Well I mean, John and Sara were going to be there too, but I wasn't expecting any love or support from them.
That's when I begged Phillip to take on an even more important role.
When we were lying in the hammock, looking at the stars the other night because I couldn't sleep, I told him that he's been my rock through all this and asked if he would continue that most important job and PLEASE sit with me at the funeral and hold my hand, so I wouldn't fall apart.
Actually, I kinda begged.
Something about having Phillip squeeze my hand helps me keep it all together.
The pallbearers each grab a handle, as the caskets are slid out of each hearse.
Then they start the long walk up the grassy hill. Before today, many of the pallbearers didn't even know each other, but right now they look like brothers, all in dark suits and all with the same solemn look on their faces.
I forget what they told me the caskets weigh, but I remember them saying they were easily supported by six men. What they didn't say, was that the emotions they seem to be carrying are much, much heavier than the caskets ever could be.
They all look like they are carrying the weight of the world.
I'm sure if I could see my own face, it would probably look the same.
The pastor has started speaking, and I'm trying to pay attention.
I listen to the words and prayers he says, trying to find some comfort in it. And well, honestly, I'm not really feeling it.
Because internally, I am freaking out.
The pastor asks us to stand for the final prayer, and I know its getting close.
As pre-planned, the caskets will get lowered into the ground. John, Sara, and I are then supposed to sprinkle dirt over the tops of each. Then we are supposed to slide one of the long stemmed roses out of the floral arrangement and drop it into the hole, as well.
I wanted to fight that part too.
I was fine with the dirt because I get the whole ashes to ashes and dust to dust thing, but the rose bothered me for some reason.
Throwing the rose in, I thought, would feel like it does when you throw a coin in a fountain and make a wish.
I mean how sweet would it be if I could wish them both alive, throw the rose in, and have them pop out of their caskets, alive and laughing.
I don't know. The rose feels wrong to me, but I agreed to do it.
I don't know where my will power has gone.
I did ask why people throw the rose, and I didn't really get a clear response. No one seemed to know why, they just knew people do it.
Finally, John got frustrated with me and told me it was out of respect. And you want to be respectful, don't you?
But then I looked it up on the internet and found out the reason you stay to watch them get lowered into the ground is not out of respect. This process is supposed to be harsh and difficult for the mourners. It is supposed to force them to face the reality and finality of the death. Which in turn, is supposed to help the grieving process.
We'll see about that.
All I know is when you start doing google searches on caskets, pallbearer etiquette, and funeral traditions, something in your life has gone very wrong.
As you can imagine, lots of people have been giving me advice about how to handle this. About how to handle death.
And how to feel.
How to deal.
And I can't remember all of it, but one piece of advice evidently stuck in my mind.
I was sitting on the couch at the Diamond's house. We had all eaten dinner there and were getting ready to go to the visitation. Danny wrapped his arm around me, pulled me in tight, kissed the top of my head, and told me everything was going to be alright. Mrs. Diamond, who lost her own mother when she was only 22, was sitting next to us giving me advice, but I was having a hard time concentrating because Danny looked so sexy that I wanted to just jump on top of him and start kissing him.
Sadly, I haven't kissed Danny since the night of the party. With him going back and forth to Lincoln for classes and offseason football workouts and me being constantly surrounded by people who are worried about me, I haven't even had a second alone with him.
But when I look over and see two butterflies flitting around a nearby gravestone, well, I remembered what she said. She told me to let myself see a little of God everyday. And for some reason, watching those butterflies offered me more comfort than any of the prayers.
But then, while I am standing there getting my courage up, I watch in horror as John and Sara walk up to the caskets, do what we were supposed to do, and then walk away.
Uh. HELLO!?
Wait a minute!
They were supposed to wait for me.
We were supposed to do that TOGETHER!
And then, boom!
All my comfort and courage are gone.
I seriously feel like I could faint, or puke, or die myself.
I am frozen in my spot, and I want to scream out loud.
I CAN'T DO THIS!
I CAN'T HANDLE THIS!
THIS IS SO NOT THE WAY MY LIFE'S SUPPOSED TO BE!
I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO BE BURYING MY PARENTS!!!
The pastor clears his throat to get my attention. He is waiting impatiently for me to come up and do what I am supposed to do.
He might as well have yelled at me, MOVE IT, MISSY, it would have felt the same.
I know you're probably not supposed to cuss at a religious ceremony, but I can't help but scream aloud in my head, SHIT!!!
My hands start to shake, and I think my head may explode.
I am also seriously contemplating jumping into the dirt myself, so they can just bury me with them.
I feel a hand on my back, turn my head, and there's Phillip.
“I can't do this,” I whisper.
“We'll do it together, okay?” The same words I used on his dad at the hospital.
Phillip holds my hand and guides me up to the caskets.
Well, maybe pulls me up to the caskets is a more accurate description.
I am seriously shaking.
He gives me a handful of dirt, and together we sprinkle some dirt on the caskets.
And I don't know where it comes from, maybe the butterflies, but I decide to stick to my guns.
I pick out two roses, put them up to my nose and breathe in their wonderful smell, but I don't drop them into the dirt.
I can't.
I'm keeping them.
Taking them home with me.
I'm sorry, but I don't need any more harsh reality.
I've had enough of that.
So I repeat the mantra I've been telling myself all week, through the planning, the visitation, and the funeral.
Don't lose it. Stay in control. Put on your game face and get through this.
You can do it.
And now with Phillip holding my hand, I think maybe I can.
We turn away from the caskets, toward everyone. I take a deep breath, clamp my back teeth down tight, hold my head up high, and walk away from my parents for the very last time.
And I didn't know it, but apparently after I dropped the rose, the people who attended the graveside service were supposed to come up and do the same thing.
Say goodbye and drop a flower.
But they didn't.
They followed my lead.
When people start coming up to me to give me their condolences, most all of them are also carrying two flowers.
And I realize I started a trend.
I look around the cemetery grounds and see that nearly everyone mingling about is taking two flowers home with them. For their own in remembrance.
And that comforts me more than the butterflies.
God, I am going to miss them.
Even Mr. Mac, who comes marching up to me because he is furious with John, is clutching two roses in his hand. He tells me, “JJ, you're riding home with us and not in the limo with that jerk, John. I can't believe he just left you up there by yourself. Some family.”