THE FUNERAL

“Thank God she’s dead!” A harsh realism, but one I still felt, none-the-less, and continued to dwell on as I drove pass the white gas tanks down route 93 from Boston to Braintree on my way to the funeral parlor. My adoptive father Dino was burying his wife Natalie, my adoptive mother.
....On July 26, 2002, my husband, Bill, got the call Natalie passed away. Passed away, how I hated that term and what does it mean anyway. Where did she pass? I thought maybe over a broken yellow line the kind you see painted on the street.
....I always seem to cry at weddings and everyone knew I never controlled my emotions. Bill knew not to call me at work because friends and family were aware that my relationship with Natalie was a pathetic excuse for love.
....Even after a harsh childhood, I managed to do the right thing by earning a degree in nursing to better myself. I rode the subway to Boston City Hospital for 23 years caring for the patients on a geriatric floor.
....Granted I had not spoken to Natalie for about two years, but thought it inconsiderate no one called me about the cancer until three weeks before her death. No one told me until Dino rushed her to the hospital with pneumonia. I called her every day, sometimes twice a day, but she was too sick or too spiteful to spend her last remaining days talking to me.
....Natalie and Dino moved to Florida 20 years before her death, but because the family still lived here, Dino flew Natalie’s body to Boston for the funeral. Bill, who I have been happily married to for 11 years, did not attend the funeral. Dino forbid him from showing his face and I always held Natalie responsible because she never hid the fact how much she disliked Bill, but now the evil she caused will lay buried with her forever. It was a chance, finally, for me to spend quality time with Dino without Natalie’s manipulating influence and it meant the world to me to mend what Natalie tried so hard to destroy.
....Because of heavy traffic, I showed up five minutes late for the Morning Prayer, I sat in a cold hard wooden chair staring at the face in the casket for 20 minutes not feeling a smidgeon of remorse. There was nothing left inside for me to feel. I existed as an entity with my soul apart from my body. As they closed the lid of Natalie’s casket I knew I was finally free. Before I knew it, I was sitting next to Dino in the back of the limo on my way to the cemetery.
....I stood at the grave site staring at the casket in front of me when it happened. The earliest of memories came crashing in like a bolt of thunder and lightning. The tears kept flowing no matter how hard I tried to stop them. I only thought about the years of abuse. How did it all start? When did it go badly or perhaps it was destined to go badly from the beginning? As Natalie’s mourners turned, trampling over graves of loved ones long lost, and approaching their cars, I remained beside Dino unable to move away. Dino hugged me and I floundered lost in the moment unable to grasp reality. Asking myself, “Mummy why?” I drifted further back to a day, a summer day long ago before I was adopted.
....It was the summer of 1958, Eisenhower was president, and I lived with my natural family. It was a blistering humid Saturday in June. I was playing in the backyard of my home, my olive colored body, clothed only in white panties as the sprinkler soaked my long dark Indian hair. As I stood in the yard, I smelled dry stale air somewhere in the distance and turned to look at the long dark trails of black smoke emanating from the factory stacks. A smoky gray silhouette typical of industrial cities like Lawrence permeated the sky.
....However, I was a happy child with no cares and nothing in the world could tear me from the excitement of jumping through the cold spray of water splashing up and out of the sprinkler. As I laughed and giggled, I caught a glimpse of a girl sitting on the steps of the back porch. Stopping suddenly without a second thought, I ran to the young girl. Out of breath from huffing and puffing, I plopped down next to the girl almost crashing into her.
....“Wha’ cha’ doin?,” I asked.
....“What do you want?” she asked.
....“Come, play with me!” I said.
....The girl on the steps started to cry and gave me a dirty look. She wanted nothing to do with me. She shouted, “Go away! You’re just a little brat!”
....Somehow upset, not understanding why, I started to speak again; she stood, looked down at me, and gave me a push. The push sent me tumbling down the steps and into the dirt. I got up as a tear started to fall from my eye due to the scrapes on my knee and chin.
