I'm having trouble getting into the Christmas Spirit this year.  I made the big Thanksgiving dinner, as usual, but forgot to take the annual Family Picture On The Deck.  I think I was afraid that all of us on the deck smiling would just drive home the fact that a face was missing from the picture.

Still, we danced to records played at the wrong speed, we laughed a lot, we drank wine & ate too much, all of us determined not to burst into tears because Joey wasn't here.

And the next day I was back at Save Mart, loading up the cart for Saturday's Memorial.  It was good to be busy, I made a pasta salad & a potato salad & a macaroni salad.  I baked peanut butter cookies.  I organized, I cleaned house.  Geo found a nice stone & painted Joe's name & dates on it in Neat Engineer Print.  He picked up deli plates from the store & more wine, & rolls, & ice for the Almost-Beer aka Bud Light, because that was Joe's favorite.  We iced up Dr. Peppers & root beers & Cokes & Sparkling Ciders.  I sat up late making collages from Joey photos -- taping his life onto poster boards, blond child to mullet-sporting teenager to lost young man to, finally, grown & in love adult.

Days earlier, my amazingly strong sister & I drew up plans for the memorial.   We checked out the gravesite & paid the Cemetery Man in cash.  We met the father of the girl whose ashes are buried between our mom & Joey.  He was watering the irises planted on his daughter's grave.  They bloom deep purple in the Spring.  I watched his face, & realized he knew, more than I, how my sister feels.  He watched us & waved as we drove away.

On that same Monday, we picked out a bench to place near Joe's grave.  We were almost taken in by a bench adorned with carvings of dragonflies, but decided it was too garden-y.  Joe would have made an eye-rolling face at the very thought of it.  My sister channeled my mother, & charmed the nice ladies at the hardware store, & they ditched store "policy" & let us leave the bench in the Garden Department until Saturday.  It was funny in the best way watching my sister turn into our Mom.  Also kind of weird, although when I think about it, my sister IS a lot like our mom -- she's a charmer, she works her ass off, & she prevails against all odds.  Not to mention, she disapproves of housework.

The morning of the Memorial we were all busy again.  My nephews, suddenly seeming all grown-up, placed the bench next to the fence.  Practically everyone was late, which was okay, it's not like we had a minister coming in or anything.  We were winging it.  It has occurred to me lately that it's not a bad idea having a minister, as they can generally talk without their voice cracking or their hands shaking.  They rarely burst into tears while delivering a eulogy.

We are not the kind of people who go full-out-dignified-Jackie-Kennedy.  We are practically jovial at funerals.  We smile, even as our faces contort, our lips bleed, & tears stream down our cheeks.  We're like, "Oh, no, I'm FINE!  REALLY!  See?  Watch me do a cartwheel!  Whee!  Look how happy I am!"  

Joe's girlfriend, Laura, said she wished she could be brave like us, but really, she was the bravest of all, reading a eulogy she'd written for the man she loved.  Laura, going home to a house where Joe was, but then wasn't.  Laura, who never gave up on him, who made him laugh at himself, & made him happy again.  The last full sentence I ever heard Joe say was this:  "I love you, Laura."

There's no way I could have read that eulogy, but she sat on the bench in front of Joe's friends & family & read both sides of the paper.  Her hands shook, her voice quavered, but she got through every word.

Joe's boss/teacher said kind things about him, about how fond he was of Joe, & how Joe was his best & most dedicated student. 

My brother played the guitar -- classical stuff, & High Noon, which I'm sure he really played for Mom, one grave down, as she loved High Noon & used to have the 78, which we kids played over & over until it was all worn & scratchy.

After the music, my brother shared a funny anecdote about Joey as a toddler, powdering a room with his grandma's Chanel No. 5, laughing maniacally at all the white powder covering the bed, the walls, his three-year-old self, & how when his Mom opened the door to see what was going on, he said, "Uh-oh."

We all laughed & mentioned again how wonderful Joey was, how he was the most perfect little guy in the whole world, & kind all his life, even when he got into trouble.  He always had the best heart.

Joe loved the Oakland Raiders, he even had a Raiders tattoo on his arm, so Laura brought all of these silver & black balloons to release into the sky, except the first batch rose straight up into the trees & there was all this popping, & my sister & I both thought how that was sort of appropriate for Joey, but then some of the balloons broke through & rose up through the warm air.  Laura released the next group into an open space between the trees & the silver & black floated past the branches & curved up into the ideal blue sky.  Did I mention the weather was absolutely perfect?

So we all watched the balloons escape the grasping branches & make their way into the sky, & everyone applauded wildly, it was such a great moment!  We applauded the balloons for resourcefully missing the trees, but mostly we applauded Joey, because he'd been caught up on branches a lot in his life, but eventually triumphed.  He found Laura & true love & escaped the drugs & the bullshit.  That was a win.  And then he got horribly sick, but he handled every last day with grace, & finally he reluctantly floated away.

