The day of the funeral dawned; appropriately dark and gloomy with storms predicted by evening.
Once mother had gone to work - she had no choice, unfortunately; it had been booked in advance - I set about preparing dad's little memorial. Having sought out three nice pictures of him, I laid them out on the biggest of the nest of tables we used in the living room in a sort of upside-down pyramid. Then I placed three tea-light candles, representing Father, Son and Holy Ghost, around them in a triangle shape. To complete the memorial I tied the helium balloon, representing dad's soul, that we had collected the previous day to the back right hand table leg. That done, I texted MJ to let him know all was ready and to remind him that I would be starting at 2-PM (the same time as the funeral began), moved everything out of the way of the dog and set about finding inane and distracting things to do for the next five and a half hours.
I managed quite well until 1-PM. Then I began to feel fretful; anxious and jittery, unable to properly concentrate. Needing to get the vegetables ready for dinner helped - we were having beef casserole. It needed to be ready so that I could bung it in at 3-PM to give it the two hours it needed to cook - and I pottered around the kitchen as I did so; wiping this, swilling that, straightening such and such...
At 1:30-PM I tried ringing MJ for the third time. The first two had produced no response, nor had he answered my texts, and I was beginning to worry. If he had decided not to come, that was fine (I had made sure to stress that), but I wanted to know, so I was mentally prepared...
Just as I was about to hang up, he answered. His voice was groggy and I asked, incredulously, if he had been asleep, to which he replied that he had. When I told him that there was now only twenty five minutes before I lit dad's memorial candles and was he coming or not, he told me - in a bored voice - that yeah, he'd be there.
Just before 2-PM, he arrived. After faffing in the kitchen for what seemed an eternity - in reality only a minute or so - he finally sat down in the chair, even more unkempt than usual and eyes red and sleepy but apparently ready. Bracing myself and mentally counting to ten as I moved the table into the centre of the living room, I explained again, as he seemingly hadn't listened any of the times I told him or read the texts I had sent to him either, that I would be lighting each candle individually - representing the Father, Son and Holy Ghost - then we would sit and look at the candles and say prayers, either individually in our heads or together out loud. Did he want to say prayers together? No. OK then. That was fine.
I lit the candles. Then sat back and said my prayers. Then I looked at the candles, and dad's pictures, and said them again. Then I sat still looking at the candles and thought about him, hoping that if it hadn't been so before, dad's spirit would now be commended to God and be guided home in His hand...
Three minutes in, MJ began to sigh. Not big angry sighs. Little, bored, fed up, when-will-this-crap-be-over sort of sighs. Trying not to be affected by them, I carried on with my quiet reflection a while longer, during which the sighs got a touch louder. Then I offered if he was ready, which obviously he was, to move the table back into the corner with the candles still burning, where they would be out of reach of the dog. He gave a sort of non-committal shrug and grunt, and was outside the backdoor lighting a cigarette before I had even finished moving it.
Walking into the kitchen he waved for me to come outside and when I did began moaning about the fact that his neighbours had kept him up all night, and that after finally managing to drop off he had had less than 4 hours sleep before my phone-call had woken him, and how in any case he had thought that all this 'stuff' (meaning the memorial, said dismissively) was being dealt with later that evening. Biting my lip to stop myself from blurting something I might later regret, I told him, yet again, that as I had said - over and over again - the main memorial was to be at 2-PM so that it coincided with the funeral, but that so that mother could be involved, we wouldn't be releasing the balloon (something MJ had already derisively claimed as a "stupid idea" anyway) until late evening.
"Oh," was his nonchalant response, coupled with another shrug.
Watching him standing there, cigarette in hand, his posture disinterested and his expression unconcerned, a surge of anger raged through me then immediately abated; replaced by grief nestled in a painful hollow of realization. Turning without another word, I retreated into the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.
As I did so, recollections of MJ's behaviour over the past 48 hours came to mind with a distressingly unsurprising clarity. From the moment that the decision not to go to the funeral had been made to now, his manner had switched from a man in conflict and struggling with the idea of failing in his duty to a man off-the-hook; a man with no duty at all. I knew exactly how he saw it. In his opinion, he had done his bit; he had been prepared to consider facing it, been prepared to go, but the decision was taken out of his hands, so now it was all over. He didn't need to bother with it anymore. That was how he saw it. And the moment that the decision had happened, he had stopped caring.
