Thus, we bury our loved ones around the city, not inside it.
Barbara “Barbie” Lawson loved Half Moon Bay. A town in the Bay Area that still maintains its wild coastal beauty. It is essentially a string of beaches bracketed by cliffs. Dad chose to bury her there because he thought she’d enjoy the view.
I go alone. It’s a weekday. Dad’s at work, and Renn’s at school taking summer classes. Even if they were available, I need to do this by myself.
I couldn’t bring myself to attend Mom’s funeral. I was too busy hurling my phone off a cliff and hating myself to pay her last respects. Also, I couldn’t deal with the stares of everyone who would be attending. They all knew how she died.
So here I am now.
It takes me twenty-five minutes to find her grave. Partly because I’m so nervous, but mostly because cemeteries are like that. Difficult to navigate. Her grave is a generic one. A single upright granite headstone with a matching vase. I lift a batch of flowers I brought along with me and tuck them into her vase.
“Hey, Mom. Sorry it took me a minute. Or . . . you know, six years.”
The silence is to be expected, but it still hurts. I don’t sit down. I don’t make myself comfortable.
“I know it’s been a long time, and I know I wasn’t here for your funeral . . . and yes, I know I was terrible to Renn and Dad. And Pippa too. I know all those things. So don’t think I don’t. It’s just that . . .” I blink at her grave, thinking, It’s been so long, but also I remember her like it was yesterday.
In my head, I can hear her say, It’s all right, darling. Just talk. I’m listening.
I take a deep breath.
“It’s just that I needed a few moments to collect myself after what happened. And see, those moments turned into a few years. I just wanted to thank you for saving me. For being the best mom a girl could have. I’m so sorry my guilt stood in the way of doing the right thing. I promise you, it’s over now. I’ll be good to everyone who is still alive and I love. Everyone.”
And I mean it. Everyone.
The grave looks back at me. I still think Mom’s death could have been prevented, but I no longer think I should pay for it with my own life by merely existing. There is no point. I know Mom would not draw any pleasure from knowing I am miserable. I know she would have wanted me to go to Berkeley. To be with Joe. To pursue my dream. The one that had made me so self-conscious and her so proud.
More than anything, I know that Mom would have wanted me to design her gravestone. She always joked about it while she was alive, obviously thinking it would happen in many, many decades.
It is not too late now.
“I can’t make up for what happened. I wish I could. I wish I would have put my phone aside that day. Paid more attention to you. But since I can’t go back to change the past, I’m going to do the one thing I know for a fact you’d have wanted me to do. Do you think Dad and Renn would mind?”
The grave is completely silent, of course, which is fine. The alternative would be terrifying. I know Dad and Renn would support this. So I sit in front of my mother’s grave, take out a sketchbook and a pencil, and start sketching.
When I get back home, I call Gemma Graves. She is surprised but happy to hear from me. I ask how she and Brad are doing.
Be good to those who are still alive. I made a promise. I am going to keep it.
“It’s hard to answer that question,” she says. “Some days it is bearable. Some days it is not. The one thing both days have in common is that we can’t control them.”
I tell her that I’ve been meaning to catch up for a while now, and I apologize for not calling earlier. “I’m trying to get better at keeping in touch,” I explain.
“Baby steps are the best steps. We learn a lot from them,” comes her reply, sure and sunny, just like Gemma herself.
We chat for ten minutes. I play with the engagement ring that has still been on my finger the entire time. It soothes me and reminds me that Dom was here not all that long ago.
Gemma tells me about a beautiful tribute Dominic’s middle school paid to him before they went on summer break. Apparently, he sponsored a kid there and paid for the kid’s lunch for both semesters, and he also volunteered to give the kids a quick first aid course. We both cry, but it’s a cleansing cry. It’s a he-was-such-a-good-human cry.
And he was. Not all the time, no. And not to everyone. But he was.
Please don’t call me perfect, he asked me on the Cape. No one’s perfect.
I ask her if she could give me Joe’s email. I explain that I don’t want to burden him, but I want to show him something. She gives it to me and sighs. “Dom’s always been so sweet and loving. Seph is so prickly . . . but that only makes me love him harder, you know?”