The new job offers stability, but not much else. The pay is okay, better than I've had in years, but not great. I hate the work. It's boring and not on my desired career path. It's also second shift, which cuts my weekends with the kids to (excluding drive time) 11am on Saturday to 4pm on Sunday. I hate that. But unlike the other second shift jobs I get a break around dinner time, and twice a week I call the kids on my break. The rest of the week I poke around Facebook on my phone during breaks.
The first Thursday of the year I'm doing my break time Facebook check. Scrolling through the mindless banality of it all. I see a post from my ex-girlfriend, the Librarian's little sister.
"Please send prayers, good thoughts, etc. to my sister and her daughter who is in ICU ... Doctors say her daughter won't make it. Could be a few hours or a few days."
I nearly drop my phone. I tell myself it's not real. Lil' Sis is on the other side of the country. It's like the game telephone, she misheard it from someone who misheard it. This doesn't happen to seven year old girls. And it sure as hell doesn't happen to Dino. I start flipping through the address book of my phone to call the Librarian. "That's a bad idea" I tell myself. I have barely spoken to her in over a year and she's engaged to someone else. Not to mention she likely won't answer. Lil's Sis, not by coincidence, is alphabetically next to her. I call her instead. We've been friends for more than a decade, so that's a much better route.
The phone rings twice. She picks up. I can hear joy in her voice as she greats me by name, caller ID gave me away. I choke on my words "What ... what happened?" I hear the joy slip out of her voice as she says "I wondered if anyone let you know." She tells me the girl was sick the night before, and that in the morning she wouldn't wake up. She told me theories and possible explanations but details were sketchy and my mind was blurry. My break time was almost over and Lil' Sis and her mother were packing to catch the first flight in the morning to our side of the country. Before I hung up I asked "Should I call her? I want to do something, but I don't wanna ..." I sobbed. She told me to text the Librarian, let her know I was thinking about them, she most likely won't respond, but it'll mean something.
"I saw your sister's Facebook post, I didn't know if calling would be appropriate or not, but I wanted to let you know I was thinking about your girl (and you). Let me know if I can do anything, even if just listen."
I hit send, then went back to Facebook and sent the Librarian a friend request, thinking it'll be easier for her to update everyone at once than everyone (me) individually. Break time is over. I muddled through the rest of my shift blurry in a daze. I went home that night knowing nothing new about the situation. She accepts my friend request late evening, but Facebook statuses say nothing I don't already know. At midnight I decide to turn in. No news is good news I tell myself.
No sooner than I close my eyes than I get a mass text from a number I don't recognize.
"12:08 - Hi, it's the Librarian, My daughter is in critical condition in the ICU. Not gonna pull through. Juvenile Diabetes. Heartbroken. Thanks for messages."
I cried myself to sleep hoping I'd wake up from this bad dream. The next morning I woke up and it's still real. I checked her Facebook for any update, perhaps even a change in outlook. None. I checked Lil's Sis's. Nothing. I checked Sister #3. I checked her mother's, her step-sister's, her niece's, her niece's husband's anyone I could think of ... nothing. I go to work. I check on break, I check when I go to the bathroom. I check when I'm supposed to be working. Nothing. I go home and make one last check before bed ...
" ... We lost my beautiful dancing and singing niece at 10:35 EST from complications from undiagnosed diabetes. Her mother had just finished reading her The Chronicles of Narnia. Thank you all so much for your prayers and wishes of comfort."
Of course that's how the Librarian would spend her last hours with her daughter ... reading to her.
The world barely and rarely made sense to me and now this. "Sudden and overwhelming complications from previously undiagnosed juvenile diabetes." That's the phase I'd hear. A long mouthful sounding really technical that really just meant a little seven year old girl went to bed with little more than a flu, and then didn't wake up. Someone explain to me how this happens? How is this right? I'm devastated. I'm sad. I'm angry. I'm confused. What's the social protocol for attending the funeral of the child of a ex-girlfriend you've barely been on speaking terms with and is engaged to someone else? My head swims and I cry myself to sleep again. I have to pick up the kids the next morning after all.
