The Art of Being a F*ck Up - Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Her name was...actually, I don't think that really matters at this point, not anymore. Maybe it did once, but that's just one more thing being buried with her today. Who she was, all she'd ever done, how exactly she died—the last thing she wanted to say to her son—all of its gone, finished. She and I had only spoken a handful of times, I'd never gotten to meet her face to face, but it still makes me sad. I can't begin to imagine how Jonah must be feeling, no matter how brave he pretends to be. He's usually so well-spoken, but from the second he got the news he's just been quiet. Like, the kind of quiet that scares me.
It was a relief when he asked if I'd come here with him, I know I'm a stranger, the odd man out, but I didn't want him to be alone. Jason flew out ahead of all of us to make the arrangements, so he hasn't been as available for him as he should be. But the worst part's almost over, it's so surreal, I keep waiting for Jonah to cry but he just won't. I get that they were estranged, or whatever, but you'd still think he would've shed at least one tear by now. Maybe he's in shock. The most he seemed to be concerned with was how adversely flying out of state would affect my grades—though I suspect that's a clever distraction to focus on anything other than this funeral.
He must hate them as much as I do.
The few minutes I've taken in the bathroom to finish getting ready is the longest I've been out of his sight for days, so I'm a bit anxious to get back to him, but when I return to the full glory of our motel room he's exactly where I left him, slouched over at the table in the corner with his phone open to a blank screen. I hate seeing him here like this. I hate this shitty room and the stiff suit I've got on too, but mostly my heart breaks from seeing him so heartbroken. Everything's wrong, my guess is it will be for a while, but I'm determined to make the most of the situation for Jonah's sake.
Things may suck all around, but I really have gotten good at being what people need me to be, so no matter what else I've got going on, no matter my own problems, right now I'll be this for him. Jonah is all that matters, and seeing how much he needs me provides all the strength it takes to rise up and be nothing but stable, and tough.
"My dad wanted me to say something during the service," he manages, his voice masterfully calm as I take a seat on the corner of the bed. I'm sure he thinks he's doing a far better job of fooling me than he actually is, because I can hear something there, deeply rooted beneath his polite sentiments. "But I can't think of anything."
"Maybe it's because you're trying too hard." From what I understand she lived a very antiseptic life, she worked long hours and didn't spend a lot of time at home. Jonah did tell me she liked reading those cheesy romance novellas and watching daytime soaps, but I wouldn't be surprised if that's all he knew about her. She was real nice whenever I talked to her, and even though it was only for a few minutes at a time, she always struck me as the kind of mother who just wanted what was best for her son.
"What do you say about someone you never knew?" Jonah turns in his seat so that he can face me. He's obviously hit the same wall, but the way he stares over with those sad eyes suggests that he's expecting an actual answer. For whatever reason he thinks I'm the expert, that this makes us alike now that his mom is gone too.
"You said you were like seven when she left, right? Isn't that old enough to have some memories?"
"I can't remember anything."
"Then just tell your dad you don't want to do it, he won't be mad. You have to do whatever it takes to get through today, Jonah, that's what's important."
"You're right, I know, it's just, my head's all mixed up." A long breath escapes him, and when he can't bear to be alone another minute he moves to sit on the bed beside me, taking my hand. It's the only comfort I can offer, but it's enough, and he sits there quietly for a long while before he speaks again. "Thanks for coming out here with me, I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not." Sometimes the simplest reassurances are the best, and I rest my head against his when he lays it on my shoulder. I'm not blind, like I said, I don't buy that he doesn't remember his mom, but what would be the point of pushing him? If this is how he wants to cope then for him—always for him—I'll keep pretending that I am. I'll also pretend like I don't see the real reason he's concerned with my being here, because we both know it has nothing to do with school. I'm not sitting around trying to draw comparisons though, that would be useless. Dead is dead and it's fucking terrible no matter what.
Instead of wasting our breath, we share a comfortable silence for a bit longer until Jason finally shows up. When Jonah realizes he's all out of time to stall he panics a little, clinging on tighter as I try to let go, but I know he needs some privacy with his dad. Even if it's just for a few minutes. I squeeze his hand before our fingers untangle, and then I step into the hall to wait for the procession to begin. They take longer than I expected—or maybe not long enough—regardless, Jonah grabs on tight again when they emerge, and together we go downstairs.
Lilah is already waiting for us once we get to the car. I stop to marvel at the fact that I'm not the only stranger here, this must be even weirder for her to be going to her husband's ex-wife's funeral. Then again, she doesn't seem to be all that conscientious about being the other woman, no, it's more the opposite. She handles herself with aplomb. Whether it's intentional or not, she spends the whole ride caressing her stomach, an ironic bookend to challenge the occasion. Life out of death, there's a kind of beauty in the symmetry.
They're all held together so well, like it's a familial trait or something, and even when they have to sit through all the tear-soaked well-wishes from friends and colleagues, they keep their composure. I'm still waiting for Jonah to cry, but even after the service when we've piled back into the car to go to the cemetery, he still wears an expression as hard as stone. I had expected something out of him when he'd gone up to pay his respects, even if it was just a sniffle, but mostly he looked indifferent, almost like he could shrug and walk away.
