You brought me the joy of apples

I hate funerals.  I guess no one likes them but I hate them so much, if we could do away with them altogether, that would be great.  Super fantastic.  Utterly amazing.

The first funeral  I ever went to was for a 3 year old child.  I walked in and saw the open casket at the other end of the room.  I became suddenly and irrationally terrified.  The concept of an open casket felt very wrong to me. I respect every family's traditions and needs but it made it hard to breathe.  I swear it took me 20 minutes to walk to his casket and peer down at him.  The only comfort I had was that it didn't look like him, so I determined it wasn't him.

There are two worst parts to any funeral: selecting what to wear and leaving the grave site.  I'm not going for style here, people.  I'm upset, I'm pissed off and I have a lot of black clothing.  And yet somehow, I find myself doing my hair and putting on make-up.  Why?  What is the point?  Leaving the grave site is awful; it's gut wrenching, knee buckling horrible.  In fact, I'm often one of the last people to leave a grave site because I feel bad leaving my friend there to be buried.  I feel like I should stay and talk you through it.  I feel like I just want to hold you one more time.

Today, 4 years ago, you left us.  I remember your father calling me, I remember sitting on my brother's front porch and I remember getting extremely wasted and walking home from the bar alone, crying.  But I remember the day you were buried even more.

It was hot and I chose a shawl.  I don't think I said a word on the drive down.  Open casket.  Fuck.  I didn't get too close to you because I didn't want to see what someone else's interpretation of you looked like.  I wanted to remember you the last time I saw you looking like you: in the bathroom, at The Red Dragon, winter 2005.  You were looking at yourself in the mirror with this gentle smile on your face.  You had been through chemo and radiation and had miraculously escaped with all your hair.  You were always so delicate and thin but goddamn you were tough.  I asked you how you were feeling.  Some of the other people we were with didn't yet know that you had cancer but I did.  You arranged your brown hair, turned to me and smiled and said, "Good."  I felt confident; if you felt good, then everything was going to be ok.  But when I think about it now, I think perhaps you knew, even then, that you weren't going to make it.

I don't know what to say about your funeral; it was hard, sad, it hurt, I sobbed, I felt empty.  But as we drove back to the city, we passed an apple orchard on 169.  To this day, we have no idea what it's called; we just know that if we get on 169 and drive south, past Jordan, we'll hit it.  We decided to turn around and get some apples.  Maybe something sweet to remind us that life isn't all bitter.

The apple orchard itself has never been visited by me; it's the store that fascinates me.  It's totally bizarre, dreamed up by some German guy circa 1940, complete with polka music.  I sometimes wonder if they have secret meetings in the basement.  One half of the store is all weird candy that you can't find anyplace else.  The rest is freshly baked apple pies, apple strudel, apple bread, apple butter, jams, salsas, and an assortment of frozen apple seasoned meats and, of course, mountains of every kind of apple you can imagine, freshly picked from the orchard.

We go there every year.  The temperature begins to dip and I spot a few yellowed leaves on the trees and I know it's time to go get some apples.  Going to The Apple Place is fun and exciting--it's like our change of seasons road trip.  I can't help but remember you on the drive--some sadness creeps in but mostly I remember all the good times we had.  I remember cutting your hair and making hashbrowns in our apartment in Olympia.  I remember going to sleep in the room we shared and always saying goodnight to each other.  I remember how proud I was when you told me you were getting your RN degree at Columbia.  But every single time we pull into that parking lot, I start to cry.  Quietly and without drama; I'm just crying because I've lost you.  I've lost you and all I have is the goddamn Apple Place and Sonic Youth and some pictures.  I cry for a few minutes and then I buy apples.  Then I return to my life, which is emptier now than it used to be.

I love you so much.  I'll never stop loving you.  I try to be a better person for you.  I hope you know that.