I barely let my kids out of my sight. My kids were close to Dino. I have to tell them something, not sure what though. I decide to do it one on one. I start with the boy. He's three, he might not remember her, and he doesn't. I'm both relived and disappointed. Then my girl, they're only thirteen months apart and they were as thick as thieves. "Do you remember Dino?" She smiles and says she does. I ask her what she remembers about her ... I want to be sure she actually remembers, and isn't just saying that because she thinks it's what I want to hear. If I have to explain to my daughter that her friend, her partner in crime is gone; what death is, I want to do it for the right reason. "Uhm ... we went to Chuck E. Cheese with her, and we played dress up ... and uhm ... I went to Sunday School with her." I'd forgotten all about that. One of the last times the five of us were together Dino's Grandfather and Step-Grandmother took the girls to Sunday School. That was her memory and her memory alone. Not something I was a part of. At that age I could barely remember my best friend's name to tell my parents by the time I got home from school. It meant a lot to know she was a real and significant part of my daughters life.
I tell her the truth, but in vague abstract terms a six year old might be able to grasp. Dino got sick. She didn't get better and we're not going to be able to see her anymore. You don't have to worry cause it's not a kind of sick you can catch. It's okay to be sad, I'm sad too. She cries, and I hold her telling her everything will be alright, but not really knowing how. I don't know if she's crying because she understands or because she sees her daddy crying. Maybe both. I hold her for a long time, and just cry.
My next challenge, the services. I don't know what the protocol is in this sort of situation. If you've never lost someone close to you, first consider yourself lucky. Second know that it's perfectly normal to have weird and random and seemingly unrelated and somewhat inappropriate thoughts. I wonder what thoughts she might have if I'm there. Then I wonder what feelings I might evoke in her fiance. I know it's stupid. I should hate the guy but I don't. I put myself in his shoes and after that kinda loss I'd be worried about losing even more, and some random ex showing up in time like this might evoke some sense of jealousy. Like I'm trying to take advantage of the situation and steal her away. I'm not going to do that of course. It's a hard enough time as it is, I don't want to make it any harder on ... anyone. Maybe I'm worrying about it because I don't want to go. If I go it makes it real. Maybe, I'm worrying about it because these are my own weird and inappropriate thoughts. Maybe I'm worrying about nothing because obviously she didn't feel the way I felt ... feel about her. On the other hand he may not even know who I am.
I don't know what to do. This all seems surreal. I check Facebook repeatedly, afraid that somehow when the arrangements are made I'll be forgotten. I don't want to ask anyone either, I don't want to intrude or be pushy. It takes several days but finally, they're posted to Facebook. I go though the photos on my computer looking for pictures of Dino. I find them and copy them one by one to a safe place. There's pictures of her at the amusement park and at Chuck E. Cheese with my daughter. There's a picture sent to me on her first day of school. There's some pictures in my car, some at the beach with my kids and her mother. There one of me and her at a baseball game. A large majority of the pictures of her though are selfies she took when I let her play with my phone. That used to drive me nuts. Now I treasure every one. All these memories I tried to forget about, to try and forget about the heartbreak. Now my hearts broken in a whole new worse way. I'm crawling around in the memories of dead relationship trying to bring this little girl back to life if only in my mind.
Finally I get to the photos from the cross country trip to her aunt's wedding. One picture jumps out at me, I don't remember it, but I think it was taken with my camera after I left. Dino's laying on the couch, the same couch I slept on there, in a purple shirt with butterflies and pink shorts, with her head on a brown pillow. She's got a big smile on her face and in hands she's holding a red crayon and piece of paper. On the paper she'd written with that red crayon "I Love You." I didn't debate if I was going after that. She just told me too.
I call off work to make the trip across the state. I print out the picture so that halfway there I can stop at a gift shop I'd carefully researched on the internet the night before. I buy a picture frame and have the girl's name engraved on it. As a friend put it to me, when I told her what I was doing "If I lost my daughter, I would give anything just to have her tell me 'I love you' one more time. You're giving that too her."
I asked myself during my last stretch of unemployment what was the point of our failed relationship. I had an answer that worked, abet briefly. I was fine with it not working out when I chased her across the state and wound up with an awesome life re-booting job. That seemed like a pretty darn good answer. Then I got laid off after only two months and the question came roaring back and twice as loud. Why? Then I couldn't find other employment and wound up leaving town. Why?!? I wanted to find some meaning. Why!?! Now I ask myself what if that whole relationship happened so I could fly cross country for a weekend, leaving my camera behind, so that more than a year later I'd find that one photo now? Was that why all that happened? If so ... now I'm okay with that.
