15
“Happy Death”
A happy death is all I want,
to feel that I have loved someone
and did the things I said I’d do
and lived my life true.
Jack L, Universe
November 2008
Breda died on a Tuesday morning at nine o’clock, and she was alone. Ben was in the toilet next door, and the rest of her family was in traffic. Eamonn arrived ten minutes after she was pronounced dead, with Frankie running in two seconds later, panting and in need of oxygen. Kate followed five minutes later. But it was too late. Their mother was gone.
“She waited until I left the room,” Ben said. “Your mother never liked to make a fuss.”
Kate hugged her dad. “I know, Dad.”
Kate took Ben outside, and Eamonn sat with Breda for a while. All the pain was gone from her face, all the ravages of time melted away; her spirit had moved on, and she looked thirty years younger than her years.
“Are you with Alexandra, Mam?” Eamonn said. “Is that why you had to go?” He left soon after, and Breda’s body lay in silence.
Tom got off the phone with Kate and rang Jane.
“Breda’s gone,” he said.
“What can I do?”
“Come to the funeral.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” If she hadn’t slept with Tom she wouldn’t have had a problem with it, but now attending his mother in-law’s funeral seemed in bad taste.
“She liked you.”
“Making me feel worse.”
“Please come,” he said, and Jane knew he badly needed the backup.
“Okay,” she agreed.
Kurt came in, threw his bag in the hallway, and stormed into his room. Jane followed him and knocked at his door.
“Go away,” he said.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just want to be left alone.”
“Okay.”
She walked down the hall and into the kitchen.
“Jane, Jane, Jane, it’s your mother! Jane!”
She picked up the receiver. “Yes, Rose.”
“Come down.”
“I’m busy.”
“I want to talk to you.”
“Five minutes.”
“You have two.”
Jane sat on her mother’s sofa, and Rose poured herself a large glass of wine.
“What did Dr. Griffin say?” Rose asked.
Jane had made an appointment to see him in his office the previous day. She sat in his waiting room for well over half an hour because it was flu season, and a few times she thought about bolting. When his receptionist told her to go in, her feet felt like blocks of cement and she had to drag herself to his door.
Dr. Griffin smiled at her, and she sat down.
“What can I do for you, Jane?”
“You can tell me how my father died.”
He sat back in his chair and looked at his hands before rubbing his knuckles. “When did she tell you?”
“Twelve days ago. I can give you the hour and the minute too if you’d like.”
“I’m sorry, Jane. It must have been a shock.”
“You could say that. Why have you never told me?”
“It’s not my place, Jane, you know that.”
“You were there. You saw him. Rose said you took him down.” Tears were welling, but she was refusing to let them fall.
“Your dad had a lot of demons.”
“And Elle—does Elle have demons, Dr. Griffin?”
Dr. Griffin sat up. “What do you mean?”
Although Dr. Griffin had been the Moore family’s general practitioner for thirty-five years, the family member he’d had least contact with was Elle. In fact, the last time he had seen Elle with any kind of ailment was when she was twelve, so as far as Dr. Griffin was concerned Elle was fit as a flea.
“Rose thinks Elle is like my father.”
“In what way?”
“Temperament.”
He laughed a little. “Well, that’s natural. We all inherit aspects of our parents. You are sometimes like Rose.”
“I am not!” Jane said with the greatest alarm.
“The last time I was in your house you threatened to kill her.”
“That was just talk.”
“Yes, but familiar talk,” Dr. Griffin said. “Just because some of Elle’s behavior is reminiscent of her father doesn’t mean there is a problem.”
“She stole her boyfriend’s car and burned it out. Then she packed her bags and disappeared for a while. She often disappears. She puts a sign on her door to tell us that she’s gone fishing and we just wait for her to come back—sometimes it’s days, sometimes weeks. She drinks a lot. Two years ago she nearly overdosed on cocaine, and she promised faithfully she wouldn’t do it again. A few months ago my son found her asleep in a freezing-cold bath—she was blue. She said she fell asleep. She throws money away. She has sex with stranger after stranger, and recently she had an affair with Kurt’s dad, yet for years she barely tolerated him. Sometimes she behaves like there’s no tomorrow and other times she acts as though she can see eternity laid out before her and she can’t stand it. She lives her life according to a letter she writes once a year to the bloody Universe. And then there was China.”
After Jane had finished telling Dr. Griffin about the incident in China, he was adamant that Elle needed to be referred to a psychiatrist who specialized in diagnosing the kinds of conditions he suspected Elle suffered from.