All the times I had tried to talk to him about my plans to honour dad, trying without success to involve him, to get his input; his responses had been both minimal and telling. "Yeah," he had kept saying whenever I mentioned it; "yeah, yeah, yeah". ..."whatever", he may as well have said; "whatever. I don't give a damn"...
As I fried up the onions and browned the meat, waiting for the oven to heat up, I wanted to cry but couldn't. It had all gone wrong. I had wanted this to be the moment of catharsis; the time that I said my goodbyes and cried long and hard, letting it all out. But it hadn't been. All it had been was a mistake. Having him there had been a mistake. I should never have asked him to come. I should have realized, given past experience, that this was how he would behave.
Meanwhile, MJ pottered about, chatting about various things - I can't remember what now - and moaning happily about his lack of sleep and his neighbours and the fact that he had a headache...once dinner was in I sat back down in the living room and gazed at the candles. The CD player that I had turned on in the kitchen was playing nice, soothing string music and I let it run; sat in the dark, watching the candles flicker.
Meandering in, I saw MJ look longingly at the television. Glancing at me, however, he realized that I was in no mood for it decided not to ask (to this day, considering everything else, that surprises me), opting instead to go outside for another cigarette then settling himself down in the chair, head leaned back. Every now and again he would shift position and moan slightly - ramming home the point that he was uncomfortable - and sighing.
He sighed an awful lot that day.
At a little after 4-PM mother arrived home. She already knew that things had gone badly because I had texted to tell her, siting that I would explain once we were alone, so settled for giving me a cuddle and watching the candles with me. MJ complained yet again about his headache and mother offered to drive him home, as he hadn't been too keen on the balloon idea in the first place, but he refused.
At 5-PM we sat down at the table and ate dinner (MJ went outside and had another cigarette), then sat down in the living room again with the candles - which were just about ready to go out - while it went down.
At 5.20-PM, hearing clattering in the kitchen, we became concerned. Calling MJ in mother asked him what he was doing, receiving the reply that he was cooking some pancakes; he hadn't been able to until then, he pointed out, because the oven had been in use (said a little grudgingly. Me using my own oven at times convenient for me had been a bone of contention before). Mother agreed that of course he could, but that we would like to release the balloon that evening and soon it would start to get dark, so if he wouldn't mind waiting an hour...MJ frowned at this. He was starving, and anyway; when, exactly, he demanded, would it begin to get dark?
Mother told him it would start at 6-PM becoming completely dark within half an hour after that. Well, he said triumphantly, no problem then. He had 40 minutes till 6-PM and only needed 30 to both cook and eat. Mother queried doubtfully whether or not that would give him enough time to let his meal go down, after all the bank leading up to the bench she and I had selected was quite steep, but he shrugged it off impatiently. He wouldn't need it.
At a loss as to what to say or do without causing an argument, mother backed down and he stomped into the kitchen to fix his meal, leaving me more angry and hurt than ever and anxiously watching the clock.
6.05-PM MJ was finally ready, having forced his feet complainingly into his Wellington boots (like me, he has funny feet and finds getting into boots difficult), and we left. Dad's balloon deflated a little as I walked to the car and I became upset, worried that it was going to deflate completely before we were able to release it.
"Don't be stupid!" MJ sneered; "it's just reacting to the change in temperature. The gas contracts. Stuff you learn about in middle school."
Biting my lip, me and dad's balloon got into the car.
Arriving at Kinver Edge, the light was fading fast; a fact that MJ noted with grievance in his voice. As we made our way carefully up the bank he continued to moan, about his headache and the fact that the Wellingtons made his feet hurt and the fact that it was cold and pouring with rain (it was drizzling) and getting dark and how he was tired.... I strode off as fast as I could and left him (and mum and the dog, though they hadn't done anything wrong) to it. By the time I reached the bench I was several minutes ahead, my heart was pounding in my ears and my breath ragged in my chest and I was so angry I wanted to scream.
