"Hello dear" came a familiar voice.
Gathering myself, I replied "Hello Uncle John." I had just arrived at the venue and did not even have time to change properly. However, I was relieved to see him and hugged him tightly. I was comfortable being myself around him. I knew that he would not try to ‘fix me’, unlike my mother. Therefore, I was happy to stick with him for the time being.
"How was your flight?” he inquired.
"It was ok, kind of bumpy, but I survived.” I paused, “Sorry that was inappropriate". I smiled embarrassingly.
He had a hint of a smile on his otherwise sad face, "That's all right, I am sure Gary would have loved this one".
"Yes, he would have".
"Shall we?" He asked, pointing towards the door.
"Yes, let’s." Dragging my suitcase, we proceeded to enter along with the other guests.
As we walked into the church toward our seats, I started looking around slowly. I had never paid much attention to the large tinted windows, the murals on the walls and the ceiling earlier, but today, they looked timeless. I wondered how I never realized their existence as a child. The slow music from the organ filled up the otherwise silent room as people quietly took their seats. I do not know if it was the melancholy music filling the room or the swarm of people in black surrounding me, mourning, sniffling and crying, but I too had a lump in my throat. I could see Uncle John beside me getting emotional as well, which did not help. Having lost his only brother; I was surprised he was holding up so well. We took our seats in the third row; I looked around to spot my mother but could not find her.
"Uncle John, where is my mother?" I enquired in a hushed tone.
"She must be in the front row. Do you want to go see her?"
"No, that's alright. The ceremony might begin any moment now." This was an excuse since I didn’t want to see her. I knew I would have to, but not yet. I was not ready.
"Okay." He held my hand. His eyes were filled with sympathy, or maybe pity. He pursed his lips and nodded his head, he was trying to be supportive and understanding, but I knew that in his heart he did not approve of the resentment I felt towards my mother and wished things could have been different, just like my father. It wasn't that my mother and I never talked; we did, but only so very formally. I was tired of her constant disapproval and scrutiny of my life choices, even as an adult. Sadly, this resentment spilled on to my father by association.
The priest took the podium, everyone stood up to show their respect. After gesturing everyone to take their seats, he started shortly, "Dearly beloved, today we are gathered here to say farewell to Gary Windings; loving son, husband, and father. In the name of the Father...",.‘Gary Windings’, I thought. What did this name mean to me? What did this person mean to me? Only everything. At least he used to. I had so many fond memories of him as a child. We used to go to the park to play catch, he taught me how to ride a bike, helped me with my homework and even helped me get over my first crush. He was truly remarkable and I do not know how I would have turned out if it wasn’t for him. My thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.
"Marie...Marie?"
I looked around, and it was my mother calling out my name from the podium. "Marie dear, come say a few words."
I was taken by surprise, "Not yet mother, please continue. I am not ready to speak at the moment."
"Don't be ridiculous Marie, please come and say something. If not for my sake, then at least do it for your stepfather. He loved you so much; he never wanted another child after you, even when you left us alone so early in life. Please, don't make me beg dear." She stated with tears in her eyes.
I felt terrible that I made her cry, but I couldn’t help but cringe at her remarks. She managed to make the whole thing about her, at my father’s funeral of all the places. I remembered now why I started drifting apart from Gary; it was she. My rebellious teenage years were something my mother could not handle at all. Both of us would end up fighting and Gary had to clean up the mess by playing referee. He was constantly made to choose sides and every time he took her side, I would hate him. By the time I realized the difficult spot I used to put him in, it was too late. The hatred I felt for him had left a permanent scar and things were damaged beyond repair.
I got up and started walking up to the podium. The whole room was quiet. I could hear the noise of my heels tapping the wooden floor, echoing through the vastness of the church. The music from the organ had also stopped. I could feel everyone’s gaze and hated the amount of attention it drew towards me. I knew I would have to speak and had prepared a eulogy in the airplane. I was thinking hard about the good times we shared together and other nice things to say about him and was prepared to deliver it on stage and get it done.
I took the stage and adjusted the microphone. Even though it was an open casket, I never bothered to look inside. I was angry with him, even more so now for dying out of turn and leaving me half orphan. I took my eulogy out of my purse and started, "Gary, or as I call him, father". I smiled. No one else from the audience reciprocated. I realized I was inappropriate, again. In embarrassment, I instinctively turned my head around and saw Gary. Everything around me froze. All I could see was Gary’s pale white face, resting peacefully. I smiled at him; my anger was slowly fading away. He loved to wear his suit and I loved him in it, he used to look so handsome in it and today was no exception. The wounds of the past started to heal and the scars started to fade away. There I was, seeing him for the last time in my life, and the angry woman, which stood in front of him made way for the little child who loved him selflessly. I kept staring at him for what felt like hours. All the moments I spent with him, good or bad, hit me like a speeding truck. I looked at the piece of garbage I called a eulogy and crumpled it. I knew he deserved a better eulogy, a proper farewell, something heartfelt and definitely not something I conjured hastily in the flight.