After the "service," everyone came back to my house & sat outside on chairs & steps & on the railroad tie border of the strawberry patch.  All the food disappeared, & all the Bud Lights.  People laughed & ate cake & told stories.  Friends talked of old times.  Kids walked down to the goldfish pond.  I opened wine bottles & put pies on top of the fridge.  I watched my sister with Joe's childhood friends & thought of how much she has meant to  all of them, & how much Joe meant to to all of them.

And oddly, the entire day seemed like a blessing, everyone kicking in & offering love & smiles & help & comfort.  Opening wine bottles & slicing up the tri-tip that Laura's friend brought (saving Joe's friends from my personal idea of a fine lunch meat -- tofurkey).  My nephews were wonderful.   Zach came home from the Navy to be there for his "mom."  (He now has, he says, "Minus 28 days of leave left.")

My son-in-law stayed at the house with the grandsons while we were at the cemetery, just in case someone showed up early.   His father died suddenly, age 69, in May -- it's been that kind of year -- and his mom is facing her first holiday season without her husband of 40-plus years.

My youngest daughter's boyfriend put up the Georgia Gate -- which is this portable gate we put up to keep my nine-year-old disabled granddaughter away from the dangerous kitchen, & instead all settled in the living room where she happily rips up magazines & plays with beads & throws herself back & forth across the room.

I teared-up the most watching my daughters & my niece -- Joe's sister -- all clinging together at the cemetery during the "service."  I was glad that they're so close & so there for each other, & all elegantly dressed-up & beautiful, even in their grief.

Some of us shoveled dirt over the ashes, filling in the hole.  It was a good ritual.  My sister said that after we all left --Geo & I leading a caravan to our house -- that Joe's best friend said a prayer & placed a rosary over the homemade stone.  Catholics totally know how to do this kind of stuff.

At the end of the day, after everyone had left, my sister & her boys walked down the dirt & gravel road from my house to their pickup truck. I walked along with them.  We talked about how well it all went & how we worry about Laura & hope she won't drift away from us.  I know we had this sense of relief -- we had survived the day.  We had not fallen wailing across the grave, or collapsed drunkenly onto the deck slurring curses at God.

Gracing the dirt road is a row of poplar trees, all bright vibrant yellow, all losing their leaves.  Two weeks ago the leaves were still full in the trees, only a few decorated the ground.  Now you can stomp thru all their crunchiness & make leaf noise. 

But two weeks ago we needed a miracle for Joe, & it wasn't happening, & I walked down to get the mail & was so sad & angry because it all looked so hopeless. I wondered if my shitty wavering faith was part of the problem.  I cursed my inability to rise above reality.

But the leaves were shiny gold! & just days before they'd been deep green, & it always seems like such magic!  Changing colors, just like that!  Every year!  And I thought about how really I don't know jack shit about anything, I mean, I don't know where we go exactly when we die.  I am a sure believer in God, mind you, but not so much streets of gold & harps & mansions.  I don't recall Jesus being especially fond of gold, & can't imagine Him in a mansion, either.

Still, the leaves.  Magic.  So maybe Joe's magic wasn't what we wanted it to be, maybe it was something else, & he had to go find it.  So far, he has come to my sister via a gliding hawk in a blue valley sky.  He sent a message via her pickup's engine out-of-the-blue dying at the cemetery.  I'm thinking he'll come to me, too.  

When my mom died, I got stuck with Gabby -- her ratty, aging, wheezy anti-social cat, who literally pissed-off all MY cats who, in their resentment, trashed carpets & peed on CDs, so that I ended up giving Gabby her own bedroom with her own freaking bed even.

And after a couple or three years, Gabby died.  And I was sitting with her when she died, same as I sat with Mom when SHE died.  I was sitting there petting that roughly purring cat & the very moment Gabby's soul left her body, I felt fingers gently brush thru my hair.  And as crazy & weirdly New-Age-y as it sounds, I am sure that brush-thru-my-hair was Mom stopping by to pick up Gabby & say, "Thanks for putting up with all the shit & taking care of my cat."

So -- Joey, my sweet sweet nephew -- I love you!  And I already miss you beyond words.  I am certain that one day I'll maybe be sitting under a pine tree, scraping my fingers thru the dirt & tearing pine needles into tiny pieces, & I will suddenly see you in a cloud.  Maybe a fox passing thru the moonlit yard.  A falling star.  Baby hawks.  A crow cawing from the top of a snaggled branch.

I'll know.  I'm sure.

Meanwhile -- I send kisses & hugs & love forever.  Also...please don't come back to me as a stray cat.  Seriously.  Ten cats is plenty.

I love you, Joe.