“Rose doesn’t want that,” Jane said.
“Rose shouldn’t have a say.”
“She said that it was only when doctors got involved that Dad hanged himself.”
“Your dad was very sick and, no, he didn’t get the help he needed in time, but times have changed and I promise you that if you get Elle to agree to see someone, it will help—maybe not immediately, but it will help.”
“I’m scared.”
“That’s perfectly normal.”
“How could I have been so blind?”
“Because we see what we want to see.”
“Vincent tried to warn me,” Jane said. “All the times I called him names and thought he was shallow and stupid, and he was the only one who really saw her.”
“It’s easier when you’re on the outside.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Talk to her.”
“And say what? ‘Hi, Elle, we think you’re insane’?”
“No, Jane, talk to her, listen to her, tell her that you care.”
“Oh yeah, thanks, she’ll love that, bearing in mind she threw a shoe at my TV the one time Dr. Phil was on. The Off/On button still sticks.”
Jane sat in Rose’s basement apartment, and for over an hour they debated what Jane should and shouldn’t say to her sister. Rose was adamant that no doctor go near her girl.
“They only make it worse, Jane,” Rose said, “and you are so good with her.”
“I can’t be responsible for her mental well-being, Rose.”
Rose slapped her thigh. “Which is exactly why I didn’t say anything before. You had enough on your plate. Bloody Dominic! The first time I saw his sniveling face I should have knocked his bloody teeth out. He wouldn’t have been so cute then.”
“You know, Elle isn’t the only one with mental problems in this house.” Jane stood up and walked to the door.
“Darling, we are all mad—you, me, stupid bloody Dominic, precious Tom, that poor titless woman, the woman next door, Paddy the postman. There isn’t one of us that someone hasn’t thought mad at least once.”
“Yeah, well, this madwoman is going upstairs.”
“Just talk to her, just be good to her!” Rose shouted after her. Please mind her, Janey, please don’t let them take her, because when they come, it only gets worse.
The funeral took place on Friday. Leslie made her way to Jane’s and arrived in time to see Kurt running down the steps with toast in his mouth.
“Hi, Kurt,” she said.
“Hi, Wezwee.”
I’ve been called worse, she thought.
He left the door swinging open for her, and she walked inside and called out for Jane. Jane came down the stairs in black. Leslie looked at Jane and then at herself. She was wearing red.
“Is this inappropriate?” she asked.
“No, you’re fine.”
“Are you sure? We were never particular about wearing black at family funerals, but other people are funny about it, aren’t they?”
“You’re fine.”
She looked up the street outside for Kurt, but he was gone.
“I missed Kurt,” she said, following Leslie into the kitchen. “Did he look okay?”
“He was running and spoke with his mouth full—so if that’s ‘okay’ …”
“Irene broke up with him.”
“Oh,” Leslie said. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know you were fond of Irene.”
“Yeah, well, I’m fonder of my son. I’m actually a bit pissed off with her, which is stupid and childish, I know. He’s devastated.”
“He didn’t look devastated.”
“Well, he is. She told him he studies too much, if you can believe that.”
“They are young, and young people break up all the time.” Leslie poured herself coffee.
“And I wouldn’t mind, but he doesn’t study that much at all,” Jane said. “Obviously more than when he was in school, but this is university and Medicine, for God’s sake! What did she expect?”
“Jane, are you taking Kurt’s breakup a little worse than he is?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. He won’t talk to me about it.”
“I don’t blame him.”
Jane poured herself coffee and sat with Leslie.
“I slept with Tom.”
Leslie coughed and spit up coffee so that it dribbled a little down her chin. Jane handed her a napkin, she dried her face, and Jane took it off her and aimed for the washing basket behind her, threw it, and landed the shot.
“Tom, the husband of the woman we’re looking for, that Tom?” Leslie said.
“That Tom.”
“I don’t know how to feel about that.”
“Me either. I really like him, but I don’t know if I actually really like him or if it’s because he’s unavailable. If my history’s anything to go by, it’s probably the latter. And then there is the fact that he’s married to my childhood best friend, whom he loves and who is missing. And if I’m honest, I think she’s dead.”
“Hah!” Rose shouted from the doorway. “I knew you thought she was dead all along.”
“Rose,” Jane said, “have you ever heard of knocking?”
Rose sat down beside Leslie. “How are you feeling?” She pointed at Leslie’s chest.
“Fine.”
“You’re so brave,” Rose said. “I would have rather died.”