Due to work, the distance and schedule for the viewing and funeral, I make the decision to only attend the first evening's viewing. I decide to tackle the possible awkwardness by just hanging out in the back. I can talk with Lil' Sis, Sister #3 and who ever else I may know. If the Librarian wants to talk to me she can. If she chooses not too, I'll be disappointed, but not hurt. I arrive early. I sit in my car waiting, mentally preparing myself. Still trying to wish this all into not being real.
I pull myself together. I wait until about ten minutes after it's supposed to start and head inside, the picture frame boxed and tucked under my arm. I go inside wanting to be anywhere else and no where else at that moment. As I'm in the middle of signing the guest book, I feel someone wrap their arms around my neck from the side. The hug is so tight I can't even turn my head to look and see who it is, but I know anyway. The blind sided half tackle, half hug was her niece's trademark. "You know Sis, you're making it very hard to write" I say with a restrained chuckle and tears in my eyes. I scribble the last three letters of my name, and then hug her back, long and hard.
I go into the viewing room, my eyes scan the room. I gravitate to the back, with the family members I'm most comfortable with, and even more importantly, it's farthest away from the casket. I'm not ready for that. Not even sure I can do that. I'm early enough that I recognize almost all the faces. Then I see him. I never met the guy, only saw a picture of him once, but I'm totally caught off guard, my reaction is strong and visceral.
The first time Dino and her mother spent the night at my house. My son was asleep in his bedroom. The Librarian was in the bedroom pecking out her homework on her laptop. Dino and my girl were having a slumber party in the living room. I tucked them in their sleeping bags, and my daughter wanted me to sing to her as I did most nights. I was a little hesitant to do so, because I wasn't used to an audience. I went ahead and sang to her Billy Joel's "Lullaby (Good Night My Angel)" anyway. Then I kissed her forehead and told the girls good night. I slipped into the other room for a few minutes to the computer to check Facebook and my email. Before heading to bed I stopped in the living room to make sure the girls were actually sleeping. Mine was. Dino wasn't, in fact she wasn't even there. I checked the bathroom and the kitchen. Then went to the bedroom and found her curled up, head in her mothers lap. I asked if every thing was okay. Her mother responded "she's just a little upset, the song you sang reminded her of her father and now she misses him." She'd already been comforted, but I rubbed the girls back to comfort her more. "Time for bed now" her mother told her. I took her to the living room and tucked her in again, a little more carefully, and a little warmer.
When I returned to the bedroom I asked "When's the last time she saw him?" She answered "seven, maybe eight months." I knew they'd split up when she was just a baby, so I followed up "Is that typical for him?" She let out a resigned sigh, "yeah." Until that moment I hadn't given much thought to Dino. She was, I hate to admit, at that early point in our relationship, an obstacle I had yet to figure out how to deal with. Now suddenly she was a little girl, who wanted her daddy, a dad she barely knew. I decided then and there, how ever long it lasted, I was going to try to fill that hole in her life. I'm not going to say I was trying to be her father, or even a father figure, because that'd a bit of an oversell on my part. But I definitely was trying to be a positive male role model in her life. From that point on I treated her like I treated my own kids. Both the fun stuff and the not so fun stuff. Never told her mother what I was doing either. Didn't want her to think I was doing it to impress her. I was doing it because I wanted to, and because that little girl deserved it.
I didn't understand how a father could not want to be a part of his child's life. It didn't even occur to me that he'd be there at her funeral. Yet there he was, a year an a half later at her funeral, crying. I wanted to grab him by the collar and drag him out side because he didn't belong there. He didn't get to step up now that it's too late when he failed to do that her whole life. No, you asshole. We lost her. We get to grieve. You don't. You ... you gave her up years ago. FUCK YOU! Fuck you. I hope it hurts asshole. I hope the pain is unbearable, because you fucked up. You chose to not be a part of her life. That little girl wanted you in her life, she deserved you, but you sure as hell didn't deserve her. Now you're just sitting up there, by her fucking coffin alone. You missed out on this amazing little girl. That's on you and no one else.
