The Death of Me (2 page)

This was the second time in my life that I had ever experienced what I would consider true heartbreak. The feeling of someone punching a hole into my chest while wearing a pair of spiked, brass knuckles - puncturing my life source - was the only way to explain it. The slow bleeding out, the ragged hole in my heart; it was happening again and I wasn't sure if I could deal with it this time.

I couldn't bring myself to read the rest of the obituary. My wanting and waiting for my parents to die had backfired on me. Grandpa Frances was my mother's father, and she was the one that shut me out before my father did. I remember the phone calls with Grandpa like it was yesterday. He would tell me how angry he was with her for what she did to me, that he loved me very much, and that I always had a home with him and Grandma.

I closed my eyes for a moment and let the tears escape. He was worth the tears, the sorrow, and the heartache. I would let myself cry for him and while I allowed myself to grieve, I opened another tab on Chrome and pulled up travel websites. I wouldn't let my mother or father keep me away from the funeral. They could fight me when I got there, they could curse my name and the day I was born, but I was going to see Grandpa Frances one last time, and there wasn't a damn thing they could do to stop me.

I skimmed the announcement to see when the services would be held, and realized that I would have to leave tomorrow. His funeral was going to be held on Tuesday, followed by the burial on Wednesday, and today was Sunday.

With a deep breath, I went back to the travel page and booked my flight. It cost a hell of a lot more than it should have, but it was a last minute thing and afterward, I would be able to get some money back for bereavement, per their company policy.

Once the reservations, including hotel and car, were taken care of, I shut down my laptop. I stood up and pulled my towel off, making sure I was dry, before I went over to my bed and got dressed in the clothes I had laid out. I decided that today was going to be another bowl of ice cream and chick flick day, so the bra wasn't necessary. I reached for my loose, gray sweatpants and pulled them on, followed by a black, ribbed tank top and sighed.

Some days are just meant for tears and ice cream
, I thought miserably as I left my room and went to the kitchen.

––––––––

A
t 3am the next morning, I was in my car heading to Orlando International Airport. There were closer airports to fly out of, but I always liked that one because it was bigger, and I knew the layout. It took me just under two hours to get there, and I let the valet take my car. I gave him a larger tip than he was used to, and told him to take good care of my car.

Money was never a concern to me. Grandpa Frances had put some money into a high yield trust for me when I was born, and every now and then I would go in and take some out. Twenty eight years of interest meant that I would be able to live a very comfortable life, and I knew that as long as I left something in there, the interest accrued would pay back more than what I took out.

I was mindful of what I spent, even though I knew I didn't have to be. The most expensive things I had purchased with cash were my home and car, because I didn't want to have to deal with remembering when the payments were due. Not to mention that doing it that way meant that I finally had something that belonged to
me,
that no one could take away.

With my carry-on bag over my shoulder, I walked through the main doors and looked at the information board for American Airlines departures. Once I found the gate I would be leaving from, I made my way to security and waited. The line wasn't as long as I expected it to be, but I always liked to arrive early so I didn’t get get stuck in line, with the potential of missing my flight. I put my bag down and let out my breath in a huff as the people in front of me trudged slowly along. When I finally reached the front of the line, I picked up the bag that I had been kicking along, and pulled my ID out.

The TSA agent scrutinized my ID for a good three minutes, before he was satisfied that I was indeed the smiling Zaydee G. Lansing in the photo, and handed it back to me. I understood, though. I hadn't smiled in such a long time and walked around with such a stoic look on my face, that everyone usually did a double take when I had to show my ID for any reason.

"Thanks," I mumbled as I took the ID and put it back into my bag.

I quickly found my gate and sat down in the area of half empty chairs, choosing one that would face the window, so I could watch the sun as it started to break over the horizon. An hour later, the flight attendant started to call rows. I never did get to see the sun come up because when she called first class, I stood up and grabbed my bag. I walked up to the small podium, handed the ticket to the woman in the red and blue uniform, and waited for a moment until she nodded for me to continue to the plane.