....The next several months passed quickly. What do little girls really know or understand about the world. I remember waking early one cold snowy February morning and realized my Dad and the girl who pushed me did not live with mummy and me anymore. I never remembered them being around anyway.
....Phyllis, my natural mother, entered my room after the snow stopped falling, “Heather it’s time to get up and get dressed.”
....“Why?” I asked
....“Because I said so,” she replied.
....“Okay, what wear?” I asked
....“I left your clothes on the chair. Just put them on and let’s make it snappy Miss.”
....“Why?” I asked.
....“Heather!” in a tone that hurt my ears, “Just do what you’re told and stop asking so many damn questions! Now let’s go. Speed it up, Missy.”
....My mother turned and left the room as abruptly as she entered it. I flung back the thin white sheet which covered me and sat up in bed. Clad in a long white tee shirt, the kind my dad wore, I swung my legs over the side of the cot.
....As I shifted my body, I heard the squeal and creak of the springs beneath me. I stood up, raised my arms above my head, gave out a sigh, and a stretch making me feel tall enough to touch the ceiling. I walked over to the only window in the room, stood there for a moment and gazed out. There was nothing to see except the same old trails of smoke coming from the smelly factories. I turned and leaned my head against the cool white wall staring into the coldest looking room I ever remember. The only shred of warmth in the room came from the yellow glow of the sun’s rays through the window. A bright sun, the kind that always follows a winter snowstorm.
....I grabbed the pink flowered blouse and pants that had been slung carelessly over the back of the chair. I finished dressing and walked over to the door, which shed small white jagged-shaped pieces of chipped paint onto the floor. I opened the door and walked into the kitchen.
....The first thing I saw was the fridge where Mum kept the milk and popsicles. In front of the brown rusty fridge stood a silver trimmed table and four matching chairs with shiny legs. I strolled over to one chair, pulled it from the table by one of its legs, and climbed up on the plastic red and white cushion. While I sat there, fidgeting and waited for something to eat, I watched my mother standing at the sink with her back facing me.
....She turned, looked at me, and slid a bowl of lumpy oatmeal across the table. She pulled out one chair, sat down, and smiled at me, “Hurry now and finish your breakfast. We need to drive down to the welfare office in Boston and ask the people there for some money.”
....“Why mon’y?” asking between the spoonfuls of oatmeal.
....“Because money buys food, clothes, and other things we need,” my mother told me.
....“Oh boy, food!” I thought to myself, I hope it’s better than this stuff.
....“Now come on, hurry and finish your breakfast. No dilly-dallying either, we need to leave soon. Let’s make it quick Missy!” she said.
....After breakfast, Mum, my baby brothers and I, jumped into the broken down 1947 Chevy Fleet master and drove to the welfare office.
....I walked into one of the very tall buildings holding my brother Sean’s hand. My mother walked closely behind us holding my infant brother Joseph. We walked into the office directly to the left of the front door, which had only three chairs. My mother sat down first. I lovingly pushed Sean into the last chair and snuggled in the middle chair between Sean and my mother. After a few minutes, two women entered the room. The first woman walked behind the desk and sat in a big leather chair. She picked up the file on her desk and opened it without ever looking at me. The second woman walked over to Joseph and took him from my mothers’ arms. She then gazed down at me and said, “Why don’t you and Sean come with me for a little while.”
....I looked at my mother curiously for some sign of approval.
“Go on, Heather, take Sean, and go with the nice lady. It will only be for a little while. Watch out for your brothers and do not take your eyes off Sean. I will see you in a little while,” my mother said.
....I looked back up at the woman and then back to Sean. I took Sean by the hand, stood up, and followed the woman out of the room. We walked across the hall to a large room with more toys and dolls than I had ever seen before.
....I do not remember the details, but that was the last time I ever saw my natural mother. I did not realize it then but my life was about to change forever. During the next 11 months, I was shuffled from foster home to foster home until I met Dino and Natalie. They would be the couple who would teach me, coddle me, and mold me into that which I was to become.