Twenty-One and Invincible

Grandma and I stood by the grave as they lowered Grandpa’s casket into the ground. The cold air nipped at my extremities as I hugged my thick black coat closer to my body. The sun had managed to shine through the usually thick gray winter clouds and reflected off the white surface of the snow, making it extremely bright. Some people even wore sunglasses to keep from constantly squinting.

I held onto Grandma’s hand as she silently cried. I thought I was going to cry, but I hadn’t yet. Maybe I’d used up all my tears that day in the hospital. Maybe not.

As they finished lowering the casket, I looked around at everyone who was there. People from my distant family came to the funeral. My grandpa’s friends from the army were there. Grandma’s friends were there, too. Gabie had shown up too with her parents, standing a little further away. Everyone had the same mask on their face. It was all very somber, very quiet.

But the most important person, to me, was standing to my left.

Patrick came without any prompting. He actually came over in the morning to make sure Grandma and I were okay and offered to drive us to the cemetery for the funeral. He had an arm around my shoulders throughout the entire eulogy and held my hand as we walked out to where the burial was going to take place. He never once left my side.

We were set to have the funeral reception at our house. People started to disperse, headed towards the parking lot to get to their cars and out of the bitter cold.

“I’m going to head over to the car now,” Grandma told me, wiping her eyes away with Grandpa’s handkerchief. “I’ll see you two in a few minutes.”

Patrick and I nodded. I turned back to Grandpa’s grave and just stood there for a minute, staring. I don’t remember blinking or breathing or moving. I just remember staring at it and thinking to myself about how I’d never get to see my grandfather again.

Patrick gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “He’s in a better place, Carmen.”

I took in a shaky breath. “I know.”

He nudged me a little bit. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Do you want to head out then? Your grandma’s probably cold waiting by the car.”

I gave another nod. “Yeah. Just give me a minute.”

Patrick understood and headed over to where Grandma was waiting. I just turned my eyes from the casket in the ground up to the sky. I blinked a few times, adjusting to the light.

“Miss you, Grandpa,” I mumbled. “You too, Mom. Dad.”

I turned and walked away from Grandpa’s final resting place. It felt wrong to leave him behind, but I knew that he was gone and I understood that it would be selfish of me to want to bring him back. Especially in his last moments when he was in so much pain.

We went back to the house and invited everyone inside. We had some cold cuts laid out, along with some juice and finger foods. We’d ordered the food from a catering service. We didn’t really know what to prepare for a funeral. I’d never really had to deal with it before. And I’d never been to a funeral until that day.

I sat beside Grandma on the couch. Patrick wandered off to get something to eat and drink. People that I’d never seen before came up to me.

“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown, Carmen.”

“Your grandfather is in a different place.”

“What a great man he was.”

“He lived a fulfilling life.”

“How are you holding up?”

“Do you need anything? Anything at all?”

Or other variants of the same questions and statements. My answers stayed the same.

“Thank you”, “Fine”, and “No thank you”.

After a while, I got sick of people constantly asking me the same questions. And it started to bother me that people seemed so interested in how I was feeling when I could guarantee that none of them even genuinely cared. None of them really knew me. I’d met a few of them briefly when I was younger, but not long enough to establish some sort of relationship. The whole thing bothered me.

I’d never been to a funeral before or experienced anything like it. I never had a pet and had to go through flushing a fish down the toilet or burying a passed on dog or cat in the backyard. But I always felt that funerals or the moments after a funeral should be used to silently remember all the great things about that person’s life and what they’d accomplished while they were still alive. Not eating finger sandwiches and talking about things that were irrelevant to the situation.

“Are you doing okay?” Gabie asked me. “You look like you want to punch a hole in the wall.”

“I’m alright,” I told her. “I’m just...I need to get away for a few minutes. Cover for me?”

“How?” she asked with a tiny, light-hearted chuckle. “I can’t tell these people that you’re holding up. They want to hear that from you.”

“Please, Gabs?” I asked in a quiet voice. “I just need to have a minute alone.”

Her lips formed a thin, straight line and she gave me a single, reassuring nod. “Okay.”

I thanked her and left the room. I went up the stairs and headed straight for my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I moved to my book shelf and skimmed my fingers along the spines of the books. Then I found what I was looking for.

My family photo album.

I grabbed it and sat on the edge of my bed, opening it and smiling down at the pictures.

The first one was a picture of my mom. She was beautiful. Long, orange-red hair like mine with freckles dancing across her nose. Vibrant blue-green eyes and a wide, toothy smile. She could have been a model.

The next few were of me and my dad when I was three. Apparently we’d gone to the zoo and took pictures at every single animal exhibit. Same thing at the aquarium. And the natural history museum.

Then there were the pictures of me growing up. Me at age seven, eight, nine, ten and so on and so forth. I couldn’t help but notice how awkward I looked as a child. I smiled a little bit.

And then there were the pictures of me, Grandma and Grandpa. There were plenty of candid shots, but then there were ones of the three of us in a typical portrait studio setting. Hair done up, makeup done, nice outfits, posed before a professional photographer. I always complained to Grandpa when he said we were getting them taken every year.

“Stop complaining,” he’d say. “One day, you’ll look back on these photos and realize that these are the windows into your past. One day you’ll look back on them and remember your youth. It’s good to remember things like that. Forgetting a perfect moment is the greatest tragedy we can encounter.”

My fingers skimmed across the surface of the photograph from when I turned fifteen and finally fully grew into my body. It was the first time I’d ever felt pretty and confident. That day was a good one.

There was a knock at my door.

“Come in,” I said.

Patrick opened it and sent a small smile my way. “Hi.”

I was a bit relieved that it wasn’t a member of my family. “Hi.”

“You seem to be holding up okay.”

I shrugged. “Yeah. I’m surprised I haven’t cried yet,” I joked.

Patrick chuckled and sat next to me. “You cried a lot at the hospital. I guess you just ran out of tears or something.” Patrick looked down at the photos of me and my family. “Those are some nice pictures.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, trailing off slightly. I closed the album. “Patrick?”

He looked into my eyes. “Yes?”

“I wanted to apologize to you.”

Patrick seemed confused. “What for?”

“For being so rude to you when I met you the first time,” I said. “I assumed to were an ass because of the way you were portrayed by the media. But after getting to know you and falling in love with you, and after all this, it made me kind of realize that life’s too short to base relationships on first impressions. And I wanted to thank you for being here for me and everything you’ve done for my family. You really didn’t have to.”

Patrick had a big smile on his face. “You’re in love with me?”

I laughed a little. “I am.”

“Good,” he said, placing a hand on my cheek. “Because I love you too.” He leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips. It was the most sincere, gentle and meaningful kiss I’d ever received.

When we pulled apart, I asked him, “What did Grandpa say to you that day in the hospital?”

Patrick blushed a little.

“He told me that I should consider myself to be a lucky man to know someone like you. That I’d never find someone as good, as beautiful, as loyal, as honest or as trustworthy. He said that I should love you the way you deserve to be loved and treated like a princess. That you meant the world to him and that if I ever hurt you, he’d rise from the grave and haunt me for the rest of my life.”

I had to laugh at that. “That sure does sound like Grandpa.”

Patrick chuckled and took my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. “He really was a smart man, wasn’t he?”

I nodded. “He was.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” I smiled, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll be fine. I’m not alone.”

I rested my head on Patrick’s shoulder as he wrapped his arms around me. I closed my eyes and let a single tear slip through. Patrick wiped it away and held me closer. And as I opened my eyes to look up at him, I caught a glimpse of the window. Outside, silently, it started to snow.