There were only three of us in first class, so it took no time to pop my carry-on overhead, and get comfortable while I waited for everyone else to board. The only reason I ever liked to fly first class was because it was first on and first off. I hated waiting in lines; patience never being a virtue I possessed and instead of being in a shitty mood when I reached my destinations, I always bought first class when I traveled.

I rested my head against the back of the chair and closed my eyes, securing my seat belt blindly. I couldn't recall a time that I had ever comfortably slept on an airplane, but I was going to give it one hell of a try. I was going to have a hard couple of weeks in front of me and I needed to arrive fresh and ready to take on whatever hell my family would be throwing at me.

My head rolled slightly to the right and as the plane started to take off, I slipped away into another dreamless sleep. What felt like minutes later, I felt a hand gently rocking my shoulder and I opened my eyes groggily. I glanced out the window and smiled slightly at the sight of the LAX runway.

"Thanks," I said to the flight attendant in a thick voice, stretching my arms over my head. She smiled at me and nodded before she moved on. I assumed she was looking for more potential sleepers but I didn't stick around long enough to find out. I retrieved my bag and headed out of the plane and down the runway toward the airport baggage claim area.

I stood as close to the conveyor belt as I could and waited until I saw the blue piece of silk I always tied to my bags. It made them easier to pick out and it would also mean less time to have to stand among people I didn't know. Once I had my bags, I went down to the lower level and walked over to the rental car counters. I found the company I had my reservation with and went through whatever process they needed from me so I could get the keys as quickly as possible and leave.

Once everything was signed and the keys were handed to me, I gave a quick, tight smile to the representative and walked out of the airport toward the parking garage across the street. According to what I had just been told, the rental cars were on the fifth floor and mine would be in the third row in a spot marked 24. When I got to the sleek black Cadillac Escalade, I popped open the trunk and threw my bags in.

After I closed it, I turned around and slumped against the back of the SUV. Every fiber inside of me was telling me to just go back to the car rental counter, hand them their keys, and take the next flight back to Orlando, but I knew I couldn't. I had come this far and the very least I could do was pay my final respects to the greatest man I had ever known.

––––––––

I
had spent what was left of my Monday picking out something respectable to wear. I had brought almost every dress, skirt, and blouse I owned. I finally settled on a pretty brand new black halter dress with a wide white stripe around the waist. I paired it off with a white shrug and slipped on my best shoes; a pair of white Nine West dress slip-ons. I left the hotel room on Tuesday morning at eleven thirty five, and drove the ten miles to the funeral home. When I pulled into the parking lot, I saw that it was almost full and smiled thinking of how many other people loved Grandpa Frances besides me. I decided on an open spot near the back of the parking lot, and backed in.

Cutting the engine, I rested an elbow against the window and rested my hand on my forehead. I had suddenly developed a huge headache knowing what was waiting for me once I went through those doors. I wanted to see Grandpa again desperately, but not like this.

It’s too late to back out now, Zee. Get out of the car and get it over with.

I entered the funeral home timidly. I hadn't seen my parents, or any of my family for that matter in ten years, and I wasn't sure if I would be welcome. I loved my grandfather dearly, though, and if anyone tried to keep me from paying my respects; I would leave quietly and just show up at the burial. I wouldn't cause a scene out of respect to him, but they wouldn't be able to ban me from public property.

With a shaky hand, I pulled open the black iron door handle and walked into the dimly lit hallway full of people. I kept my head down as I walked over to the open book and signed my name, taking a prayer card and dropping it into my purse. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the casket and the top of my grandfather's head. I didn't want to go in just yet though, because the wailing coming from who I assumed to be my mother made me nervous.

How was she going to react to my being here? Would she hug me and tell me she missed me or would she get angry and yell at me to leave?

I bit my lip and decided to go over to the board with pictures on it. It would buy me some time and I would at least have something to hold my attention for a while. I quietly made my way past the groups of people that were standing various locations in the room until I made it to the picture board.

