Goodbye, Old Friend

How do you say goodbye?

How do you understand forever?

I can't make me love you any less

In my mind we'll always be together.

We laughed, we cried.

We shed a million tears

that left behind part of ourselves.

And you'll always have me

to lean on, in love, in life.

In death.

How do you say goodbye to a friend? A family member? A love? How do you understand the pain that rages through you like a fire, uncontrolled? Burning, burning, burning, the hot tears scalding your cheeks and your eyes as they seek their release because keeping them inside would mean the end of you.

Do you tell yourself that it will be alright...that things will get better in time? Or do you shut everyone out and sink into the deepest part of yourself and silently scream for what you had, what you were? Or do you shake your balled up fist at the sky and scream in anger...hoping, wishing, praying that this was just a bad dream...a bad dream. The pain so heavy that you can't breathe and don't want to.

All of these things ran through my mind as I prepared to bury my best friend.

My chest felt like a heavy chunk of lead, my mind hazy and unfocused, my limbs tired and weak. I stood in my bathroom trying to get ready for what I could only describe as heart wrenching, dressed in my mourning clothes, which consisted of a long black ankle length dress with black stockings and black boots. I brushed my long hair over and over again, sometimes forgetting for a second what I was preparing myself for and then, inevitably, the memories came rushing back and stabbed me in the heart and reminded me that Sasha was really gone.

My mind was a blank sheet as I stood up at the podium and read a ullage in Sasha's memory. I couldn't cry anymore, only read the words that seemed so pitiful and not enough to describe the woman that she was, the love that she had or the life that she had lead.

I decided to wear my hair down. That way during the funeral I could hide my face and my tears with my protective barrier. Long hair was such a blessing by times because it could hide your face, and thus, hide you from the people you didn't want to see, almost like you were alone.

I didn't bother to put on any makeup, just a touch of lip gloss for my chapped lips. I didn't care how I looked today. What did it matter when you were burying someone you loved?

When I sat back down beside Bosco and felt his strong hand holding mine, I finally let myself think about the turn of events that had lead to my finding out who the true father of Carly's baby was. I know I was still in shock the morning of her funeral, because I hadn't told a single soul about the terrible secret I had discovered the night before at the wake.

It seemed to me that my life, as I knew it, was over. I had found out so many things over the past few days that had threatened my family relationships and made me question who and what we were. How could you say you knew someone so well? Do we really ever know someone enough to be able to say what they would or would not do?

All my life, it seemed, I had lost my loved ones to death. Greedy death, that knew no right from wrong, who never cared who he took or when. No, death did not pick favorites, he came like a thief in the night and robbed us of all things precious. Emily, Charlie, my unborn baby from Bosco, Rose, Mikey, and now, Sasha. All of their faces loomed before me, their expressions grim, as though they knew how hard it was to lose someone you love.

After the hospital, we had taken Ty home because Bosco was afraid that he'd get himself into an accident. Bosco, by default, had become the strong one, for both Ty and I were far too emotional to talk, much less drive or have a clear thought. I sat in back with him and we clung to each other, crying openly. Bosco concentrated on driving, but every once in a while he would reach up and wipe a tear from his eye and then grip the steering wheel again, so hard his knuckles turned white.

Ty had gone strait up to his room when we got there and left it to us to call the other family members. He had called both Tyrone and Carly from the hospital and, as expected, both were devastated and shocked. Carly was going to be on the next flight from Boston and would arrive about six p.m. Tyrone and Tania would be over as soon as they could get Elijah to Tania's mothers house.

I sat down on the couch and rocked back and forth. I squeezed my eyes shut and fought back the urge to throw up. Bosco was in the kitchen making arrangements and calling people that he knew Ty didn't want to deal with right away.

I couldn't sit still so I went into the kitchen and leaned my tired frame against the doorway. Bosco was back to, talking softly to someone on the other end of the phone, but his shoulders were shaking and his voice was strange and thick. Fresh tears sprang to my eyes as I listened to him. He was sweating profusely, I could tell, because the back of his red t-shirt was soaked He reached up and wiped his brow with one arm.

'Yes. I know...no...it's going to be closed casket...'

Again I had to suppress the urge to throw up. Closed casket because there was nothing left...

'I appreciate that...yes I think that would be very kind of you...but I'll see what Ty says.' He said, nodding his head.

He turned around grabbed a pen and started scribbling something on a napkin, his eyes meeting mine and telling me to stay where I was.

'Thank you again. Goodbye.'

He hung up the phone and walked over to me and grabbed me in a big hug. I started to cry again and bowed my head into his strong shoulder. He kissed my hair and rubbed small circles on my back.

'Are you gonna be ok?'

'No. How can I ever be okay again, Bosco?'

'You have to be strong...for everyone. Carly's gonna be here soon and Tyrone will be too...come on, you need to lie down or something.' He said wisely.

I shook my head. 'No. I can't...I just can't right now...I'm not tired..'

Bosco put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back slightly, so he could look at me. His eyes were bloodshot and looked baggy. He looked dangerous and sullen, the news had left him as angry as I was inside, but he kept it buried deep.

