**Author's Note: I've never been to a funeral, so this is just a guess of what it would be like **

Chapter One

Catherine Lydia Bombay

July 2nd 1932 - December 1st 1998

Gordon Bombay uncomfortably shifted back and forth on the heels of his feet, trying to warm himself. The cold, hard arctic wind made his face burn as he could see his breath in the icy air. Bombay had almost forgotten how unforgiving Minnesota winters could be after living in sunny Los Angeles for the past two and a half years.

"Dearly beloved," the clergyman began, "We are gathered here together to remember a beloved friend and family member. Catherine Bombay was a kind individual with a smile for everyone she met. Her son Gordon will now say a few words. "

Gordon Bombay stepped up to the microphone and looked around at the small gathering. There might have been maybe five people there. Himself included. A few nurses from the group home she had stayed at for the past ten years and what looked to be two elderly ladies whom he assumed to be friends of his mother.

"Thank you all for coming," Gordon began.

He had prepared a speech to give on the flight back to Minnesota, but the words failed to come. Bombay had nothing to say. His mother had been in a home since he graduated from Eden Hall. His father died before that. He had no brothers or sisters to speak of, and both his parents were only children themselves.

"Today is about my mother. She passed away on December 1st, 1998 at the age of 66 from Alzheimer's. " Bombay paused, looking for feedback.

Everyone just looked at him. They were expecting him to say something more than just the basics. This was a lot harder than at Hans's funeral. He had kept in touch with Hans almost to the very end. Gordon looked over to the clergyman for assistance.

"Why don't you tell them about her life when she was younger?"

Gordon nodded. "As you know, my mother has suffered with dementia for the past 15 or so years. But on a day like today, I would like to talk to you about what she was like. Before she got sick. "

Gordon looked over to the clergyman, and he nodded, urging Bombay to continue.

"My mother's life was devoted to the service of others. Whether it was looking after my dad when he got sick or making sure that I got to all my games on time. She was always there. My mother touched countless lives. As long as my mother could lift a hand, she was lifting it to help someone else. My friends and teammates could always count on my mom, or Mrs. B as they called her, to give them a ride if needed or help them with homework."

Gordon Bombay looked around. A few of the nurses were smiling at him.

"She kept her diagnosis of Alzheimer's quiet until she couldn't. She never wanted to be a burden to anyone. Her selflessness didn't start when she was diagnosed with dementia. She had been like this her entire life. She always put others before herself. "

Bombay paused and motioned towards the attending guests. "I'd like to thank all of you for coming and taking care of her during her last years. I know she may have been challenging at times, but it always came from the heart. Thank you. "

Gordon exhaled.

"That was wonderful." The clergyman smiled warmly. Bombay made a mental note to remember to make a donation in his mother's name to whatever parish the clergyman belonged to. "Anyone else?"

Gordon looked around. No one was stepping forward.

"Alright then." The clergyman said. He cleared his throat. "The apostle Paul instructed the Thessalonians about death and resurrection so they "would not grieve as those who have no hope." Therefore, he concluded that passage by writing: "Therefore, encourage one another with these words." This, to me, is a big part of why we come together at funerals: to give comfort, to lean on each other, to encourage one another. May God bless and guide each one of us as we attempt to speak in moments where words seem so inadequate. Amen. "

The clergyman closed a book, shook Gordon's hand as well as the others, and left. Once he had left, one of the older ladies spoke up.

"You have some nerve showing up here!" one of the old ladies scolded him.

The other older lady nodded in agreement . "You never showed up once to visit her. Not once. "

The older lady coughed and struggled to walk towards Bombay. One of the nurses offered to assist, but she waved her away.

"That's not true," Gordon charged back. "I always made sure that she had everything she needed."

"She needed her family." The lady raised her cane to poke Bombay in the chest. "And you were always too busy to go and see her."

"I had my reasons, " Gordon shot back.

"Reasons smeasons. You always make time for family. ' The lady put her cane down. "She loved you. You were her family. "

Gordon defended himself: "She didn't even know who I was."

The older lady huffed. "Whatever you say, Mr. Bombay." She turned to the other lady. "Let's go, Effie. I'm wasting my breath. "

The two older ladies left with the nurses, leaving Gordon alone in the cemetery.

Gordon sighed. His mother had just died, but it was like she had been gone for years. Even before she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. A part of her died when his dad died. If he was honest, a part of him died as well.

She had become depressed and withdrawn when her husband was there for Gordon the best she could. But it was not enough. Gordon still walked down the path of depression and eventually alcoholism. Until the Ducks. The ducks, especially Charlie, had been a bright light on a dark and dreary path. Bombay had thought of contacting them upon his return to Minnesota, but decided against it. He had been gone for so long that he felt it would have been best if he had just said his goodbye privately and returned to California.

Gordon shook his head. "It's been too long, "he reasoned with himself. "After the JV/Varsity game, Gordon did what he always did. He ran. Back to California, where he felt safe.

Gordon kneeled beside his mother's tombstone. "I'm sorry I wasn't here. It was just too hard."

Gordon wept.