As soon as we get to the cemetery we take our place closest to the casket, a grizzly view for when they lower it into the dirt, and I wonder if this will be any different. It was a nice service with a touching eulogy, but this is it, all that's left, the last stop on this depressing as fuck tour. One by one the people go, trickling off to some kind of morbid lunch or whatever people do, but we stay. The four of us. The lunch doesn't sound too bad actually, there might be alcohol there, and god knows how badly I could use a drink right now.
"How are you holding up?" Lilah asks after we've retreated back a ways. We're here to support the men we love, sure, but that also means giving them the space they need. Together she and I watch them from a distance.
"I'm just worried about Jonah." I tell her. It feels like an innocent enough remark, but the next thing I know she's taken her hand off her stomach and placed it on my shoulder instead.
"He's tough, and he's been through worse." She reminds me. "Everyone processes in their own way. I know how much you love him, Brent, I see it every day, but I hope you realize that being strong for him doesn't mean you can't ask for help when you need it. You have to take care of yourself too."
"What do you mean?"
"This is your first funeral since your mom, isn't it?" Unlike Jonah she isn't afraid to point out the obvious, but I'll say it again, it's not the same. That was a long time ago now, I mean, when my mom died I was way younger than Jonah was when his left, I hardly ever think about it anymore. I'll admit it ate me up for a while, but no more than it would any kid, and as the years went on I forgot more and more what her voice sounded like, or the smell of her favorite perfume. I'm sure I loved her once, but I guess I forgot that too.
"Don't worry so much, it's not good for the baby. I'm fine." I smile, becoming what she needs me to be too. For the most part I am fine, even if it is kind of sad. While I was growing up my dad would take me with him every year when it was time to visit her grave, and those are the only memories I have of him actually getting emotional and hugging me and stuff. I think he even said he loved me once, though that might be a trick of my mind. But the years took that too, and eventually he became bitter and angry with her—almost the same as how Jonah resents his mom for leaving.
I never blamed my mom though, I don't know enough about her life or what her reasons were to question why she killed herself. The fact is, when I started getting older nobody would tell me why it happened, so I learned to quit asking and made my peace with it. Don't get me wrong, it's tragic, of course, I don't pretend like it's not, but it's also just the way that it is. Lilah and Jonah both apparently think I should still be broken up about it, because neither of them have stopped to consider that this tragedy doesn't make me think about my mother at all. Maybe it should, maybe it makes me a horrible person that it doesn't, all I know is that I'm only thinking about my dad.
The key difference between me and Jonah here today is that my dad is alive, and his mom is dead. She's dead and now he has to act like he doesn't even care because that's how messed up he is about it. Is he right to feel the way he does about her? That's not for me to say, but I do know that there were parts of her that weren't all bad. How different things might've been had he talked to her just once about how her leaving made him feel, or the divorce, or the fact that he never really felt like she was his mom. I think Jonah could've really changed things between them had he only tried, but now she's gone and he'll never get the chance.
And he loves her, after she left, after everything. Doesn't matter how many years go by or how much she fucked him up, she'll always be his mom and nothing can ever change that. That's the thing that's been weighing on my mind all day, knowing that even though I should hate my dad for all the shit he's put me through, I don't. It almost feels like I'm incapable of hating him. For the first time I think I understand why Jonah hasn't cried for his mom yet, because I'm not convinced I'd cry so easily at my dad's funeral either.
Or maybe it's just that I wouldn't want to. But how could I not, he's still my dad.
Maybe we're not supposed to cry for them. Or maybe we just shouldn't, I don't know, maybe they give up that right when they give up on their children. Being a parent seems like it wouldn't be all that hard, how can so many people get it wrong? I never want kids. I'd probably be an okay father, you know, I wouldn't beat them and I'd love them even when they made mistakes, but I'd never risk fucking up their lives the way my dad did me. It's obviously not the kind of thing you ever recover from.
"You almost ready to go?" Jason meanders over to join me and Lilah, but I see that Jonah still hasn't moved from the graveside. He stares down into the hole like he's capable of seeing so much more than the dirt and the rot, even though he had his last glimpse of his mom at the service. It doesn't seem right to rush him, so Lilah kisses my cheek and follows her husband to the car where they'll wait for us, while I take a few more steps than I should to be nearer to Jonah.
Each shaky breath he takes causes his shoulders to heave, and I try to imagine what he's thinking as he stands there, saying goodbye to her for the very last time. Is he angry with her? Does he tell her any of the stuff I know he's always wanted to, or is he just filled with regret? It can't be easy having to fit an entire lifetime of emotion into a few, measly minutes, and the thought of being in his shoes terrifies me. I'm not smart like him, if he can't begin to deal with this loss then what hope would I have?
And what would I say if that was me, standing at that grave and looking down at my dad? My first thought is that I'd tell him how shitty he was, which would be the first time I would ever be able to say it without having to be afraid of getting hit. It's not shocking to discover that there's a long and varied list of his sins etched into my brain, every one of which I would be quick to air. The thing that does shock me though, is finding out that at the very end of it all I would probably end up telling him something he doesn't deserve to hear.
Just as I think it I hear a quiet sob, and I notice that Jonah has finally broke down and started to cry. Regardless of what else he wanted to say to his mom, I realize he must feel the exact same way. I go up behind him and hesitate, not sure if I should intrude, but he turns around as soon as he senses me and buries his face in my jacket. My heart breaks for him all over again, and I wrap him into a tight hug so he'll be safe, but in the back of my mind I can't fight this selfish gratefulness that I'm not the one in this situation. At least not today.