2 With Spirit

Don’t remember much about the funeral itself.

Electricity got shut off a few days before Rick died. Water pipes busted underneath the house a year earlier so I’d been hauling water for awhile. But the morning of the funeral I didn’t have anywhere to get ready. Ended up calling a friend of Rick’s and she told me to meet her at some friend’s house. Found out after I got there it was her cocaine dealer’s house. I remember standing in the shower, water and steam spraying around me- thinking the world had tilted off center-if someone would just lean a little to the right or left, everything would go back to normal. Had to because “this is fucking insane- my marriage does not end with me showering for my husband’s funeral at some unknown cocaine dealer’s house.” unfucking-believeable…or not so much.

fast forward to the funeral service. Not sure who would have won the race to strangle the preacher man- me or Randy. Everyone there would have found out though, if he’d sermon’d on 5 more seconds about mistakes Rick made and learn – learn – learning from them. fuck him – yes fuck him. Disrespectful? damn right he was- some thing’s I won’t turn a cheek for, sorry.

counting flowers. counting counting counting tiny white flowers with yellow centers.

music, his favorite artist, James Taylor, this song was so much him. and how they took that from him and us.

click to play…..

those men walking to the front and standing around his casket. opening (what are they doing? funeral isn’t over yet. omg! omg! gotta get out of here…..panic bzzzzzzzz filling my ears, blinding my eyes from an exit- spin spin spin)

Trina screaming climbing over pews.

Randy’s voice so far away “….get her out of here…” his hand gentle soft leading me to a chair outside the chapel….
“you ok? Catonya……?”

rockingrockingswayingrocking
head “no no no no no no no no no-ing…”

tunneled sound soft like I wasn’t there “….don’t know. not sure. she ok. no no no no can’t sleep hasn’t slept since…” reassuring pats on raw shoulders

“rick?”
can’t hear me he’s here though I know he’s here cuz that’s why we’re here…no no no no no answer no Rick…

(stop it!!!!! you hear me?!!!!!!! just stop it- he isn’t dead – Rick doesn’t die – he promised…live forever! what the fuck’s wrong with you people- STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
skull shattering shreiks translated to steady whisper chanting “…no no no nonononono…”

home sitting on our bed. so many people, on the floor, chairs, sitting quiet watching listening for me to break.

whisper “…want everyone to go please. thank you thank you for being here but can you go now please. leave me to be still for awhile. too much…right now…just too much….”

(rick won’t stop if he sees all of you here -please go go go go they have to leave in case…in case….what? because he won’t stop….)

sympathy wrapped ’shouldn’t be alone right nows…..’

begging “please” then firm decided- “go. please go.”

rustling footsteps, scraping chairs, condolences closing the door to everything that wasn’t anymore.

blessed quiet
shhhhhhhhhh.

“rick?” baited breath

“yeh? here baby, i’m here….” never answers.

still never answers…