Bright Side (41 page)

(Keller)

Katie died today.

She went quietly, peacefully. No dramatic exit, which seemed appropriate since she hated to draw attention to herself. She inhaled a breath, then exhaled. That was it. The next breath never came.

It was 1:37pm. It was sunny outside. The window next to her bed was cracked open so she could smell the salt in the air off the water and feel the breeze on her face.

Gus was sitting on the left side of her bed holding her hand in both of his. I was sitting on her right side holding her other hand. Audrey was sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed with Stella on her lap. She was surrounded by those who loved her most.

When her heart monitor flatlined and beeped, the hospice nurse came in calmly and checked for a pulse. There wasn’t one. She nodded her apologies, her sympathies, and then she left us alone.

For Gus, tears came immediately. He squeezed her hand one last time, kissed her on the forehead, told her goodbye and that he loved her, and then he left. We heard the door slam a moment later, and then the sound of his truck’s tires squeal on the street as he sped off.

I continued to stroke her hair for a few more minutes, not wanting to give her up. When Stella climbed down off Audrey’s lap and crawled up into Gus’s vacated spot and said goodbye to Katie, I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. I slid off the bed and took her face in my hands, closed my eyes, kissed her lips softly one last time, and whispered in her ear, “Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for letting me love you.”

I reached across Katie and pulled Stella into my arms, wondering if I was a horrible father for letting her be here to witness this. Stella clung to me. She was calm despite the sadness hanging in the air. I walked to the chair where Audrey sat, and put a hand on her shoulder. She covered it with one of hers and squeezed. The squeeze was thank you, and devastation, and solace
all at once.

Stella and I walked down to the beach and built a giant sandcastle. It took us hours. We were covered head to toe in sand, and it was dark when we decided it was finished.

Katie would’ve loved it.

(Keller)

The funeral is today. It starts in a few minutes. I’ve been at the church with Audrey the past hour making all the last-minute preparations. Stella’s with my father, Dunc, and Shel. They all flew in last night.

The chapel is full as I walk in. It’s strange being so intimate with someone, yet looking around there are very few faces I recognize. I take a seat next to
Dunc and Stella climbs from his lap to mine. “Hi Daddy.”

“Hi baby girl. Have you been good for Uncle
Dunc this morning?”

She nods. “We walked on the beach. I found two shells.” She reaches in the pocket of her skirt and pulls out two sand dollars. “I brought them for Kate. She likes shells, right Daddy?”

I nod. “She likes shells. That was very nice, Stella.” I kiss her on top of her curly head and breathe in the sweetness that is my little girl.

I zone out for most of the service. I can’t tell you if it was long or short. I just couldn’t focus. My mind races over images and memories, and yet feels completely blank at the same time. It
’s not until the minister turns the microphone over to Audrey that I snap out of it.

She dabs her eyes with a tissue and sniffs before clearing her throat. “I’m Audrey Hawthorne. Kate lived next door to my son and me for the better part of her life. I always considered Kate and her sister Grace my own daughters. There were so many things I loved about Kate. So many things we’re all going to miss about her. We decided that, in lieu of a eulogy, we would write letters to her instead. I’d like to read them now.” Audrey takes a breath, and unfolds the first letter.

Dear Kate,

When I think of you, I still picture you as a six-year-old playing on the beach with Gus and Grace. The joy that radiated from you was tangible, physical. Everyone around you felt it.

That joy never faded as you grew up. You were absolutely delightful to be around. I am so proud of the woman you became. You were so strong, so intelligent, so talented, so loyal, so charismatic, and so beautiful.

Gus and I were truly blessed to have you in our lives and to call you family.

I’m hugging you now, can you feel it?

I love you
,

Audrey

Dearest Katherine,

I’m absolutely
certain I fell in love with you (in the most platonic sense, of course) the first time I laid eyes on you. At first I thought it was just your extraordinary fashion sense, but then you went out of your way to talk to me, to actually talk to me, and I knew, without a doubt, you were the kindest soul I’d ever met. I was at a very low point in my life when you sat down at my table that day at freshmen orientation and literally graced me with your presence. Your friendship opened up a world of possibilities I’d never imagined for myself. And your courage has proven to me time and time again that life isn’t easy for anyone. We all have to fight to make the most of the life we’re given. I’ll never forget you. You are quite simply the loveliest person, inside and out, that I will ever encounter. You are my real-life angel.

