The dialogue I had with my mom, when I got home:

– Don’t you cry. I had told you that you were not allowed, she said.

– How are you?

– I don’t even know. Now there’s no one to argue with. He died like a fool. He lived like one…

– Stop saying bad things like that! I feel awful, I said.

– There is really no reason why you should feel that way. He wanted this.

– Do you know for sure? We had both suspected that it was a suicidal, but I did not know if that was official.

– That’s what I feel. And it’s pretty sure, the amount of empty medicine bottles lying around.

– But why now?

– Only he knows. His body was giving in. He could not drink anymore. He was alone, with no one to torment. Nobody can know for sure.

– Have you called his mom?

– That old lady that was his neighbor did. She’s coming tomorrow.

– Did you also call his colleagues?

– No need. Everyone should know what he did by now.

I made a mental note to call the ones I know and let them know of the funeral, when I was out of mom’s earshot. She believes everything works out by itself, I am a bit more practical.

– Tomorrow morning I am waking you up early to come with me. We need to pick up his body from Ploiesti after the autopsy. If that old hag had not called the cops, we would not have had to visit the Medico-legal Institute. After that, we’ll leave him in the chapel for two nights.

– Since you believe in signs, I said. Last week a drunkard fell on the pavement next to me. I passed him by. And the thought went through my head, that I was not doing more for my own father.

– Get real. A drunk will never quit. There’s nothing you can do. They don’t quit until they die.

– But I haven’t even really tried to help him.

– What do you mean? We both stood by him for so many years. This is better for him.

The dream I had before the funeral: I dreamt that I was in the garden of an abandoned house and I went through a mirror, into another yard, bordered by a wooden fence. A lot of people were sitting around a big table. Some of them looked like my dad’s relatives. His younger brother, also dead, got up and closed the gate. He yelled at the sky:

– Where are you, Georgey, to scold me for not closing the gate?

Someone sighed. It was my father, but younger, like he looked like in his wedding photos.

– They cannot see me, only you can. Let’s go for a walk, he said, and he showed me a path through the trees, going uphill. It looked like the path going up to a monastery that I visited, whose name or location I cannot remember. I cannot recall what we discussed, only that he said he was sorry. As we were going forward, he looked more and more like the photo from his Bachelor’s, then like the one on his high school’s diploma. My hands were getting more and more wrinkly. The last time I looked at him, he had become a rather ugly child, some 7 years’ old. I told him he should not regret anything, he should sit there a while and grow up. I wanted to hug him. That’s when I suddenly woke up. It felt like I was on the ceiling and fell back into my own body. I turned on the lights. My mom was sure I was going to cry.

Before the funeral, I decided to buy him a hat. It did not matter to me that he could not stand hats. I did not want the scars from the autopsy to show on his now bald head. I caressed the only tuft of hair that the doctor had left and I put it on his head. It was too small, which made me cry. My godfather put it on his chest and said:

– Look at that, Georgy, what a fancy hat she got you. You ain’t ever seen something this cool.

He made me laugh, then I felt bad for seeming to enjoy myself. It is not becoming for someone who loved their father to laugh at their funeral.

Dad’s relatives preoccupations, before the funeral: My grandma remembered dad’s younger brother, who had died some 3 years’ before. She told me to call his daughter, now that we are both left without fathers. My mother is shocked that, even at my dad’s funeral, she still speaks about her other child. My godfather pulled me to the side:

– Be careful, you, do not let your mom sell out the apartment for nothing. And be a smart girl, for she will put the money in holes the banks made and there will be nothing left. I am telling you as if you were my own daughter, you take them and hold on to them.

Out of dad’s relatives, his kid brother was the only one crying. His son had comforted me earlier on:

– You have to think that where he is now he will be able to better watch over you. I tried to answer in all seriousness, although it seems funny to me that he was younger than me and speaking like old people do. His mom also died the year before. He told me that he visited her grave. Last time, he went there to introduce his new girlfriend.

The people that were there: The colleagues I had called with their wives, other colleagues I do not know. My mom and grandma under the same umbrella – an unusual sight. My grandma was crying her eyes out, leaning on my mom. I was leaning on my friend since first grade – Diana, because my boyfriend could not be there. He had plans to go to the pool. He would soon become my ex. My aunt was the only one paying attention to the priest, ready to jump if anything was needed. A woman that’s covered in gold jewelry also showed up. She was crying harder than anyone else. I did not know her. My mom told me she’s a friend of hers who went through a bad divorce. My father had introduced her to her current fiancé. When she raised her hand to wipe her tears, her bracelets jangled. Some fell below her elbow and she needed to drag it back. Another friend of mine that I went to school with could not come, but she sent her parents. They were waiting for us outside the cemetery. Her mom hugged me very tightly and she examined my face. Some (former?) colleagues of my father wanted to leave. I stopped them, to give them the packages I was supposed to hand out. I made them promise they would eat the food inside and not let it go to waste. I was looking at everyone coming in and out of the cemetery. I was fearful my father’s ex-wife might come. Even though she divorced my dad before he met my mom and they do not even know each other, my mom and her cannot stand each other. Among those who came in, I recognized an ex high school mate. She stopped and asked Diana what happened. When she heard about it, she started crying. She said, among the sobbing, that this was the hardest thing. I held her hand, not knowing what to say. Diana later explained to me that she never met her father.

After all was said and done, my mom, my aunt and I were the only ones still left at the cemetery.

– You idiot, my mom let out a shout.

– Be careful mom, lest someone hears you. They might think you actually cared about him.

My aunt laughed at that. I also smiled.

^ Drawing by Bogdan Purcareata.