'You need to take a breather and lie down because this is only gonna get worse. You need to rest and I won't tell you again.' He chastised, pressing his lips into a grim line. He was so worried about me that it made him annoyed and panicky when I wouldn't listen.

In the end, I did go lie down in the spare bedroom after Bosco gave me two gravol to help me sleep. I didn't realize I had been so tired and worn out. Carly had arrived along with her brother Tyrone and they had both gone directly upstairs to see their father.

Brett hadn't come, which surprised and angered me, for he had known Sasha from the time he had been born, but I didn't have time to dwell on it and was discreet enough not to ask Carly. Besides, the house had become overflowing with people and there was no time to think of anything else.

Neighbors and family members crowded into the kitchen, all eating from the buffet of food that had come pouring through the doors. It seemed that everyone covered their sorrow by cooking. Dozens of hot plates, rolls, deserts and veggie trays piled up on the counter only hours after Sasha's death.

We were all up late that night and Bosco and I didn't get home until 1:30 or so. The wake was set for the next evening, which was almost a relief, because there was so much to prepare and it was hard to find the energy. I threw myself into the preparations, wrote a speech for her ullage and made last minute calls to the church and florist. Bosco had helped Ty with the funeral arrangements, which I was grateful for. I couldn't bear to go and help pick out a casket.

When I look back, I can clearly see the events that lead up to the reason why my son had not attended the wake or the funeral. If I could have turned back the clock, I would have listened to every word, ever gesture or look that he made and maybe, I would have been more aware of his problems and could have found a way to help him.

It never occurred to me that Brett would have any reason to stay in Boston instead of flying home with Carly. In my mind, nothing was more serious than being there to say goodbye. I should have seen it in her eyes, in her smile, that faded sparkle that was once there, gone.

I look back now and wonder how I could have been so stupid as to not know the things that had gone on under my nose. To make matters worse, I had not seen the clues and I had not picked up on the subtle hints that I knew were there.

From the moment I saw Carly, I knew something had changed. She was devastated, as I expected her to be, but there was something else in those dark eyes that I hadn't seen before. Fear. It was a kind of nervousness that I had seen in many of the victims we dealt with on a regular basis. Not only was she afraid of something, she also tried to avoid me at any costs. Any time I made a move toward her, she would slip away into the bathroom or latch on to someone's arm and turn away from me.

Dressed in a black pant suite, she looked rather elegant and regal, but the slump in her shoulders gave away her sorrow, making her seem almost a child. Her eyes were puffy from long hours of crying and her face seemed like a piece of frail china, it was so tight and plastery looking.

The wake dragged on it seemed, for hours and hours, even though it was only from seven to ten. There had been at least five hundred people to greet, cheeks to kiss and hugs to give. Nearing the end, I felt as though I had been put through a mixer and stretched out flat and thin. I had nothing left to give, nothing left to say, no more words of comfort.

What happened next was the hand of fate taping me on the shoulder and telling me to go to the back room. It was if I felt cold wave on the back of my neck and I shuddered. Bosco looked over at me and asked me with his eyes if I was ok. I nodded at him, for I knew he was prepared to come over and see to me even though he was engaged in a conversation with one of Sasha's hysterical relatives and was trying to console her.

I walked to the back of the parlor and pushed open the swinging doors and walked down the long hallway toward the small kitchen that was reserved for family members only. I walked along like someone in a dream, my feet carrying me without my will, toward the back. I looked down at the cheap purple carpet beneath my feet and wondered why anyone would choose that color for a funeral home.

I was just about to enter through the doorway, when I heard a horse sobbing coming from within. Not wanting to interrupt someone's private moment, I stopped and stood still.

'He knows! He knows!' I heard a voice sob, a voice which was Carly Davis.

'Why did you tell him? Why didn't you just tell him it was his, then? Why go through all of this?' An angry male voice responded.

'I'm not like you! I can't let him think this baby is his when it's not!'

'Well, I hope you don't think I'm going to be responsible for this! How do I even know that you weren't sleeping with half of Boston anyway?'

A hard slap echoed loudly, which I suspected had met the face of the dirt-bag who had gotten her pregnant.

'I was not! How dare you say that to me! You, who hit on me every chance you got! You, who undressed me with your eyes for years and you only wanted me because someone else had me!'

'I was bored.'

'What!'

'I always wondered why you looked like underneath and now I do. I'm over it.'

'How much do you think he'll love you when he hears that you took advantage of me when I was drunk?'

The voice turned darker and more sinister. Oh, how I wished that he would speak up louder so I could tell who this mystery man was! I had to crane my neck to try and hear the rest of the conversation.

'I didn't do anything you didn't beg me to do. He won't believe you anyway. He hates you now, he told me so.'

'He does not!'

'I talked to him last night...he told me everything, how you begged him to not leave you, how you told him that you loved him...he told me everything.'

'Bastard!'

That part was shouted. I turned and frantically tried to find a spot where I could hide and saw the coatrack, heavy with coats and hats and ducked around in behind it.

A few seconds later Carly Davis came rushing out of that room, crying and pressing her hands over her mouth.

Another few seconds passed and then a tall young man stepped out. He fixed his tie and ran his hands down over his suit jacket and then back up to his hair, smoothing it down.

I could have died. It was my own son. Mike.