All my love,

Clayton

Dear Kate,

I miss our play dates. I miss your tickles and hugs. I miss your songs. I miss you reading to me. Miss Higgins misses you, too.

Love,

Stella

Kate,

As a band, we’ll miss your ungodly talent. Your devotion made all of us better musicians and forced us to up our game whenever you were around. You had more talent in your little finger than we all have combined. We wouldn’t be where we are now if it weren’t for you. Thank you.

As your friends, we’ll miss you. Everything about you: your tenacity, your take-no-prisoners attitude, your encouragement, and your kindness. Most of all we’ll miss your sense of humor. Nobody could make us laugh like you did. Especially if it was at Franco’s expense.

We miss you,

Jamie, Robbie, and Franco

P.S. We hope they have a Formula One track in heaven and that God puts you behind the wheel your first day, because you are going to kick everyone’s ass. Godspeed Kate.

Dear Kate
,

You taught me that it’s okay to step outside my comfort zone and do things that scare me or make me uncomfortable. It’s okay to be silly and to make mistakes. It’s okay to laugh at everything or to laugh at nothing at all.

You never knew it, but I’ve battled demons my entire life and because of you I’m facing them in therapy now. Thank you for walking through my door six months ago, dude. It’s one of the best things that ever happened to me. You changed my life.

Love,

Your dance partner

P.S. You are the
baddest badass I’ve ever met.

Katie,

It’s hard to put into words what you mean to me. I admire the way you lived your life. It inspired me. It made me fall in love with you. You challenged me like no one else ever has. You showed me what courage and bravery are. Your sincerity, open-mindedness, endless support, and love made me a better person, a better father, a better partner, a better man.

I miss you so much it hurts.

I’ll love you forever, babe.

Keller

Bright Side,

I’m not good at this shit and you know it, so I’ll keep this short and sweet. I hope you’re with Gracie right now sitting on a cloud sharing a Twix bar. I hope the sun shines every day in heaven, that the waves are always huge, and that the sunsets are spectacular. I hope they serve strong, black coffee morning, noon, and night, and veggie tacos on Tuesdays.
And I hope they have a violin made just for you and that you play it every single day. 

You told me to do epic. I try. You mastered it. You made every day epic. I’ll miss that.

I love you,

Gus

I can hear sniffs and sobs in the audience now. Audrey’s struggling to keep composure, and just when I think she’s hit the breaking point, she takes a few deep breaths. “Kate spent her last weeks in my home. She gave me this,” she holds up a sealed envelope, “and asked me to read it at the end of her service.” Her hands are trembling so bad I wonder if she’ll be able to open it. Very slowly she tears away the end of the envelope and pulls out a folded piece of paper. Her eyes run over the page and she covers her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

I want to get up and read it, to help her, but I know I won’t be able to stop the tears that are already flowing, or to swallow past the lump in my throat. The minister is standing at Audrey’s side now, a hand on her shoulder, gently urging her to hand the letter over so that he can read it aloud when someone speaks from the back of the church. “Wait.” He clears his throat as all eyes turn to watch him walk up the aisle. “I’ll read it.” It’s Gus. He disappeared after Katie died and though he
texted Audrey a few times, we haven’t seen him for two days. He wasn’t here earlier and I was afraid he was going to skip it altogether. He’s wearing a suit, but he looks like hell. Sleep hasn’t come for him yet.

He puts his arm around Audrey’s shoulders and kisses the side of her head before he takes the paper. He swallows several times and begins to read Katie’s words:

I sincerely wish we were all somewhere else today. Doing anything but this, because funerals are a downer and they suck. But since you’ve all been nice enough to gather together for me I’d like to take this opportunity to lay down some ground rules. These rules go into effect this very moment and do not expire until you do.

Number one:
Don’t cry for me. I had the most amazing life. It was worth celebrating, if I do say so myself; so when you think of me, smile, laugh, be happy. No crying.

Number two:
Live every day as if it’s your last. I know that’s cliché and you probably think I read it on a bumper sticker (come to think of it, maybe I did) but it’s true. Do it.