Leslie laughed, and Jane silently thanked God for Leslie’s good humor. Rose was determined to go to the funeral even though she hadn’t laid eyes on the Walshes in twenty years. Jane had attempted to talk her out of it, but she insisted on paying her last respects to the woman who had taken her daughter on holiday on many occasions in the eighties.
“But you didn’t like her,” Jane had argued. “You thought she was a holier-than-thou, pain-in-the-ass Bible basher.”
“Jane,” Rose said, “that really is no way to talk about the dead.”
Jane gave up. Rose was in good form—she loved a good funeral.
“Where’s Elle?” she asked.
“She’s making her own way.”
“I’m really glad you’ve made up,” Leslie said. “She was lost without you.”
“Do you hear that, Jane?” Rose said. “She was lost without you.”
“Shut up, Rose.”
“Darling, if you think you’re going to bag a man with that kind of attitude, you’re wrong. I mean, I know Tom’s standards aren’t particularly high and he has a penchant for cheeky little bitches, but maybe if you toned it down just a tad you’d have better luck.”
Jane groaned. “Just go to the car.”
They got to the church on time. Jane sat in the back, but Rose walked halfway up the aisle because she didn’t want a pillar blocking her view. Elle joined Leslie and Jane. Elle and Jane’s relationship was still a little strained. Although Jane had forgiven her, Elle wasn’t sure why, and Jane had decided not to explain her reasoning. Instead she had merely said that blood was thicker than water and that if Elle wanted her to represent her artwork she would, as long as she promised not to set it on fire again.
“I promise,” Elle had said.
“Why did you do it?” Jane had asked.
“It wasn’t good.”
“You didn’t have to burn it, Elle.”
Elle stayed quiet for a while. “Do you really forgive me, Janey?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Don’t you want to hear an explanation?”
“No.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“I know.”
Jane had left then because she felt awkward and still angry, and she needed to talk to Dr. Griffin before she spoke to her sister openly and honestly. And since she’d spoken to Dr. Griffin she’d been biding her time, delaying the inevitable. Jane wasn’t ready to face the possibility that Elle had a problem, so how could Elle do so?
They sat quietly, waiting for the church to fill and the Mass to begin. In the front pew Ben Walsh was on the outside; beside him was Kate, her arm linked in his. Next in line was Eamonn, then his wife, Frankie, Kate’s husband, Owen, and Tom at the end. There was little or no talking among the main mourners.
Rose made her way back to where her daughters and Leslie were sitting.
“Push in,” she said.
“What are you doing?” Jane whispered.
“It’s no fun on your own,” she said.
Elle grinned and pushed in.
“Push in a bit farther,” Rose demanded so that her view would be uninterrupted.
They all pushed in for Rose. She sat down and looked around.
“You’d think for such a Holy Joe she’d have a few more to her funeral,” Rose said.
“Mum,” Elle said, “don’t be such a cow.”
“Sorry, darling.”
The priest came out and everyone stood, bar Rose. “You won’t catch me standing for one of those arrogant church bastards,” she whispered under her breath.
For the next forty minutes the priest talked and read the same old passages from the Bible that they always read when a person dies; they said prayers, knelt, stood, sat, knelt, stood, sat, and knelt, stood, and sat some more. Leslie, Elle, and Jane got up and queued to receive Holy Communion. Rose sat where she was. “You won’t catch me taking Communion from one of those arrogant church bastards,” she whispered under her breath. After Communion and before the priest gave the last blessing, he invited Breda’s family to come up to the altar and talk about her. Ben couldn’t find it in himself to speak; it was all he could do to stand. Eamonn walked to the altar and took a second or two to compose himself.
“This is the good bit,” Rose said.
Leslie, Elle, and Jane ignored her.
Eamonn cleared his throat. “I’d like to thank everyone for coming here today. My mother would have been really pleased with the turnout.”
Rose looked around with a face that suggested that maybe Breda would be impressed, but she certainly wasn’t.
“My mother was a good person. She was kind, caring, giving, friendly, happy most of the time. She wasn’t jealous or boastful, she wasn’t selfish, and she wasn’t hurtful. She believed in God. She believed in prayer, and she came here nearly every day of her life until recently. Most of you know we lost Alexandra in June 2007. My mother believed that God would save her. She believed that He would bring her home. ‘She’s still with us, Eamonn,’ she’d say. ‘She’ll be home any day, any day now. God will deliver her from evil.’ When God didn’t deliver her from evil, my mother got so sad and so sick that it made me angry about all that time she’d wasted here, on her knees. But then I thought, what if God couldn’t deliver Alexandra because Alexandra was already gone? What if the pain and suffering of my mother’s loss were so great that instead of delivering Alexandra from evil He delivered my mother instead? Who knows what’s real and what isn’t? My mother took comfort in believing in a God that could hear her. I may not be the most religious of people, but today of all days and for her sake I’d like to think He did. Thank you.”
