2022 WATTYS SHORTLISTED || After being forced into a marriage by her devoutly religious parents, Aspen's husband is diagnosed with a life-limiting illness, and she must find her purpose as well as fight feelings for her husband's nurse. || Aspen Wat...
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T W O W E E K S L A T E R
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They say funerals celebrate the life of the person who has died, yet the four funerals I've ever been to have been sad, and essentially a gathering to mourn. The four funerals — one for each of my grandparents — were filled with the same crying people, the same sad readings, and the same sad hymns. Not really celebrations.
Joel's funeral was different. His was a cremation for a start and didn't have one mention of God in it. It was a place of both mourning and celebration; we all knew the same thing after all. He didn't deserve to die at twenty, which is the tragic part. We all also knew that he didn't have to suffer any longer, and while he may not have enjoyed being married, he led a pretty good life for someone with his experience and illness, so we were all celebrating.
The words I'd spoken still swim in my mind, and I know he would've been proud of me for coming up with them.
"Joel was... he was my best friend. Our relationship was never going to be conventional, but what we did was love each other as best friends: unconditionally and unconventionally. He was always the strong one, always the one to save face and be strong even when I couldn't..."
The words I'd spoken in front of around twenty people who all knew the truth still ring in my ears like swimmer's ear. I've pretty much been drowning ever since Joel and I found out I was having Gabriel, and those words I'd spoken aloud in front of Joel's coffin felt like the final pull to bring up to the surface.
"You sure you wanna do this bit? I'm sure freaking Monica won't mind if we don't go. Summer will understand," Nick whispers. We stand outside the pub, the sun shining on it like a halo.
"Joel and I were a storm in a teacup. Together we were a small event. Our relationship started as a simple incident, and yet everything we were and everything we represented was exaggerated out of proportion. Joel hated phrases like that. He thought they were stupid. But the one time I told him about this one, he laughed. I told him if you looked it up, our wedding photo would be there as a definition..."
"No, I need to do this," I answer Nick, and he laces his fingers with mine. We walk into the pub together.
There's no music playing, despite the fact I know Joel would've wanted some. Knowing him, he probably would've wanted some kind of ironic pop music on or something by Fall Out Boy to annoy Monica, but I suppose I left them to arrange everything, so it was their choice.
In the little room that's been reserved for the funeral, I notice there are three photos on display by the buffet. The first photo is of Joel, Monica and Frank when he was sixteen; I've seen it before. They're all standing on a beach and smiling away; Frank is in a wheelchair. I know the story of it: Joel had just finished his GCSE exams and they took him to Bournemouth beach for the day to celebrate. They got one of the local lifeguards to take the photo. It's the last photo Joel ever had with his dad. It always made him tear up when he looked at it.
