Top Down Day

by Nicole Overby

  We all stand up and head towards the door, leaving Brandon alone with the birds and a few magazines.

  The director, Mark, seemed surprised by the number of people entering the room. He does a quick chair count and realizes there isn’t enough seating in the room. We all are a part of Dad’s family whether it’s as a spouse, a child, a sibling, a parent, or even a stepparent. All of our opinions matter and each of us feel a right in contributing our thoughts for Dad’s funeral.

  Three boxes of tissues are strategically placed on the table. I can’t help but be distracted by the different coffins and urns displayed throughout the entire room. Who knew there were so many wood choices for a coffin that would be buried six feet deep? I’m not paying much attention while my mom and grandpa relay information about the spelling of his mother’s maiden name and his work title. I’m still selectively listening while arrangements are discussed and the flowers that will rest on the coffin are chosen. Suddenly, I’m focused on not completely losing it when Mark asks if we have any ideas on the type of urn we want. No, I haven’t thought about the color, shape, or design of the thing that will hold my dad’s ashes. This wasn’t really planned, Mark. He does realize my healthy dad just passed away yesterday, right?

  “One last question before I can show you the available rooms for the viewing and funeral. Were you thinking of having an open or closed casket?”

  No one utters a word. We hadn’t talked about this decision yet. Mom must have forgotten to put it on her to-do list.

  When no one answers, Mark adds, “This decision doesn’t have to be made now. You can let me know tomorrow.”

  My mom answers, “Okay, yeah, we haven’t really discussed this yet.”

  Natalie offers her opinion first. “I think it needs to be a closed casket. There is no way Dad would want everyone seeing him, especially after the swelling.”

  She had a point; Dad never was thrilled about being in pictures and the last time we saw him, his face was unrecognizable.

  My aunt steps in, “But for some people, they haven’t seen Corey in years. They may want a moment to say goodbye.”

  Kristen chimes in, “I would like one last moment with Dad…”

  Her thought doesn’t sound complete; almost left open-ended.

  “We could have an open casket for family, and closed to the public,” Mark suggests.

  I keep my mouth closed for now. The tension in the room is high enough without adding my opinion into the mix. And for what it matters, I’m not really sure how I feel about either option. However, I think this might be a better conversation to have in the privacy of our home and not in the middle of this tight room with burial items surrounding us.

  The meeting wraps up, and the decision to have the viewing on Thursday and the funeral on Friday have been confirmed. In order for the arrangements to work, we will have to use their other funeral home in the next town over, about twenty minutes away. Hopefully this one isn’t positioned between a grocery store and a gas station. My mom is recounting the items she needs to get for Mark by today in order to get the obituary posted. We kids are sent off with three catalogs from the funeral assistant. Two have urn options for us to start browsing for ideas so we can get our orders placed. The third catalog is filled with different jewelry and customizable memorial items to keep the memory of Dad alive. It’s odd watching my sisters get excited about necklaces that are created based on Dad’s fingerprint. This whole shopping spree is off-putting; it doesn’t matter whether the urn is $20 or $2,000, it doesn’t represent Dad’s worth.

  |5:29 PM|

  Natalie

  The whole day has felt strange. Everyone keeps changing rooms throughout the house, not feeling comfortable in any spot. No one knows what to say to each other, but instead of allowing the rooms to be filled with silence, we continue to have awkward small talk.

  My aunt will go on about how, “It looks like it’s going to rain today,” and Kristen will randomly acknowledge how cold the house feels as she wraps herself in a blanket. Mom hasn’t come out of her room for most of the afternoon, and my grandpa is telling stories about the farms back home. When Mom’s parents arrive, the increased number of guests enhances the nervousness in the house. With nothing to talk about, every attempt at a conversation feels forced and phony. I can tell everyone is trying their best to stay united and be supportive, but it’s obvious everyone feels the loneliness.

  I’m sitting in the living room as I listen to the current conversation around me. Thomas is talking about how old Oakley is and retelling the story of when he picked Oakley up from the breeder. I’ve heard this story about a million times, so I don’t think it’s rude if I get up and leave. Plus, I wonder what Mom is doing. I stand up from my chair and start making my way to her room when the doorbell rings. Since I’m the only one standing, I change directions to answer the door. Who could this possibly be?

  I don’t recognize the face when I open the door. The smiley teenager must see the confusion on my face because she immediately introduces herself.

  “Hi! I’m Kate from Southern BBQ. I have a catering delivery for…”

  She looks down at her notes.

  “The Owen family!”

  Her voice is so cheerful it makes me want to throw up.

  “That’s us.”

  My response sounds cold and unamused, but I can’t help myself.

  “Great! Can I help you bring it inside?”

  “That’d be great.”

  I grab some of the bags from her delivery car and direct her into the kitchen. Everyone stands up and joins around, chiming in about how nice this is and all taking guesses on who ordered the food. Who cares?

  I leave the commotion in the kitchen and head for my parents’ bedroom. I slightly open the door and whisper, “Mom?”

  “Hi, sweetie. Come on in.”

