My arms were aching by the time I lifted another box. Strategically, in a Tetris style, I placed the cardboard box on top of a tilting tower. By some miracle, the left side of the foyer, which was designated for donations were bigger than the keep pile. I wiped off the sweat that was forming at my brow line. The end of the August heat is catching up with me; I've been grinding through it since early this morning. I still can't believe it's been just a mere three weeks ago since my dad passed.
There's something about surrounding myself with constant labor that has been helping me ease my mind from reality. However, the past couple of weeks have been unimaginable; I've still been struggling to process the passing of my father. About two years ago, I moved back into my dad's place; his cancer had gotten unmanageable, slowly he was unable to care of himself. He needed me more help than I had originally thought. There is nothing harder than seeing the ones you love start to slow down and lose their battle. Growing up, it was only dad and me; us against the world. It pained me to see him lose his energy, that smile that I love started to disappear, and it became more obvious that he was grappling with pain.
It's strange, not being able to see him working on the projects he was passionate about. Gradually, his salt and pepper hair had thinned, and eventually, it fell out with chemo. Dad's smile no longer made it to his eyes, and I could see how hard he was fighting; eventually, it got tougher and tougher.
No longer do I have my support system; I could never take those corny jokes, hugs, or long talks for granted, ever again, because they only lived on in memory now. Although all the pain that my dad's passing has put me in, I know my father is now without excruciating pain and in a better place. The suffering stopped for him. And heaven gained another angel. May his soul rest in peace.
........................................
The last few weeks have been hell; I've stayed in bed, isolating myself. In all honesty, I would have starved myself if it wasn't for Mrs. Albert-Reed. The kooky redhead is the mother to one of my best friends; she still lived down the old dirt road from us. A neighbour, one could say, if you could count the mile in between our houses neighbourly. Mrs. AR was nice enough to bring me meals and leave some extra food in the fridge. I know that it must have been a burden to her since she's a very busy woman with four children to look after, but I am beyond thankful. The feeling of being helpless and defenseless came unnaturally to me. I was raised to be an independent woman. My father always said, 'No daughter of mine will let men walk all over her'.
I figured out that trying to sleep away my grief away wasn't quite working out as much as I'd hoped it would. My new approach is cleaning, putting my OCD to work. My dad always said I got that trait from my mother. Apparently, she preoccupied herself by tidying up. And my dad left quite the mess behind for me. Yet, I can't blame him; he had been forced to slow down an awful lot. I hardly remember my deadbeat of a mother; she left us when I was around the age of 4. My dad, from then on, raised me, playing the role of my main caretaker, and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
As I stacked my last box of the day, my phone beeped, alerting my attention. Setting down the box labeled "sweaters", I clicked on the email icon. The funeral service sent out invites, delivering them to the addresses I prepared. I'm not sure if I caught a probable case of heatstroke or if it's my anxiety-riddled nerves, but my heart started to beat faster and harder. I re-scanned the list. The first fifteen invitations belonged to family members that live out of state - aunts, uncles, and cousins that I don't even know. The others were neighbors and townees. It's a small town after all, and my dad had a strong role within the community. However, the last four names made my stomach churn- Ivy Albert-Reed, Mason Scott, Emily-Rose Parker, and Eli Jones. I hate that, just glancing over their names makes me feel uneasy; this isn't how it was supposed to be. We were that tight close-knit crew in high school- the cliché friend group that did everything together. And we all played the roles too: Emmy the pretty, popular one; Eli the genius; Ivy the rebel; Mason, the jock, and I guess that left me as the average tomboy?
We called ourselves the fantastic five. Yep, five years later I still cringe. But it breaks my heart that things aren't even close to what they once were. I guess all good things do come to an end. I huffed; is it sad that I'm so curious to know if they would answer? I mean they have to! Right? Even with all the time that has passed, they still care,right? They have to.
Finally, the sun went down, and I put in my last remaining microwave meal in. My nose scrunched in dislike as I noticed the strange consistency of the potatoes and the rancid fart-like smell of the mushy broccoli through the screen door. Sighing, I turned the television on and set my dinner on the TV tray. The living room was ghostly with the absence of my dad. The walls faintly still held his laughter, and his lazy boy chair still smelled like his comforting aftershave. The only channels available were the local news channel and several different sports networks. I finally decide on baseball, the Rangers playing- Dad's favorite team. The familiar ping brought my attention from the tied ball game to Facebook.
"Oh My God, RORY! Girl how come you didn't tell me earlier" – Emily
I am not surprised that she's the first of my high school friends to reach out. A sad smile found its way to my lips. "I needed time" I responded with a frowning emoji.
Maybe an emoji isn't a good idea for this situation. . . Oh well.
"I'm calling you; you better pick up"- Emily
Ugh, really? Of course, she's able to talk now when something awful happens. But when I just want to chat or call her on her birthday she won't pick up. I slumped into the couch like a stubborn toddler, and Emily's personalized ringtone blared from my tiny phone speakers playing "Uptown Funk", the most popular song from our grad year and happened to be her favorite song at the time. God, I hated that overplayed song. Her photo popped up as well, it was her from eleventh grade double- fisting two Luckys. Her long blonde hair had dirt in it, and her white jeans sported massive mud stains over them. The photo was taken right after she bailed in a field not far from school after a rally night. I let out a soft laugh and picked up on the third ring.
"Sunshine, oh, my, god, my deepest condolence, I cannot believe this happened"
I tried not to let my eyes fill with water. I'm just not used to people talking or even being around to me, let alone adapting to the sincere tone or the "I'm sorry" look, for that matter. Also, it has been years since I've heard Emily's voice.
"Honey, please don't tell me your crying", she begged as I stifled an uncomfortable chuckle. I fidgeted with a loose string on the armrest, twirling it around my finger.
"If I told you I'm not would you even believe me"?
I could hear her laugh from the other side. "No, you were always the cry baby".
Sighing, I explained how my last few months have unfolded.
"Please don't tell me you're doing this alone right now Sunshine". I huffed, "Well- ". I checked the time on the tv monitor; it is now 9:02. I've been talking to Emily-Rose for two and half hours.
"I hope you know I'm coming, Rory. If I could I'd be on the next flight out of here."
"Don't be dramatic; I'm fine right now" I muttered, trying not to let my hand muffle my voice.
"I will be there at the funeral, though, don't even worry about it. I'm coming early-" I could hear her clacking away on a laptop. No doubt she had her nails done. Pink acrylics would be my guess.
"The next flight I can get is in three days, and the funeral is next Friday. I'll be there and help out!"
A small smile made its way back to my face as I thought about Emily coming over and staying a few extra days with me. "Okay, Emmy, that sounds good, means more than you'll know".
"Don't even worry, someone's gotta take care of you, my little Sunshine. Let Mama Emily help".
"Shut up", I laugh at her narcissistic ass. Maybe, things haven't changed as much as I thought they did. "Good night Em."
"Good night Sunshine".
.
There's a bit of a slow start but it gets more interesting :)
YOU ARE READING
The Memories of Us
RomanceFor years, Rory and her father were inseparable, but after his death, her world came crashing down. Trapped in her hometown, she felt lost in a sea of grief, and life seemed meaningless. High school had brought her four closest friends together: Ivy...