Number three:
Be spontaneous. Life has too many rules and restrictions and schedules. Change your plans to make room for fun. Be late every once in a while (I’m looking at you, Keller) and enjoy the moment for what it is or for what it can become.

Number four:
Don’t judge each other. We all have our own shit. Keep your eyes on yours and your nose out of everyone else’s unless you’re invited in. And when you get the invitation, help, don’t judge.

Number five:
Dance your ass off (I’m looking at you Shelly and Clayton).

Number six:
Do epic (I’m looking at you, Rook). Music makes the world a more beautiful place. Yours is epic. Continue. Every day. We love you for it.

Number seven:
Treat friends like family. Gus and Audrey blessed me with this lesson. Pass it on.

Number eight:
Let yourself love. With every fiber of your being.

Number nine:
Take time to watch the sunset every once in a while. Bonus points if you do it with someone you care about.

Number ten:
Don’t cry for me.

Remember, I’m in heaven now, and I’m watching you. Apply the rules. I’ll know if you don’t.

Don’t piss me off.

I want to thank each of you for making my life so much better than it would’ve been if I’d never met you.

Love you all. Peace out.

Bright Side

A smile is playing at Gus’s mouth. “That’s my girl.” It quickly fades to sadness. With a nod, he leaves the microphone. He ushers Audrey back down to her seat in the front row and sits beside her.

The minister finishes up with a prayer, and everyone stands to exit. This is the part I’ve been dreading more than any other. I kiss Stella’s cheek. “Baby girl, you go with Papa and Uncle
Dunc. I’ll meet you outside.”

She nods her tiny head and her curls bounce. “Where are we going?”

Blinking back tears I answer, “We’re all going to take Katie to the cemetery. That way she’ll have a special place where everyone can visit her.”

“Like Mommy?”

“Yes, just like Mommy.”

Dunc
takes Stella from me when he sees I’m about to lose it. “Come on, Stella. Let’s go outside and chase the pigeons.”

I watch Stella,
Dunc, and Shel walk past and wait for my father to follow before I stand. He stops in front of me and rests his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, son. No one should know the loss you’ve endured in your short life.”

I nod.

I close my eyes and try to clear my thoughts but all I see are those jade eyes smiling at me behind my closed lids. I want to sit here forever and look at them.

But I can’t.

Gus, Jamie, Robbie, Franco, and Clayton are all waiting on me.

No one says a word as we surround her casket. It’s lighter than I’d imagined it would be, which only makes me think about how frail and thin she was at the end. She probably only weighed seventy-five pounds. It was heartbreaking.

The walk to the hearse is short.

The drive to the cemetery is long.

The rest is a blur. I can feel the panic rising.

The minister’s still talking when I hand Stella to my father and duck out from under the tent for some fresh air. I notice yellow tulips and a Twix bar lying on Grace’s headstone next to Katie’s plot.

When I walk around the back of the tent, Gus is standing there smoking a cigarette. He doesn’t look at me but slides the pack out of his pocket and points the open end in my direction. “Want one?”

I’ve never smoked in my life, but I’m not thinking straight and I’ll try anything if it will ease the anxiety strangling me. I slip one out of the pack and take the lighter he hands me. I have no idea what I’m doing but I light it and inhale with all the nervous energy that’s coursing through me. My lungs burn and I can’t hold back the sudden, insistent cough.

“First time?” Gus asks.

I cough again. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“You should quit.” He says blandly.

I hand the lit cigarette back over. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

One last drag finishes his off. He drops it to the ground and steps on it with his shoe while he starts in on mine.

“
You
should quit,” I offer.

“I know. Bright Side always told me the same thing. I feel guilty as hell every time I smoke one now, you know. I fucking can’t give it up though. I’ve tried.” He looks at me then. “Did Ma give you your envelope?”

“Yeah.” Audrey gave me an envelope from Katie this morning. She said Katie gave her two CDs in two envelopes; one for me and one for Gus. She did this a few weeks ago and asked Audrey to give them to us today.

“You listened to yours?”

“Not yet. You?” I plan on listening to it tonight after we get back to Minneapolis and I get Stella to bed. I need quiet and privacy because I know whatever it is it’s going to tear me wide open.

“Not yet.” He sounds nervous.

The crowd is filing out of the tent to their cars.

I gesture to the tent. “Come on, let’s finish this.”