Can't Go Back

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” My brother kept completely still, staring into his phone like it was his very lifeline. 

“No. It’s okay, just go without me.” He turned away from me, signaling that he was done with the conversation. With a sigh, I closed his door behind me, walking downstairs to see if Mom was ready to leave yet. When she saw me return to the kitchen without Tyler, her face fell and she shook her head. 

“Well, we can’t make him go.”

“He should go, mom. If he doesn’t say his last goodbyes, he’s going to regret this for the rest of his life.” I hadn’t meant to be so pushy, but I was genuinely concerned about him. Tyler hadn’t left his room at all in days, and I know he hadn’t been eating much. Not only did he need to get out of the house, but I didn’t want him to regret missing our father’s funeral. Mom had missed her sister’s funeral a few years ago, due to a medical emergency that left her hospitalized for a few days. To this day, she feels like she missed her chance at closure. 

“Emily, everyone grieves in their own way. Tyler has a hard time dealing with grief, and he usually prefers to be left alone. Believe me, I also think he should go, but we can’t force him to do this. I don’t want him to have my regrets, but this is his decision.” I pulled her in for a hug, wrapping my arms as much as I could with our bulky winter coats getting in the way.

“Mom, don’t beat yourself up about that. You didn’t have a choice. Aunt Reina would have understood. Tyler does have a choice, and I really think he’s making the wrong one.”

“He could be, dear, but we need to get going. He’s made up his mind.” She took my hand in hers and headed out toward the car. When I slipped into the passenger’s seat, I sent a quick text to Tyler, hoping he’d change his mind. I watched the little word on the screen change from “sent” to “read”, but no sign of a reply coming. Mom had been waiting patiently for a few moments, seemingly also hoping that he would change his mind, but when we saw no change in the light coming from his bedroom window, we took off to the funeral home. 

The service went more quickly than expected. It was awkward, standing in the front of the room and greeting people as they came through. Many of the people who came were close family and friends, but several others were coworkers of his, as well as family members we hadn’t seen in years. A very short older woman hugged me enthusiastically, commenting on how she hadn’t seen me in ages and she was so sorry for my loss. She rambled on about stories I had no knowledge of, then took a seat among the growing sea of people. I whispered to my mom, asking who the woman was, but she only returned my question with a confused shrug.

My father was never religious, so his service didn’t contain the reading of hymns or a sermon like I had seen at other funerals in the past. People were invited up one by one, encouraged to share stories of him and reminisce about their time with him. When it was my turn, I went on and on about growing up, and everything we had done together. I told stories of when he took Tyler and I to water parks and out fishing. There were few things he loved more than being near water. As the moment went on, I found myself running out of things to say. Everyone in front of me watched expectantly. I finished up with a quick story about him seeing me off to college and hurriedly took my seat. 

My mom was next up, and she took her time going over the day they met, their marriage, having kids, and all the wonderful adventures they went on together, as well as with us. When she reached the last several years, I realized that she was recounting moments I had no memory of. I leaned forward in my seat, listening intently to absorb every detail of what she was saying. A sinking feeling built up in my chest with each new story. 

  She finally took her seat and looked at me with a smile, the hint of tears shimmering at the edges of her eyes. I returned the smile, but it felt empty. I replayed the stories she told in my head, even as people filed up to the podium and shared their own. It all blended together, like a droning in the background. 

“Emily, it’s time to go.” I could see the concern and frustration clouding my mother’s face. It was bitterly cold out today, and we’d spent the last hour beside my father’s grave, just having tea and sharing memories about him. Several times already, she had dropped hints about wanting to leave, but I felt frozen in place. Fresh tears touched the corners of my eyes and she stepped closer, laying her hand gently on my shoulder. 

“Honey, please…” Her voice was pleading, and I could hear her own sadness choking her words. “It’s getting late. Your brother must be wondering where we are.”

“I can’t…” The hoarseness of my voice seemed to startle both of us. I covered my face in my hands and let the tears spill out, violent sobs taking over my chest. I hadn’t meant to make a scene in front of my mother, but the overwhelming sense of guilt overcame me. 

For a long moment, she held me close against her side, whispering soothing reassurances, and wiping her own tears from her eyes. The lingering scent of her lavender perfume calmed me a little, but I knew I needed to talk to her about what I was feeling.

“Mama…” I hadn’t called her that in twenty years at this point, but it felt familiar and reminded me of a much better time in my life. “I wasted so much time….” My thoughts wouldn’t come easily. I tried my best to force them out. “College, the internship, and working all those long weeks… I lost so much time with him. He just got sicker and sicker, and I got more busy.” My breath caught in my throat, choked out by another fit of sobbing. 

“Honey, no, no…” She wrapped her arms around me tightly, giving a reassuring squeeze. “Please, don’t blame yourself. Your father was always so proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. He watched you every step of the way, finding yourself and building your career. He talked about you all the time, and he loved watching you grow into the woman you are now.” 

“Mom, you don’t understand.” I furiously wiped my face and took a deep breath, trying to control the hiccuping. “I can’t get that time back. I was always too busy to see him and now…” I fought back more tears with shallow, rapid breaths. “Now, he’s gone. It’s over. I can never make up for that lost time, no matter what I do.” Mom didn’t try to respond. Instead, she held me close again, letting me cry out all the grief and frustration I felt. My eyes stung, and my body felt heavy and sore. I don’t know how long we sat there, but eventually, she helped me to my feet and slowly guided me back toward the car. I took one last look back at the dark granite headstone, knowing that I would never be able to let go of the crushing regret and guilt that sat like a weight in my chest.