Valentine

On June 27, at roughly eight in the morning, my mother died.

I didn’t find out until a few hours later, although I could sense from the way things felt like something was horribly wrong. It was a Saturday, dad hadn’t been home since six, and Vince and I could feel it. Though we didn’t want to voice it, we knew what was coming.

I stayed at Paloma’s house until dad finally came home at eleven and took me home. He didn’t say anything. He just took me in one arm and Vince in the other and cried on our heads. His body shook, and I remember he smelled like daddy mixed with hospital, but also sort of like cinnamon.

Vince cried first. Nothing needed to be said, really. Once Vince and daddy were both crying I figured I’d better not, so I didn’t. I just stood there. When dad finally let go of me, I walked silently to my room and shut the door.

The rest of the day is kind of a haze. I remember that as hard as I tried I couldn’t be alone. Neighbors and people kept bustling in all over the house, and Vince wouldn’t let me out of his sight. I opted to go to the hospital with dad than stay home with all the doting fat ladies who lived in the building, but even there I couldn’t be left alone. Nurses and doctors kept giving me these pitying glances, and daddy kept holding my hand. I found it kind of scary that he needed me that much. After all; I was only nine.

I floated through my life that day, hardly knowing how to move. People kept making me eat casseroles and things, and I think I wound up at a neighbor’s house I didn’t know too well eventually. The TV was on but I wasn’t watching it. I wasn’t thinking about mom. I wasn’t thinking at all – I was just sitting.

The tears finally came that night. I don’t remember who tucked me in – it wasn’t dad – but as soon as the light was out my throat swelled and the tears came pouring out. I cried my heart out lying there in the darkness, with Vince sniveling above me in his bunk. I wanted to go up to him but I also didn’t – I didn’t know what I wanted. I could hardly think.

Someone finally came in and cuddled us when they heard us sobbing our eyes out – it didn’t make it any better. Dad came in, and he cuddled us and cried too. We all fell asleep together on my bottom bunk.

The next day was almost worse. Funeral arrangements were made by the grownups while Vince and I were shuffled from person to person and kept out of the way. Nobody seemed quite sure what to do with us.

Paloma came over and she didn’t say anything. I was glad – I didn’t want to talk. She sat and held my hand for a while, then left when I started crying silently. I felt bad – I didn’t want to shut her out. But I couldn’t think right then.

Bailey was probably what helped me most. I remember when he came in – without knocking, so the door must have been unlocked. Dad and a lawyer and a few other people were sitting at the table looking at papers and the woman who’d attached herself to Vince and I was beside us on the couch – Bailey didn’t acknowledge her. He came right to me and picked me up, and I clung to him desperately. Without a word to the woman or anyone else he carried me out and down to the parking lot.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked when we were in his car. I didn’t care.

He drove us to the riverbank and let me out. I walked slowly to the edge of the water, and watched it flow. He stood a little bit away.

“Hit something.” He suggested quietly. I kicked at a pebble limply, then snatched up a handful of them and flung them as far as I could away from me. I flung myself to the ground and kicked and pounded and screamed like I hadn’t since I was two. I rolled around and wound up in the water a little bit – I didn’t care. My kicks made splashes that showered me with water droplets and I did that for a while before I rolled myself out again.

Standing, I kicked the water furiously, screaming all the while. She was gone. She was really gone, and I was never going to see her again my entire life. I, only beginning to comprehend the magnitude, found a stick on the beach and flung it as far as I could. It cracked against a small baby tree not far away. I ran for that, and ripped at the branches. I broke as many as I could reach, and littered the ground with leaves. It looked sad when I was done.

I wasn’t sorry. I moved away form the beach to the strip of grass where Bailey stood and kicked the tire of his car with more energy than I’d ever felt. I hit the metal once and dented it slightly – it hurt horribly and I collapsed to the ground, gasping and crying. Finally I fell still.

He left me a minute, then squatted down over me and looked at me sadly.

“It sucks.” He said darkly. I nodded, lip wobbling. “Come here.”

He held me for a long time and let me cry on him. It must have looked weird – I was so little and he was so tall. It occurred to me later that anyone who saw would have thought I was his little sister and the thought made me happy, even amid the terrible sorrow I felt.

The funeral was within three to four days – I can’t remember exactly. I must have blocked a lot of that time. I remember Paloma and Bailey came and they sat with me and held me. I noticed that nobody came to be with Vince, and it occurred to me suddenly how lonely he must be. Maybe he’d watch less TV if he had friends. I held his hand.

Dad told about her life and cried all the way through, in front of everyone. I didn’t say anything when the priest offered the opportunity, even though I knew I should. I guess I was too scared, and I didn’t have anything prepared.

The days that followed were horror-filled; me still trying to comprehend that I was never going to see my mommy again. Ever. She was gone for good, and was never coming back.

And I know dad was trying to be there for Vince and me; he was even staying home from work for a while. But it got so that I wished he’d go back, because he was just as miserable as us. He cried so often now, and at such random intervals – and I don’t know about you, but it’s hard to feel save about anything when you can see your daddy crying.