Before I could process the picture, another message from my mother flashed at the top of my screen. It was clearly meant for someone else, saying they finally escaped that dreary funeral atmosphere and that the lilies looked cheap anyway. She added that Tyler really needed this vacation after having to endure the news about my daughter.
I read those words three times because my brain simply refused to accept them in that cruel order. My husband and child were dead, but to them, it was just a depressing errand they had managed to avoid. I set the phone down very carefully on the table because my hands had started to shake with a cold, terrifying rage.
Part 2
A week after the funeral, I started packing because I needed a task large enough to keep the grief from swallowing me. The house had become unbearable in fragments, like a stray crayon on the floor or the half used bottle of bubblegum toothpaste in the bathroom. Terrence’s running shoes were still by the garage door, dusted with the dry earth from his favorite trail.
I started in the living room with cardboard boxes and packing tape, trying to use the same focus I applied to military briefings. When I picked up Mia’s one eyed teddy bear, the whole plan fell apart because it still smelled faintly like lavender detergent. Terrence had repaired that bear badly one Sunday afternoon while Mia sat on the kitchen counter supervising him.
That was the thing about grief, it always dragged old injuries behind it like heavy chains. My brother Tyler had always been the center of gravity in our house, the golden boy whose moods dictated the shape of every family dinner. My mother called him her spark, and my father looked at him with a pride that always made me feel like a guest.
I remembered bringing home an honor roll certificate in ninth grade and placing it on the table near my mother’s elbow. She slid it aside to make room for a gravy boat without even reading it so she could talk about Tyler’s football practice. My father didn’t even look at me, asking Tyler about the college scouts instead of acknowledging my hard work.