From everything I was told I was a better father to that child in the few months I got to spend with her than that dumb fuck was in her whole life. Sure I failed as much as I succeeded, if not more, but at least I fucking tried. I decide to take the high ground and ignore him. It's not like saying anything to him will bring her back, and besides ... Dino would have wanted him there.
This whole thing is surreal. I'm attending the funeral of a seven year old girl. I mill around awkwardly like everyone does at the funeral. Funerals are so strange, the ones who are grieving the most wind up being the hosts, greeting and talking to everyone, strangers and friends alike. The Librarian slowly makes her way across the room, interrupted every few feet. She does eventually make it out to my patch of carpet.
She introduces me to her fiance. Whatever awkwardness I was worried about was obviously in my head, or simply trumped by the gravity of the situation. Worrying about it because it was something to worry about rather than think about reality, I suppose. I try to have a conversation with her but ... words fail me. I gesture a few times trying to find something to say with more substance than "I'm sorry" but on the third attempt, that's what comes out. "I got you this" stumbles out of my mouth right behind it. I hand her the picture of her daughter insides the gift box. "Will it make me cry?" I bite my lip and nod, "Probably". "I'm going to wait to open it then." I nod this time in understanding. She then asks me "Have you been up there to see her yet?" I answer "not yet." I don't know why I said that though. I don't want to go up there. I don't want to see her up there like that. And the word "yet" some how made the implied promise I would. "She looks so beautiful" she tells me. "She always did," ugh, did I just say that? Not that it's untrue, but it sounds like the most generic, trite, scripted, response. About this time she's pulled away into another conversation from another mourner wanting to get their appropriate face time.
I take a seat in the rows of chairs to watch the slide show of photos of the child's life. Her family is seated in a small cluster near the rear, I'm just on the outside of them, literally and I guess metaphorically too. We sit and watch the slide show loop, then loop again. I see a photo of me and the girl and it makes me smile. "I see so much .. of the clothes my daughter now wears" I say with a choked laugh to no one in particular, realizing exactly how many hand me downs I have.
Around the third loop I suck it up and head up to the casket. I'm the only one up there at the moment. Dino lies in there, pink sequined beret sits atop her head, her girl scout sash across her chest. I study the sash, not the badges, but the very edge of the green fabric, hoping to catch the slightest hint of movement from her chest rising and falling, as if this whole thing was someone's idea of a sick joke, or maybe a big fucking mistake. It's not though. This is real. There really is a seven year old girl ... an seven year old girl I used to tuck into bed at night, that I used to read stories to who used to tackle me with her hugs at the front door to her mother's apartment. "Damnit Dino, you practically knocked me over every time I saw you, drove me nuts ... what I wouldn't give for that right now ..." I don't know why people say at funerals that the deceased looks like they're sleeping. She doesn't look like she's sleeping. If she was sleeping her chest would be moving. Her nostrils would be flaring just slightly. I know. I watched her sleep more than once. This looks nothing like it.
I apologize to her. When I lived over there I drove by that exit on the highway every other weekend for seven months on my way to get my kids. Every time I was bringing the kids to my place I thought about seeing if I could borrow her for the weekend. I never did. I always told myself next time. There is no more next time now. I'm sorry, I should have stopped. I wanted to. I didn't though. Why didn't I? The last time I saw her she wouldn't say good bye to me. I thought then, as I do now, she knew she wouldn't see me again. Not like this though. Never did it occur to me it'd be like this. I should've ... I wish ... If I'd known that ... DAMNIT!
I pull myself and retreat slightly. I find myself standing in a position where it'd be awkward not to be having conversation with the girl's grandfather. I spent plenty of time with him and I can tell he looks absolutely brutally ragged. They say no parent should out live their child and he's just outlived his granddaughter. Nothing, I say sounds like anything but formulaic platitudes. I'm embarrassed that I can't find anything to say that's not .. different. Eventually he too is pulled into another conversation and I go back to the relative comfort in the back of the room.
