Page 7 of The Significance of Moving On

I mean, I have some money saved up, the social security survivors benefits from when my dad died. But those ended a couple of months ago, the month before I turned eighteen. And I have to finish school. I don’t have a job. That’s a huge chunk of money to lose…Shoot.I grab the hair at each of my temples and pull. It’s pull my hair or scream.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, I promise, but you know, I have a little money in savings.”

But he wasn’t eavesdropping? That actually makes me chuckle. In this situation, he makes me chuckle. “I can’t take your money,” I say, reaching down to squeeze his knee, beyond thankful to have met this guy. “How much?”

“You can’t leave your brother in limbo and about five grand.” He laughs at me. My chuckle turns to a laugh, too. At me. For these few uninterrupted moments, his voice guides me through that air-sucking vortex that’s had me trapped since Tom died.

But as his voice fades, the vortex once again closes around me, and I know I have to ask, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because,” he says, the light overhead catches on the moisture in his beautiful, pained, blue eyes causing a shimmer. Almost a mirage on the horizon. “Sometimes we all need a little help.”

There’s something more to this, but as I lack the energy to pry more, I accept the life preserver he’s offering and let the subject go for the time being.

Casey flips on his laptop, says he’s transferring the money from savings to checking and to call back the hospital and Mr. Carson to let them know we’re moving forward with cremation.

“Do you want to see him?” he asks. “One last time or are you good?” Well if that question doesn’t somber the atmosphere. But it’s a good question. Do I? “Because if you do,” Casey continues, “you’ll have to tell Mr. Carson while you’ve got him on the phone. Otherwise they’ll do it and not let you know.”

How does one go about charring the remains of another human being without letting the family know? Because he’ll just be a number on a schedule, that’s how. My so full of life Tom reduced to a number on a schedule.

The phone rings in my ear before the receptionist answers and I’m put on hold. After another minute, the man himself speaks his greeting into the receiver.

“Mr. Carson,” I say into the line. “This is Chantal Bradley. We’ll go ahead with cremation. But I want to see him beforehand.”

Two days after that call we’re climbing out of Casey’s truck on our way to put my brother to rest. I still can’t wrap my head around any of this. My head knows the truth, but my heart keeps trying to trick me into believing that he’s just been away on assignment and will be home any day now.

What a gorgeous day outside for those not dealing with death. The sun kisses warmth on my cheeks and chin. Oh, to be one of the lucky ones, just sitting and soaking in it like an ultraviolet bath—but unfortunately, I’mnotone of the lucky ones and Iamdealing with death.

Imminently.

Casey guides me by the hand across the mostly empty parking lot and through the double glass doors leading inside the funeral home. When did we become this familiar? It doesn’t really matter. He knows just what I need, just when I need it.

Mr. Carson greets us both with a handshake before leading the way to his office. I sign more papers while Casey writes out a check. Even with Mr. Carson muttering his “I’m sorry for your loss” throughout, it’s all so impersonal. How can it be impersonal? Death—deathispersonal. I had a brother only a week and a half ago, now I’m alone in the world. If that’s not personal, then personal doesn’t mean what I think it means.

Once all the business has been completed, Casey and I are led through a door off the main hallway, the one used for services that funerary guests see. We’re led down a narrower hallway to a room in which Mr. Carson says Tom is on the other side of. Before I go, Casey asks if he could go first, because he’d like to say goodbye to his neighbor, and I know he knows one of us won’t have the strength to walk on her own accord when we’re done.

I nod and turn to look the other way when he opens the door. I’m not ready to see my brother. Can one ever really be ready for something like this? I hear the door click shut behind him.

Life, I’ve found, doesn’t work on my time schedule. Doesn’t care if I feel like I’m ready. Life tells me when I’m ready whether I agree or not. And today’s no different. Not when Casey’s only gone for about five minutes at most.

Damn him.

Big girl panties, Tally.Big girl panties. After taking two calming breaths it’s my turn.

Tom’s definitely on the other side of the door lying naked on a stainless-steel table with only a paper cloth to cover his modesty. I should go up to him, I should. But my brother,my Tommy, he’s gray. Even when I’d found him lying unresponsive in a pool of his own vomit, he had more color to him.

For several long seconds I stare at him, but that driving need to hug him once more outweighs my fears,propelling me to his side. Though the need dissipates quickly, turning ugly and angry as the distance lessens between us, enough that my hands ball into fists ready to strike.

I never hit my brother out of anger once that I can remember, not in my entire life yet I beat him, beat on his chest—pounding, pounding, pounding. The tears flow freely and then I hear an angry voice screaming, shrieking.Myangry voice screaming, shrieking, “How could you? Selfishbastard. How could you?”

He won’t answer me. He won’t man up and answer me. I know he’s dead, but I need his answers, real answers, not that ‘Ifucked up’ excuse he left for me.

“Damn you, Tom. I needed—needyou. What am I supposed to do without you? What’s going to happen to me now?” Falling to my knees, anyone who walks in would think I’ve been praying. But this isn’t prayer, it’s heartache. My head, my emotions are all over the place and I can’t decide if I’m mad at him, if I hate him or if… hell, I don’t know. I finally decide on, “I love you, Tom… I love you.”

A light went out in the world, the brightest, shiniest light snuffed out when my big brother died. He doesn’t need my hug, but I lean in finally able to give it. “Bye big brother,” I whisper. And that’s it.

Casey’s waiting at the door for me. He holds me tucked under his arm as we leave Carson’s funeral home and my brother behind. And then it hits me.

I’ll never see my Tommy again.

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