Page 132 of Outspoken

I’M ONLY HALF LISTENING TO the priest at the front of the church as I sit next to Carlos, mindlessly squeezing his shoulder as he sobs. He’s like me—neither of us wants to celebrate Mom’s passing into the afterlife like the rest of the family. I know death is natural and a time to gather and reminisce, but I’m done with all of this. The wake at the funeral home yesterday lasted the entire day as everyone prayed, shared food, and talked about fond memories of my mom. It was an open casket. While everyone went to light candles and pray next to her lifeless body, Carlos and I lingered at the back, keeping our distance.

I couldn’t see Mom like that. I want to remember her smiling at me as she fried eggs. Or the way her hugs felt like heavenly light and how she always smelled like tart eucalyptus from the rub she put on her sore muscles. I want to remember every moment she got misty-eyed while enthusiastically sharing her dreams of my future. I’ll remember her sitting next to me laughing and making me light stupid candles while she gave some pep talk.

“What you give out comes back, mijo. Always give out the good.”

“Mi cielito, take a breath. When you relax, you’ll see what’s meant for you.”

“Just have faith. It always works out how you need. You get what you need, not what you want.”

I can’t have my last memories be of a cold, lifeless body. That’s not my mom.

I squint against a ray of sun hitting my face through two large stained glass windows behind the priest. The pews are packed with family and friends, but I haven’t looked around much. I’ve just sat here like a pile of rocks, letting sunlight blind me. Even in this holy place, I’m suffocated and on edge, so I’ve done my best to switch everything off.

I’ve gone numb.

Carlos sniffs and tries to stifle his guttural sounds as the priest shares a reading. I rub my younger brother’s shoulder. It’s been a while since I saw him. He’s looking more worldly. His baby face has thinned, making the squareness of his head stand out. He’s also darker, all that European sun making his skin a richer shade of brown. But he hasn’t lost his eccentricity. More random tattoos dot his arms—tats ranging from Nintendo characters to wolves and messages about climate change. His wrists are covered in beads and leather straps and those plastic bracelets that support causes.

He leans over to whisper, “Are we almost done? I can’t with this.”

“Almost,” I whisper back. It’s a half truth. We’re almost done with Mass. Next comes the burial and then a reception that will probably last past midnight. Then a few family members will continue praying and reciting the rosary for mom for two weeks. It will mostly be the older generation from Mexico. My sister will, too.

I love my family, but I’m not connecting with this experience the way they are. I can’t embrace this. All I crave is a break. I can’t be positive and socialize and share memories.

Mom is gone and my heart is empty. My house is unbearable without her and I dread going back to it. But I’m grateful Angel is there. I really need his company, even if he stays in his room most of the time. I don’t think I could bear being so alone so suddenly.

Like Carlos said, I can’t with this.

I was the one who lived with Mom and saw her every day of my life for the past six years. I fought to get her to all those doctor’s appointments, to help her through the vomiting and pain. I fixed her healthy meals and hid the sweets Patty sneaked in. I worked so much overtime to afford a nice house for us and to make Mom’s last days happy ones.

And she fought to keep me hopeful and strong. She forced faith into my life when I struggled, built me up after every heartbreak, and reminded me to be grateful for the blessings I have instead of complaining about what I lack.

We were there to get each other through.

How do I get through without her? How do I process her absence?

I pat Carlos’ shoulder and then wave a hand to get Maribel’s attention across the aisle. I nod at the exit and she shakes her head at me with flaming eyes. I’m not trying to disrespect the priest or anyone else, but Carlos and I both need air.

I keep staring at Maribel, my eyes pleading, and she finally nods with a frown.

I wait for the priest to finish his reading. As he’s flipping pages to start the next one, I nod to Carlos to follow me. Forcing my heavy body to stand, Carlos and I then hurry down the aisle.

I’m almost to the doors when I notice Brody and Paige in a back pew. I’m pause, surprised. I invited them, but I said I’d understand if it was too uncomfortable for Paige.

They give me sympathetic smiles, and my shoulders lift and part of me relaxes. I didn’t realize how tense my muscles were until I saw them.

Carlos waits near the doors while I slip into the pew beside Brody. “Hey,” I whisper. “Thanks for showing up. It means a lot.”

He nods and Paige reaches across him to touch my hand. Her eyes are sad and I can tell she’s consoling me.

“Thanks,” I whisper. Then my eyes unconsciously slip to the empty spot beside Paige. No Amber.

My body sags. I didn’t fully expect her to come, but my heart hoped she would. Every day I think about seeing her, hoping we’ll miraculously bump into each other on the street. I know it’s only torturing myself, but circumstances don’t stop my ache and my need to be with her.

I understand why she didn’t come, though. We have to move on. She’s simply another person I love who I’m forced to let go of. This is the cruelest joke life has played on me: making me say goodbye to my mother and the love of my life at the same time.

I’m not ready for all of this.

But there’s nothing I can do, is there?

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