The first photo in the top left corner made me smile. It was a picture of Grandpa in his early twenties, looking dapper as ever in a suit and tie, with a cigarette in his hand. I wasn't sure what exactly had happened on that day that had warranted such fancy clothes, but he was laughing in the picture and even though it was black and white, I could still see the sparkle in his brilliant blue eyes. His dark blonde hair was slicked back and every hair was neatly kept in place. Grandpa had been like that his entire life though; very proud of his appearance and always making sure the he looked neat.

My eyes wandered from picture to picture. The one of him and Mom when she was about five years old, looking up at him with adoring eyes and a smile so wide, that you could see she was missing her front teeth. I looked at each picture in turn, a sad smile etched across my lips until I finally reached the end. The feeling of sadness gave way to anger when I saw that one of the pictures that should have been me and my grandfather had been ripped down the middle so it was just him.

I knew I should've stayed away from this.

A hand on my shoulder brought my attention away from the picture board of now broken pictures and torn memories. Shrugging the hand off, I turned around to face whoever it was and came face to face with the tired eyes of my father.

"I thought that was you, Zaydee," he said quietly. I crossed my arms firmly over my chest as he slid his hands into his pants pockets and sighed. "How did you find out about this?"

"I check the online obits from time to time to see if any of you are dead. Unfortunately it turned out to be Grandpa," I replied in a snarky tone.

For a moment his face darkened, but he seemed to relent on his feeling of whatever had come over him because he knew I had a point. It was a miracle in itself that I was even standing there having a conversation with him, so he knew not to push me too far.

"Are you going to go in?" he finally asked, running a hand over his face.

"I'd like to, but I don't know how she'll react to me being here," I admitted, jutting my chin toward the room full of mourners.

"She's so wrapped up in her grief right now; I'm not sure she thinks anyone else is here with her. Come on, I'll walk you in," he said, holding out an arm.

I didn't uncross my arms and I didn't move from my spot. I didn't understand why he was holding out his arm to me, because I and my parents had parted on such bad terms, that I had every right to break it in five places if I wanted to. I let my eyes travel from his outstretched arm to his face to see if there was any sign of deception but I couldn't find any, so I relented and took his arm with a grunt.

"It's good to have you home, Sweetheart," he said quietly and patting the top of my hand.

I rolled my eyes as he walked me into the room and straight up to my grandfather's polished maple casket with beautiful white lining.

"Take as much time as you need," he said gently, as I let go of his arm and put my hands on the edge of the beautiful box that held only death on the inside. It was a reminder of yet another masquerade of beauty that was shattered by the realism of what it had been truly made for.

“Hi Grandpa,” I said softly, reaching up to stroke his white hair. “I missed you. I’m sorry it took me too long to come see you. I hope you know that I’ve always loved you and always will. I’ll see you soon.”

The tears that started to fall probably made me look weaker than I felt. They weren’t solely tears of sorrow, they were tears of anger. I could have had the chance to be with him in his final moments, but because of Mom, Dad, and Mr. Spears, I ran as far as I could when the moment presented itself. Because of them I refused to come back and even see Grandpa, telling him that I would always try my best then pushing it to the back of my mind. And now it was too late. I’d never hear his gentle voice again or feel his soft, strong arms around me again. All I had with him was this moment; where he was lying in a casket void of life and looking more peaceful than I could remember.

I felt Dad’s hand on my shoulder again and I wiped the tears away from my face quickly.

“He always loved you so much, Zaydee,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

I turned to nod at Dad before I walked away from the casket and settled into the very back row of the room. He looked at me with sad eyes and shook his head as he sat down next to Mom and the priest entered the room. I was sitting next to some people I didn’t know, but it was as far away from my family as I could get so I decided to take it and just wait for the services to be over then go back to my hotel room. I’d probably spend the whole of the two weeks in there as a defense mechanism against the sadness, but I really didn’t want to. I had another reason for coming back; not nearly as important as Grandpa, but there were questions that I needed answered.