own,” she replied, looking all around to room to avoid my eyes.

Carmen let out a long, loud yawn. “Dude, not even Carmen's on your side, weirdo,” Charlie said, reaching over to pet Carmen on the stomach. “Good girl! Make fun of Em! Good girl!”

“Really, Carmen? After everything I've done for you? Who gives you baths when you roll around in poop? Huh?” I looked at her with big, longing eyes. She stretched a bit and put her head back down. “Okay, maybe you're right, she's not very fond of vegetables.”

Aunt Charlotte was watching us all closely. She was the eldest of my mom's sisters, even though they were all pretty close in age. I wondered what she was thinking. How weird it must feel to have a funeral for your younger sibling.

“Aunt Charlotte, when do you have to go back to southern Illinois?” I asked. She had been working there for several weeks, driving back and forth between her tiny apartment there and her home in central Illinois, just an hour away from ours. It was a four hour drive back to where she worked downstate.

“Some time tomorrow. I haven't worked out exactly when, but I'm the boss!” She smiled and laughed this short cackle laugh. She set her plate down on the table and put her hands on her crossed legs. “Well,” she said, “I should probably get going. I don't want you kiddos to stay up on our account.” Aunt Charlotte was looking at Aunt Julie, who nodded in agreement.

“Oh, you girls don't have to leave yet,” Dad said. I looked at him with wide eyes. I thought he actually hated mom's sisters. In fact, I was pretty sure of it.

“No, no, we should really head out,” Aunt Julie said, gathering her plate and Aunt Charlotte's and taking them to the sink. “Is there anything we can help clean?”

“No, thank you, we'll be fine,” Dad said, getting up to show them out. Charlie, Brad, Carmen and I were still sitting on the couch, watching them leave. Aunt Charlotte turned to us and sighed.

“Kids, you'll be OK. I know it.”

“Thanks,” Brad and I said at once. Charlie just nodded and looked down.

“You all look so much like her,” Aunt Julie said, grabbing her purse. “So much.”

We all looked up at her at once. Dad grabbed their shoulders and walked out with them. I could barely see through the window, but he talked to both of them for a minute, gave them hugs, and waved to them as they pulled out of the driveway.

With the four of us on the couch still, it was over. We had officially transitioned into life without our mother.