I Was Last [Rhett and Link]

Chapter 9

When I packed in a frenzy at my house a week ago, I was only thinking about seeing my mom alive again. I got to do that, once. I got to say goodbye. I wasn't, however, thinking about how I would likely be attending her funeral before I flew back again. Hence the lack of suit.

I might have been able to rent one on short notice but apparently my family doesn't like me spending unnecessary money renting cars, hotel rooms, suits, or anything else. So we determine a suit of Lincoln's will fit me. I'm straightening my tie and putting on my cufflinks in front of the full-length mirror in my dad's bedroom, since there isn't one in my room. In the reflection I see him milling around the room quietly, looking for something while avoiding disturbing anything of Mom's. He doesn't want anything to change from the way her hands left them.

"Do you need help finding something, Dad?" I say to his reflection.

"There's an envelope," he mutters distractedly. "I don't know where she left it."

I turn to join him, mirroring his pattern of searching high and low without disturbing any of her things unnecessarily.

"She told me where it would be but I didn't want to talk about it," he mutters again in pained frustration. "I should have paid attention and let her talk."

I place my hand on her jewelry box, and when he glances at me he stiffens. This is one of her things, sacred, not to be disturbed. Then I see his resolve weaken; this is how we have to find it. I open the lid. The envelope inside has her handwriting across the front, slanted and graceful: "For My Family" . Slowly I hand it to him and he takes hold of it with reverence.

"Are you ready to leave, Dad?"

He continues staring down at the envelope in his hand a few moments before he nods.

---

For two hours I stand at the end of a receiving line next to Lincoln, shaking the hands of a thousand people who either haven't seen me since I was in highschool or maybe college, or who have never met me but had varying degrees of knowledge of my existence depending on how close they were to my parents. It's just a lot of complete strangers, a lot of hands and a few awkward hugs or kisses on the cheek, and lots of sad smiles and thanks offered for their condolences. I wonder if the rest of my family finds it easier or harder knowing these people better than I do. I look down the line, the four of us arranged by age, suddenly feeling anew the absence of my mother. We had five people in our family.

In between strangers I glance around the room, my brother-in-law, sister-in-law, nieces and nephew milling around offering and accepting niceties as well, though not restricted to the formal lineup. After our two hours are up, Pastor Scott sidles up behind Dad to let him know we're going to get ready to begin the service. There are still people in line, but Scott announces apologies that we're going to need to get started but there will be time to visit more with the family at the reception following the service. At least I'll get to eat, so that's one thing to look forward to.

Most people have been seated in the worship center, and when we walk in I feel like I'm a groomsmen in a weirdly somber wedding. I sit down in the front row, still placed at the end of the line next to Lincoln. Locke and Katie join their spouses in the front row, but their children are seated right behind us with the McLaughlins. I turn and smile at the kids, then at Shepherd. I wonder if I'll ever stop regretting that I wasn't here when he was in my shoes.

"Welcome. Thank you all for coming," Scott begins. "It's clear Christy was a beloved woman, not just by her church family where I knew her the best, but by everyone whose lives she touched. There are people here from all over the country, from North Carolina, Pennsylvania," he nods at me when he says this," and everywhere in between. Even some international guests.