I put my arm around Lil' Sis's shoulders and she put her head on mine in return. I rest mine head against hers. We stand there, maybe for a moment, maybe for an hour. I don't know. Then she blurts out "I'm so glad you got to be a part of her life." I don't think anyone's ever said anything so meaningful to me in my entire life. "Me too." I say though the sobs. "She was like my third kid." My unpoetic words fail to express the magnitude of that statement, but still the god honest truth.
This isn't my first funeral, but it's by far the most exhausting. I sit in the row of chairs against the back wall for most of the rest of the night. Sometimes alone, sometimes with one of the sisters. I think a lot. Mostly I watch the Librarian. She's absolutely stoic. I don't know how she's even breathing, let alone playing hostess to the masses wondering in.
I see parents, mostly mothers, wonder in with their children. The kids mostly look lost and confused. Nice shirt, nice pants or dress and gym shoes. Huddling close to the knees of their adults. They're wide eyed and confused about what's going on, not knowing why they're there but with just a hint of understanding that it's terrible. The parents introduce themselves to the Librarian, then they introduce their child. "My son was in your daughter's class last year" or "My daughter had math with her." Those conversations never last very long. Eventually the parent thinks for moment too long, grabs their first graders' hand and bolts for door, one hand covering their face, wiping away tears, covering their face to hide that they let themselves think, for just a moment, what it'd be like to be in her shoes. This happens more than once.
Eventually, there's a lull, and the masses aren't so massive for the moment. The Librarian takes a seat down next to me. "Think anyone would mind if I just laid down on the floor behind that couch and took a nap?" "I think you can pretty much do whatever you want and no one's going to judge you right now." I put my hand on her just below her shoulder and rub her back. It's intended to be comforting, but it feels hollow and empty. Here's someone I care deeply about going through the worst kind of pain you can imagine and it's the only thing I can think to do to offer comfort. I'm not even sure if she realizes I'm doing it. I ask her how she's holding up, that sounds like a slightly less stupid question that "How are you doing?"
"I've been so busy talking to people tonight, if I had a moment to stop and think I might lose it." "Understood." That's all I can think to say. I sit there for a moment trying to come up with something more intelligent to say, and the panic that set in, realizing we were now sitting there in silence, giving her that moment to think about it, didn't help. Before I can say anything, she interrupts the silence and excuses her self to the ladies room. She never did like me to see her cry. She'd reemerge some twenty minutes later.
Lil' Sis comes and sits with me in the now vacant seat. We make small talk until a random mourner come up and starts talking to Lil' Sis. Starts asking all sorts of random an inappropriate questions like "Which one's the father and why aren't they together anymore?" and "Did he fool around on her?" To her credit, they were answered vaguely, and briskly. I'm not sure if she just didn't know the answers to the questions. I did. I wouldn't have answered them with as much class, then again I'm not sure I wouldn't have just told them off for asking such nonsense at a funeral.
The child's grandmother, who flew in from cross country with Lil' sis, comes looking for the Librarian. I tell her she's in the ladies room. She nods, understanding it wasn't a potty break, as much as it was a people break. She looks at me "I remember you from the wedding." I smile, actually surprised she remembers me since we only met in passing. "You had the shoes." Ugh, of all the things to remember, it's the fact I forgot to pack dress shoes to wear with my suit.
A half hour later, the night is almost over and I realize that the people that are still here are the ones that were here when I got here. I guess that means it's time for me to leave and let the family have their much needed alone time. I go up to say my final goodbyes to Dino. She does look beautiful. I say my good byes to the family, shake the fiance's hand and then say goodbye to the Librarian and hug her one last time. She says to me "No crying while you drive okay?" I nod, fight back the tears and smile because that's the exact same thing she said to me the last two times I saw her. Outside I sit in my car for a good ten minutes to keep my promise.
Once upon a time there were hard feelings about the break up. There aren't any anymore. Most of those feelings were due to the fact all she ever told me about her fiance was that he had money. That was something I didn't have. I didn't understand what she was trying to tell me when she told me that way back when, but I do now. That part wasn't trumping feelings. It was saying that I didn't need to worry about her. He had money and that meant she didn't have to work anymore. She could focus on going back to school, and more importantly spend more time with her daughter, for what would wind up being the last year of her life. I wouldn't take that away from either of them for anything. Besides, all that little girl wanted was a daddy ... and I am so very ... grateful she had that when she left us.
This is my life now.
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