I regained control of my emotions and turned around to face the audience. Wiping off the tears from my cheeks, I got ready to speak. Only, this time I was smiling with a newfound confidence, I looked at my mother, her tears had dried up and she was visibly embarrassed by my silence on stage. She lowered her head hoping I would not do something stupid but I had had enough. Throughout my life, I had blamed Gary for my mother’s sins. It was time for me to face my demons.
"Gary was a great father. He didn’t give birth to me, but he was kind enough to raise me as his own. He never ran away from us as my cowardly biological father did. It is because of Gary, that I became who I am today. He truly believed in me. I know I have not been the ideal daughter he would have wished, I have definitely not been the ideal daughter my mother would have wished," I heard a collective gasp from a few old women in the audience, "but he loved me nonetheless. I could hear it in his voice whenever we talked. He was a perfect man. His only fault was that he wanted a family; rather, he wanted the family he had, to be a family. My mother made sure that never happens, but he kept trying, and oh boy did he!". I was smiling but my tears never stopped; I was starting to get rid of a burden I had been carrying way too long. Tears had finally found a way out and there was no stopping them, or me, anymore.
I continued, "He wanted me to succeed in life and only wanted what is best for me. He would call me every week without fail, every time wanting to know how I was; how my job was; if I had a new boyfriend or if I liked someone, and finally letting me know how much my mother loved me. I could never make him understand that I never doubted my mother’s love, but her constant criticism and imposition in my life was something I could never accept. My mother always thought I was wasting my potential and should do something better with my life, but she never had an honest conversation about it. It would only come up during drunken holiday dinners as snide remarks. You see, my mother, just like me, hates confronting people and poor Gary ended up doing so on her behalf. I could see that this constant refereeing had made him sad and weak, mentally more than physically. Every holiday that I visited home, ended with my mother and me fighting, and every time this happened, he died a little inside. He took it all for 32 years before his heart finally gave up. For him, I was still the little girl he used to play in the park with. I remember answering all his questions on the phone felt so frustrating but was equally adorable as well. I used to miss him terribly, but I never said it."
I stopped as my throat was drying up from speaking so much. My mother started getting up from her seat as she had heard enough, but I stretched my palm to signal for her to stop. She was taken aback, she never expected me to defy her like this. Trying to maintain her dignity, she complied and sat back with grace. I, on the other hand, had thrown dignity and grace out of the tall church windows. I started feeling weak in my knees, my legs were trembling and I needed to sit down, but my need to speak, to vent, far exceeded all other needs at that point.
Standing tall, I started again, "I have been a bad daughter. Gary didn't deserve that. All he did was be there, shielding me from my mother’s wrath and vice-versa, all the while taking it all in, silently and calmly. I used to hate him for the fact that he took my mother's side and justified her actions. To be honest, I wish I find someone who will love me as much as Gary loved my mother, defending me to our kids even when I am clearly and utterly wrong. I kept punishing him for something that my mother did, but he still took it. Hoping that by doing so, I will find it in my heart to forgive her. He was wrong in thinking so, because I hated him then and I hate him now, I hate him for leaving me when I needed him the most and moreover, I hate myself for being so blinded by my anger that I was incapable of showing even an ounce of love and respect to that man.” I started sobbing uncontrollably and put my hands over my face. I had no idea what came over me today. I did not even realize I was shouting at the top of my lungs. All the pent-up anger of over 20 years, misdirected at my father, was finally coming out.
With a broken voice, I continued, “The worst part is that I understand that my mother’s concern comes from a place of love. She is unable to help herself when it comes to me, and I hate myself that even after knowing and understanding this, I cannot for the life of me, forgive or forget her behavior. I hate myself for not being able to say a proper goodbye to my father and telling him what I truly felt. I never got to tell him that he is forgiven, I never got to tell him that I understand that it is not his fault. I instead, have to live with this regret for the rest of my life. Perhaps it is a fitting punishment for being so ungrateful to him all my life. In fact, I will tell you all about our last conversation”. Ridden with penance and guilt, I started fiddling my purse to search for my cell phone, Uncle John quickly walked up to the stage to escort me off it, but I pushed him away.
"Wait, Uncle John, please", I shouted. "I am not done" and I pushed him away again when he tried to approach. I saw my mother, who was crying profusely looking at the mockery I have made of my family and myself. Everyone else was shell-shocked from the events unfolding on stage. They were all receiving a lifetime worth of gossip materials, and could not take their eyes off the stage. My cousin’s kids were secretly giggling and recording my meltdown, but I could not care less.
"That’s enough my dear", Uncle John replied calmly.
"No, not yet. Just one last thing."
I leaned on the podium for support because I felt too weak to stand on my own. I took my phone out and searched my last conversation with him. "Here it is! Of all the years I had known him, this was the first, and..and the last time, my father had shown disappointment in me. Maybe his failing health let his disappointment slip through the cracks. He didn't even tell me that he was sick. Even during his last days, he was just concerned about my mother and I were on good terms with each other. Wait, Uncle. For the love of God, please". I shouted again at Uncle John who tried coming close to stop me. He wanted to take away my phone and stop me from embarrassing myself further, but after my warning, he backed off with his head down.
I continued, "Okay everyone, this is it. I will read out Gary’s disappointment aloud to you all.”
*****
The last thing I remember before I blacked out was my phone falling from my hands as I fainted and saw Uncle John rushing to catch me.