He just didn't care, he didn't care at all! He didn't care about dad, or me, or anyone but himself. He hadn't wanted to come today, even for my sake to support me; he had only bothered because he had wanted those wretched pancakes that we kept stupidly buying for him. How could anyone be so mean, so selfish and uncaring...?
Eventually they all arrived at the bench; Bingo first, then mum, then - dragging his feet - MJ. Squeezing my hand, mother warned me just before he reached us that because of the wind dad's balloon might not go straight up as we wanted, but reminded me that the important thing was that the balloon, like dad's soul, would be free. Perfect words spoken from a pure and loving heart that made the tears that had refused to show themselves earlier rush to the surface. Some escaped, but as before, before I was ready they sank back down again, leaving my eyes heavy and strained and my head fogged.
With mother and MJ sat on the bench - the first frozen but oozing love and support from every pore, the second sat in stony and bored silence - and with me stood beside it, the few tears that had been released still damp on my cheeks, I said goodbye to dad's soul and released his balloon. As mother had carefully predicted, it didn't go straight up, instead shooting backwards past our heads and towards the trees, eventually fading into the dusk out of sight.
That done, I took a deep breath and began praying again, then spoke to dad directly in my head, saying whatever came to mind. The light was fading fast; it was nearly dark already, and very cold and windy, but I didn't care. I felt connected to him up there and I was staying until I was good and ready to leave...
Several minutes later I relented and we made our way back down the bank. The light was now so poor that we basically had to feel our way. Mother had accidentally left the torch in the car, so of course it was no help, a fact that MJ complained about bitterly - along with everything else he had already complained about, with a few new things pitched in - all the way.
Reaching the car with relief, mother drove home. Once we got there, MJ loaded his bag with contraband (see other posts for details) and left.
After I was sure he was gone, I told mother everything. She listened in stunned silence.
"Well," she said, at last; "you have been very, very brave. And though it may not feel so now, one day you will look back on this day and feel glad that you gave your brother this chance, whether he took it or not."
Standing up, she told me gently that she was going out; that she wouldn't be long. Five minutes later she came back, bearing a quarter of whisky, and told me to fetch another candle. I did; a big one this time, tall and thin. Lighting it, I sat back down and mother handed me a glass, before turning off the light and settling down beside me.
Hand in hand and watching the flames dance, we raised a silent toast.
After several minutes of respectful and thoughtful quiet, mother squeezed my hand.
"You've been such a brave girl," she said. "Utterly wonderful. He'd be so proud of you. I know I am."
And that was it. The moment of catharsis.
I started crying.
And I didn't stop for a long, long time...
The next day I mooned about, feeling sorry for myself. Just sat around, watching odds and ends online, sniveling and crying in turns and chatting to dad (whether his spirit happened to be listening or not). I didn't wash or dress, or even brush my teeth; just lounged about in my nightdress. The curtains stayed closed, the candle stayed lit (and when it died another took its place) and I didn't go outside.
MJ rang at some point to ask what I was up to. I told him I felt awful; that I needed to spend some time all by myself. He sounded surprised, but thankfully didn't argue. Then later, when mother came home, we shared another stiff drink (after she had kindly walked the dog and got dinner for me, in-spite of being terribly tired) and raised another toast to dad, before settling down to watch Family Fortunes and then crawling into bed.
So that was my day.
Friday was better. I got up, feeling refreshed; renewed. Washing and dressing almost immediately, I came downstairs in a much happier and more positive state of mind. Of course I couldn't go anywhere - as far as the rest of the world knew I was on my way back home from Scotland - but I could open the curtains, tidy and clean up a little, go into the garden and savour the sunshine while I hung the washing out...just potter about. Dad's candle stayed lit, and his pictures stayed in place (we had decided it would be so until Saturday morning), but this time when I talked to him, it was in a jolly and cheerful and chatty sort of way, rather than an anguished one. Later MJ came round. With a nice space between Wednesday and then, I was able to be civil and pleasant (not that he would have understood if I hadn't have been); and we watched something or other until mother came home, before feasting on fare from the local chip shop. After that we all walked the dog and then when MJ had gone home again, mother and I shared our final A-Toast-To-Dad drink with the candle and a brand new episode of Johnathan Creek.
The next morning, I got up as usual and went to work.
Life, as they say, goes on.
And that (as they also say), was that.
Alice xxx
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