  She’s in bed, but the T.V. isn’t on. I look around for a book near the bed, but I can’t find one. If she isn’t watching T.V. and she isn’t reading, what is she doing?

  I crawl into bed next to her and tell her, “Someone had dinner delivered if you’re hungry.”

  She greets my eyes with a smile. “How thoughtful. Did you eat?”

  She seems so strong right now. I turn away because I can’t look at her smile.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You have to eat, honey.”

  “So do you,” I mumble under my breath.

  She grabs my hand and forces me to look at her again. “I know you’re hurting, Natalie.”

  Aren’t we all? Her sorrowful eyes are enough for me to start tearing up. I can plainly see that her pain runs deep, her mask of strength so desperately wanting to come off. I know she’s worried and scared. Not only am I heartbroken from the loss of the most important man in my life, I’m heartbroken for my Mom. The realization that I’m never going to be enough for her is crippling. I’m only her daughter and no matter what I do I’ll never be able to be there for her like my dad was; she’s lost her partner in life and at way too young of an age.

  Part V

  TUESDAY

  MARCH 26TH

  - FIFTEEN -

  |7:02 AM|

  Thomas

  Mom called Evan last night to see if we could come clean out Dad’s office sometime this week. It would be nice to have some of the items from his office visible at his viewing. Work was a major part of Dad’s life, so it’s only fitting to incorporate it into Thursday.

  In the car, I can tell Mom is nervous. She keeps twiddling her thumbs to distract herself from her thoughts. My dad only worked for two companies during his entire career, and he was at the first company for about thirty years. He gave his entire life to this company. Even when the hours were long, it was obvious he loved his job. I should’ve written down all of the advice he gave me; now I only have my memory to rely on. He would remind us about the importance of keeping the audience engaged during presentations or team meetings. I can feel the smile creep over my face as I think about hi
m telling Natalie and me about keeping tense situations light with a joke. I don’t think I’ll be able to deliver a joke like he could or start off a meeting singing, although my lack of vocals would probably make people laugh. He had a way of making everyone feel better even in the worst situations. I wonder if he was the same person at work as he was at home.

  After we go through security, Mom and I are given time alone in his office. I take in the view of the golf course outside his office windows. I remember him calling me about this view when he moved here; I can envision him standing where I am right now. The tightness in my chest is growing stronger, so I decide to walk away before I break down.

  Mom is sitting in his chair going through his drawers frantically.

  “Slow down, we don’t want to miss anything,” I tell her.

  She doesn’t even look up as she answers, “I want to be out of here before anyone else arrives on the floor.”

  I know she doesn’t want to face anyone right now, especially his direct reports. My mom threw Christmas parties and Kentucky Derby parties to get to know the people my dad worked with. She had a close relationship with his secretary and never let Dad miss an Administrative Appreciation Day. So, I open the next drawer over and start digging alongside her.

  The strangest findings cause us to get choked up. His MBA degree from the University of Denver is tucked under stacks of paper. Mom recounts when Dad was working full time and working on his degree at the same time.

  She keeps repeating, “He never complained. He did it for our family and never complained.”

  The Father’s Day gift we gave him four years ago still sits in the cubby above his computer. There are pictures of all of us everywhere. Then, we find a few business cards all paper clipped together. At first I thought it was more business cards of people Dad knew, but then I notice the name written on all of them is “Corey Owen.” He must have kept all of his business cards throughout his career, reminding him of where he started. I sit down and flip through all of the slightly bent cards. I never told him how much of a role model he was to me. As my regret builds, my vision begins to blur. I feel dizzy. I need a break from going through all of this.

  As I stand up to step out, I notice my mom clutching a small book to her chest. She pulls it down to get another clear look.

  “Come look at this, Thomas.”

  Her words so broken up, she sounds confused.

  As I stand behind her, the title screams out in large, bold font.

  “IT’S GONNA BE OKAY”

  “It was sitting right here in the back corner of his office.”

  Her eyes are not leaving the title.

  “I almost missed it.”

  Her head is shaking in disbelief for what could’ve been overlooked.

  “I wonder who left it here.”

  |11:47 AM|

  Dawn

  I’m listening to the kids laugh at the old pictures of Corey in the other room. It’s so nice to hear them laughing again. Going through the old photo books is too hard for me right now. I don’t want to cry in front of everyone, and I know seeing a picture from when we were dating or in Tennessee for our honeymoon would push me over the edge. So, instead I listen to them go through each book while I pretend to be doing work on my laptop. Thomas can’t get over Corey’s old mullet and Natalie is trying to convince him to grow one out. I can’t help but smile as I listen to Kristen reminisce over each photo from our Disney vacation when the kids were little.

  When our wedding photo book is pulled out, I decide to step away. I head into the bedroom to look through the box from his office. This morning was terrifying. With every passing minute, the fear of running into someone grew inside of me. I’m not ready to face anyone. I wonder if his co-workers will come to the services?