Elle was crying, and Jane squeezed her hand. “That was lovely,” Elle said.
Leslie was silent but nodded in agreement. Rose blew her nose.
Jane, Leslie, and Elle joined the queue to sympathize with the family.
Jane sympathized with Owen, then Frankie and Eamonn.
“That was really lovely,” she said.
“Thanks. I hope she would have liked it,” Eamonn said.
“She would have loved it.”
Eamonn hugged her. “Every time I see you I think of Alexandra. I miss her, Janey.”
“I know you do, Eamonn,” Jane said, and her eyes filled. “I miss her too.”
She moved on to Kate, who hugged her and thanked her for coming, and then to Ben, whose blue eyes were swimming. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Walsh.”
“Thanks, Jane.”
She reached Tom and shook his hand, but he drew her into a hug, and they held each other so tightly that Kate and Frankie both noticed. Frankie smiled at them. Jane pulled back.
“I’ll see you at the graveyard,” she said, and he nodded.
Elle and Leslie were following and shaking hands, and Kate reminded Ben that Elle was the girl who had painted all the pictures of the Missing and that Leslie was behind the Missing Alexandra website.
“Thank you, girls, thank you so much.”
They both nodded and told them how sorry they were.
It was odd, but all three women, Jane, Elle, and Leslie, felt like they weren’t just at Breda’s funeral but at Alexandra’s too. They discussed it in the car on the way to the graveyard. Leslie was the first to bring it up, but the two others were quick to agree. Rose congratulated herself for being the only one who had worked out that the woman was dead a long time ago.
“We’re not saying she’s dead, Rose,” Jane said.
“Oh fine, Janey. The funeral felt like it was for both Alexandra and Breda, and yet you’re not saying you think she’s dead. Are you in the habit of burying the living?”
At the graveyard, they followed the crowd to the plot that would be Breda’s final resting place. As they walked in line, the heavens opened and heavy rain fell, drenching them all in seconds.
“Oh for fock sake!” Rose said, and Jane nudged her.
They walked from grave to grave under a dark and forbidding sky.
Eamonn stood over his mother’s grave, soaked to the skin, and told the crowd that was gathering around him and his family that his father had chosen the casket his mother would rest in, Kate had chosen the flowers, he’d chosen the readings, and the music would be chosen by Alexandra.
“She loved Jack Lukeman, and this is one of her favorite songs. I know my mother would like it, and it seems appropriate. It’s called ‘Rooftop Lullaby.’” He nodded at Owen, who pressed Play on the CD player, and everybody stood in silence. Eamonn dropped his head and stared at the coffin in the ground.
Mother, is there something in the sky?
Something up there that they hide,
a jewel for me and you,
apple trees with falling fruit.
Kate held an umbrella over her father’s head.
Oh Daughter, now I don’t know
but I believe that it’s beauty beyond words,
it’s like a tune that I can’t sing
but I’ve heard it sung by birds.
It’s a rooftop lullaby
falling from the sky
sends us to sleep tonight.
It’s the apple in your eye
keeps you as sweet as pie
dreaming through the night.
Kate’s husband, Owen, held his umbrella over hers.
Oh Father, now won’t you tell me if you know
where does half the moon go
when it’s not up in the sky
it disappears before my eyes.
Ben Walsh stood in silence, looking into the middle distance, unable to bring himself to look at the box that held his wife beneath him.
Oh my son, why does morning break each day
why do people pass away?
The rain continued to fall on the people gathered in the graveyard and on the people outside walking by and trying to get on with their day. It fell in the cities and the suburbs. It fell by the coast, and it fell on the mountains and under a dark sky, under dead foliage, and in a forgotten part of the Dublin mountains the rain fell so heavily that the earth slid and moved, and under that dark sky and dead foliage and in that forgotten part of Dublin’s mountains, a black high-heel boot poked through.
Oh it’s the mystery in truth
it’s the innocence in youth
or a rooftop lullaby
falling from the sky
sends us to sleep tonight,
it’s the apple in your eye
keeps you as sweet as pie
dreaming through the night.