The funeral went by in regular fashion. I guess funerals were pretty standard things. No one wanted to dwell too much, they just wanted someone to say nice things and then they could leave.
I was in the front row sitting next to a bunch of old ladies I didn't know. Renee, my grandmother's best friend and my own mother's namesake, delivered the eulogy to a small congregation at the Arrowhead Memorial Gardens. She told us about the kind of adventures she and Marie had shared over the past forty-three years. She'd never lost her spark, Renee claimed and I knew she was right. I'd lived with my grandmother for the past six years and I'd never seen her miss a beat. Until near the end, of course.
We filed out in an orderly fashion. Different people paired up outside to chat and catch up. There weren't many people here, but everyone here seemed genuinely stricken by the loss. They had truly liked if not loved my grandmother. I'd hope, when my time came, my passing would be like this.
"How are you holding up?" Renee came over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm OK," I nodded. Was I lying? I couldn't say.
The drive to Renee's house was short. The wake wasn't all that interesting. There was lots of finger food and standing around. People were drinking scotch and one old man even offered me a glass. I told him I was seventeen. He told me when he was seventeen, he was already in the war and saw two of his friends die on the same day. So what harm would a little scotch do me? I didn't answer him. I just stood up and walked away.
In the parlor, Renee was on the phone.
"Yes, of course... She can stay with me for as long as she needs... Uh, Tuesday, I think... Oh, Bella!"
She spotted me and called me over.
"It's Tuesday your flight leaves?"
I nodded.
"Yes, Tuesday. I'll be driving her to the airport... Sweetie, what time will your plane land?"
"Um. 11 am."
"Did you hear that? ...Ok, yes. No, that's fine... Your Aunt Molly's gonna pick you up from Seattle. Do you want to talk to her?"
She offered me the phone but I declined. I left her to her conversation and ventured upstairs.
In the guest room where I'd be sleeping, there was a dresser with framed photos lining the top. Some included my mother. She was a child in these and the spitting image of myself at that age. They were on a beach somewhere. I wish I knew where. Most of the photos were of the same two women. Marie and Renee, the unstoppable duo. Here they were horseback riding and there they were at the Grand Canyon. There was even a picture of Nana cosying up to Harrison Ford.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and let the tears fall silently. A deep sense of shame came over me because I wasn't crying over Nana. I was crying over moving back home.