That Boy

I don't know. The rose feels wrong to me, but I agreed to do it.

I don't know where my will power has gone.

I did ask why people throw the rose, and I didn't really get a clear response. No one seemed to know why, they just knew people do it.

Finally, John got frustrated with me and told me it was out of respect. And you want to be respectful, don't you?

But then I looked it up on the internet and found out the reason you stay to watch them get lowered into the ground is not out of respect. This process is supposed to be harsh and difficult for the mourners. It is supposed to force them to face the reality and finality of the death. Which in turn, is supposed to help the grieving process.

We'll see about that.

All I know is when you start doing google searches on caskets, pallbearer etiquette, and funeral traditions, something in your life has gone very wrong.

As you can imagine, lots of people have been giving me advice about how to handle this. About how to handle death.

And how to feel.

How to deal.

And I can't remember all of it, but one piece of advice evidently stuck in my mind.

I was sitting on the couch at the Diamond's house. We had all eaten di

Sadly, I haven't kissed Da

But when I look over and see two butterflies flitting around a nearby gravestone, well, I remembered what she said. She told me to let myself see a little of God everyday. And for some reason, watching those butterflies offered me more comfort than any of the prayers.

But then, while I am standing there getting my courage up, I watch in horror as John and Sara walk up to the caskets, do what we were supposed to do, and then walk away.

Uh. HELLO!?

Wait a minute!

They were supposed to wait for me.

We were supposed to do that TOGETHER!

And then, boom!

All my comfort and courage are gone.

I seriously feel like I could faint, or puke, or die myself.

I am frozen in my spot, and I want to scream out loud.

I CAN'T DO THIS!

I CAN'T HANDLE THIS!

THIS IS SO NOT THE WAY MY LIFE'S SUPPOSED TO BE!

I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO BE BURYING MY PARENTS!!!

The pastor clears his throat to get my attention. He is waiting impatiently for me to come up and do what I am supposed to do.

He might as well have yelled at me, MOVE IT, MISSY, it would have felt the same.

I know you're probably not supposed to cuss at a religious ceremony, but I can't help but scream aloud in my head, SHIT!!!

My hands start to shake, and I think my head may explode.

I am also seriously contemplating jumping into the dirt myself, so they can just bury me with them.

I feel a hand on my back, turn my head, and there's Phillip.

“I can't do this,” I whisper.

“We'll do it together, okay?” The same words I used on his dad at the hospital.

Phillip holds my hand and guides me up to the caskets.

Well, maybe pulls me up to the caskets is a more accurate description.

I am seriously shaking.

He gives me a handful of dirt, and together we sprinkle some dirt on the caskets.

And I don't know where it comes from, maybe the butterflies, but I decide to stick to my guns.

I pick out two roses, put them up to my nose and breathe in their wonderful smell, but I don't drop them into the dirt.

I can't.

I'm keeping them.

Taking them home with me.

I'm sorry, but I don't need any more harsh reality.

I've had enough of that.

So I repeat the mantra I've been telling myself all week, through the pla

Don't lose it. Stay in control. Put on your game face and get through this.

You can do it.

And now with Phillip holding my hand, I think maybe I can.

We turn away from the caskets, toward everyone. I take a deep breath, clamp my back teeth down tight, hold my head up high, and walk away from my parents for the very last time.

And I didn't know it, but apparently after I dropped the rose, the people who attended the graveside service were supposed to come up and do the same thing.

Say goodbye and drop a flower.

But they didn't.

They followed my lead.

When people start coming up to me to give me their condolences, most all of them are also carrying two flowers.

And I realize I started a trend.

I look around the cemetery grounds and see that nearly everyone mingling about is taking two flowers home with them. For their own in remembrance.

And that comforts me more than the butterflies.

God, I am going to miss them.

Even Mr. Mac, who comes marching up to me because he is furious with John, is clutching two roses in his hand. He tells me, “JJ, you're riding home with us and not in the limo with that jerk, John. I can't believe he just left you up there by yourself. Some family.”

He shakes his head at John and herds me to their car.

The funeral luncheon is at the Mackenzie's house. It has a much lighter tone because for everyone here, the worst is over. But I know when everyone leaves, my worst will just begin.

Because regardless of how sweet Phillip is, now I'm alone.

Truly alone.

Last night, Uncle John offered to take me back to Seattle with him. I don't know John that well. I see him once a year, if I'm lucky. I'm not sure why, but he and Dad weren't that close. All I've ever heard him say is something about John being selfish and only worrying about himself.

I never used to understand, but I get it now.

Phillip's mom was not happy about his offer.

Here's how the conversation went:

“JJ is staying here with us. That's what her parents wanted.” Mrs. Mac said firmly.

“JJ, you're 18. You can do anything you want. I think it would be good for you to get away from all of this for a while. Get a fresh start,” Uncle John said, scowling at Mrs. Mac.

Mrs. Mac grunted, “Well I disagree. JJ, you need to stay with us. We love you.” Then she cried.

How come everybody around here can cry so freely? People must think I'm a horrible daughter because I haven't cried since the hospital.

I just haven't been able to.

I'm either very callous or still in shock.

Or something might be seriously wrong with me.

Or maybe not, I think it's just that I have become an empty shell.

My body is still here, true, but I'm pretty sure most of me died when they did.

And an empty shell should not be fought over, so I pretended to be grown up and replied diplomatically with something like, “I need to stay here and finish high school, Uncle John. Maybe I could visit this summer?”

It's getting late and by now most of the funeral people have left. I'm sitting out on Phillip's front porch, alone for a few minutes. It feels good to just sit here in the rocking chair, not having to be polite, not having to say, I'm fine, when I'm about to fall to pieces.

Da

I know that I'm in mourning, but mourning or not, the boy is overwhelmingly hot.