  I begin picking out the items to include on Thursday. Mark mentioned a table would be placed in the center of one of the rooms to display any personal items. Natalie wants to print the lyrics of the songs that remind us of Corey. Our family has been bonded by music from the beginning. When the girls were little, Corey sang to them every night. All three of the kids grew up learning song lyrics before sentences. The memorial services honoring him have to be centered around music; it’s the best way to showcase who he truly was as a person. My fingers grip the Folsom Prison Blues album made to be a clock. Corey loved this gift. I pull out every musical item Corey had and place it in the pile of items to bring to the funeral home.

  I find a paper bag from our favorite food truck in Denver at the bottom of the box. I can’t believe he still has this, after all these years! The touch of the rigid bag brings back the smell of the greasy burritos. I would skip doing my hair just to have enough time for us to get a breakfast burrito before work. My heart sinks as the memory of sitting in our car shoving our faces with burritos comes to mind. No one would understand it, but it means so much to me. I add it to the pile of things to bring with us.

  Kristen’s voice drowns out my thoughts. “We’re going to Hobby Lobby to get boards!”

  I wipe my face before I turn around so the tears on my checks aren’t noticeable. “Okay!” My voice cracks, but I hope they don’t notice.

  Oakley doesn’t move with everyone running around getting their shoes and wallets. I try calling him over. For once, I wouldn’t mind him snuggling up next to me, but he doesn’t move. He won’t even turn to look at me. I need to call the vet when the kids leave. I’ll add this to my to-do list. Another thing I have control over, one more task to do to try to keep my emotions in line.

  Kristen

  The mood in the house feels lighter than yesterday. Going through the photo books bring back fond memories, aiding us to laugh again. It’s refreshing to have a smile painted on my face when thinking about Dad.

  On the car ride to Hobby Lobby, we finalize each of our parts in the funeral. Natalie and I will go up together; I’ll read a bible verse and Natalie will read a poem. Thomas will do the eulogy and Mom will have closing remarks. This way it will go in the order of age, plus Natalie didn’t want to go up alone in case she couldn’t do it. Now I need to figure out the perfect verse to read.

  I’m searching on my phone for meaningful bible verses as we pull into the parking lot. When we enter the store, we all disperse to different parts of the store. We want to separate to save time. As I’m going through the available boards, I can’t tell if the photos would stick to the white canvases or fall off. A store employee stops me as I’m feeling the texture of each board.

  “Anything I can help you with today ma’am?”

  “Oh, hi! Yes, actually. Do you think photos would stick on this type of board?”

  “What type of photos? Printed?”

  I adjust the board in my hands as I answer, “Yeah, just photos taken from a photo album.”

  “I think so! Let me show you some photo tape we have over here.”

  As we’re walking two isles over, we begin engaging in small talk about the change in temperature outside before he carries the conversation further.

  “What’s the project for?”

  A smile creeps over his face and I watch the excitement rise over him before he continues.

  “A wedding?”

  An anticipating expression awaits my response.

  I stop walking as my heart falls into my stomach. I don’t know how to answer him without making the conversation awkward. I’m not even sure I can form the words.

  I manage to cough up, “Um, it’s actually for a funeral.”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

  I should’ve lied. I look down at our feet and don’t answer. You need to stop bringing him up; you’re making people uncomfortable. The rest of the walk feels tense and neither of us utter another word. Is this how it’s going to be for the rest of my life? I won’t be able to mention Dad’s name for fear of making others feel awkward?

  Part VI

  WEDNESDAY

  MARCH 27TH

  - SIXTEEN -

  |9:15 AM|
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  Thomas

  Brandon pulled me aside last night asking if we could go to the mall at some point today. I forgot when he and Natalie drove down they didn’t realize they would be here for a week. They had no idea they would have to email their professors and ask for some time off from school. They didn’t pack enough clothes, and they definitely didn’t have appropriate outfits for a funeral. Brandon needs a new suit and dress shoes… by tomorrow. So, we got up early today and headed to the mall before meeting my mom and sisters at the funeral home. Natalie wanted to stay home this morning with Mom, plus I think she wanted an excuse for some alone time.

  |11:47 AM|

  Thomas

  We pull into the parking lot and I watch Brandon leave as he drops me off. I notice my Mom’s car as I walk towards the main entrance. They must be inside already.

  I spot Natalie and Kristen sitting on the couch as I walk in.

  “Where’s Mom?” I ask.

  Neither look up at me, but Kristen answers. “She’s with Mark.”

  I make myself comfortable in the chair next to the girls. Both are looking page by page at the urn options. Natalie circles a gold heart shaped urn with angel wings carved into it. I assume this is the urn she’s decided on. Kristen falls on a simple grey, heart shaped urn that can be engraved with initials. Watching them make their selections, I notice that they don’t look fully satisfied in their picks, but I guess who can blame them? No matter what the urn looks like, it won’t be appealing to the eye. It will be a reminder of the person we have lost, the hole in our lives. I wish there was something I could say to take away their pain. A joke to make them laugh, or smile at best. But I know there isn’t; there isn’t anything I can do to help them and I think that’s what hurts me the most.