“I glanced into the chamber where the judges were talking
Darkness was everywhere, it smelled like a tomb
I was ready to leave, I was already walkin’
But the next time I looked there was light in the room.”

-Bob Dylan

It has been said that a person does not truly know how much they are loved until they are gone; my father’s viewing was no exception. People from all walks of his life came to pay their respects. Friends, relatives, co-workers; people I hadn’t seen in 20 years.  To see how many people had been touched by father was enlightening, heart warming and exhausting.

I am not sure of the person who designed the idea of a receiving line for a viewing but I have a tiny place in my soul full of resentment and rage just for them. Standing in the formation of a line to allow others to bestow both their grief and condolences on you one after another for hours on end? I mean really, who the hell thought this crap up? Yes, please tell me how sorry you are and then give me yet another story that ends in tears to add to the nights collection. For the love! I understand that we all grieve differently and that it can extend to many people but having my raw emotions put on public display was just too much to handle. After a bit of time I broke away from the “line” for a break. I didn’t make it but a few steps when someone would stop me to begin their favorite tale starring my father and I would listen and nod and try with all of my strength to give them the look of grief they expected without crying yet again.

As I stood listening to an old friend of my father’s talk, I allowed my eyes to wander the crowded room for just a moment. It was then that I spotted a familiar face. I would know those striking blue eyes anywhere, anyone would. We locked eyes for a moment and I felt a sense of relief wash over me. In a room full of people who were otherwise strangers, it was refreshing to find someone that knew myself and my father so well. You see, Nick would have liked us all to believe that he was my Dad’s best friend; and 20+ years ago he probably was. But that time had passed, and for the last decade or so I had known my father to be closest with this blue eyed man; Billy. Thankfully he came right toward me and stopped the endless story that was currently being recited to me. He greeted me so warmly and there was something so familiar about him that I had to fight back the tears again. I knew I was embracing a man that knew my father the best, the one person in this room that could really say they knew the man lying in that box up until the very last day. Hugging Billy made me feel somehow closer to my Dad; a feeling he would bestow on me many times in the future. We chatted for a while, nothing about the viewing or the scathing events from the last few days; just honest small talk. He had come in from a trip to Vegas that he had cut short in order to be here. The noble act of a true friend. I could feel other people start to encroach on the space I was in, their eyes burning into my head for the opportunity to tell their story. Knowing it was inevitable to hear them out, I promised Billy we would have coffee before I left town and we parted ways. It felt as if I had gotten a second wind, just from having an honest conversation about really nothing at all. Maybe it was because I had this sense in my heart the Billy was going to be able to open my eyes to the answers of the many questions I had about my father; that he knew more of the truth than anyone.

I checked my watch, shit; I was only two hours into this, a measly half way. I did an internal eye roll at the thought of repeating the same conversations I had just had over the last two hours when something, or should I say someone caught my eye as they hurried through the front door to get out of the cold. I was instantly alert, my defenses kicking into overdrive. My face was flushed and hot with fury. I felt my muscles tighten up and my hands began to make fists without me even realizing; my fingernails digging into my palms so hard I thought I would shed blood. McCraben had just walked into the funeral home, flanked at her side by her troll of a mother and a group of equally vile friends. They were all dressed in yoga pants and Ugg boots, a style that I loathed in general but that was even more shameless to adorn to a viewing. As I stood frozen in silent rage I suddenly felt my own personal protection come to my side. My Mom and my Aunt Becky had somehow made it across the room in a nanosecond, without me ever having to turn around to ask. “I can’t deal with her bullshit tonight; she shouldn’t be here!” The words came out in an angry whisper that resembled something of a hiss. Great, now I was a fucking cat. Add that to the list of things I had come to hate; flowers, surprises and cats.

The Dalai Lama side of my mother thought she could reason with the woman who had brought that scandalous girl into the world in the first place. Bless her heart though, she believed that a mother- to -mother chat would dissolve this situation. I watched as she approached the woman, introducing herself and starting a conversation. McCrabben and her friends locked eyes on me while I watched the conversation unfold. It wasn’t but a minute later that my mother returned to us and I could see the anger threatening to rear it’s ugly head for a relapse. Apparently this woman was a pathetic excuse for a mother and had no sense of obligation to leave when asked. She felt entitled to be in that room with her daughter and was clear that they weren’t going anywhere; apples and trees. I promised my mother I would steer clear of the hideous group and she promised to keep me in her sights. I truly didn’t understand why McCrabbed was there anyways, who the hell was going to talk to her?

It wasn’t long before I was back on the floor greeting more people, hearing more stories and shedding more tears. It was difficult to maintain composure, especially knowing McCrabben and I were sharing the same air; a thought that was so repulsive I wanted to vomit. Finishing with another mourner and making my way across the room for some water, I was forced to side step many large gatherings of people. As I walked I wondered if my Dad was watching this and now realized how many people loved him. Maybe if he had known sooner this would be a different kind of gathering. I was trying to make my way through the crowd unnoticed when I was abruptly cut off right in front of the casket. I never wanted to be this close as it was, and now I was stuck front and center with a giant road block in my path. I was about to excuse myself past the person when I was jolted by a sudden sense of panic. It was that physiological reaction of “fight or flight” and in this moment, mine was definitely fight. I starred into the soulless eyes of my current road block, McCrabben. I waited for my Mom and Aunt Becky to appear at my side once again, but I knew their line of vision had been obstructed by the crowd. I was on my own this time; standing in front of my father’s casket faced with the poorly dressed, vile image of a woman who was hell bent on ruining what was left of my existence.

Even though the chatter of the room was low, it made a combined noise that would (thankfully) drown our conversation to others. I made a move to side step her, so as to maintain my composure. I knew that once engaged in conversation, I had no hope of displaying any dignity whatsoever. “Your Dad would have wanted me here,” she began, “we were close and I know what he wanted.” I made it appear that the crowd had forced me to get as close to her face as I had become, as if I were merely trying to hear her over the noise and so it would seem natural that my nose was nearly touching hers. But there was nothing natural about this, any of this. It wasn’t enough what she had already done, it didn’t fulfill her evil soul to have showed up tonight, despite my warning and those from my mother. This bitch wanted to turn the knife while it was logged in my heart, turn it with a forceful twist that I felt throughout my whole body. I smiled at her words, letting her know that try and she might she was not going to get the best of me that easily. I turned my face ever so slightly so that my mouth was as close to her ear as I could get without actually touching her and I whispered “You were and are nothing more than a casualty of some strange mid-life crisis,  a secret he didn’t want anyone to know about and that was easily discarded. You are not, nor will you have be more than a small blip on the radar of his life. You are worthless and disgusting and I don’t care how long I have to drag this out in court, I would rather piss away all of the money in attorney fee’s than have you get your grimy hands on a cent that he worked so hard for. Mark my words, you have done your last shitty thing to my family without repercussions.” I moved back so she could see my face and read the seriousness of it all across my tiny smirk. “Now I am going to walk away because there are people here to see me, and I think you should think about making your exit. After all, no one wants to speak to the whore. I glided past her with ease, although my body was trembling from the adrenaline of the whole encounter. My sense of fight was over and I so desperately wanted to embrace the “flight.”Where was my mother? Had she witnessed any of this? I started for the door to get some air when someone called for the attention of the room. My grandmother was there and asking for the immediate family to join her in the front. I eyed the door to my left, only a few steps left between me and some much needed air.  I don’t suppose there was any chance that my absence would go unnoticed? Deciding against it, I started for the front. What surprises were being added to evenings agenda now? Because I thought I had made it known by now, that I had come to hate surprises.