A Good Day for Alice.

The morning of my funeral was quiet, albeit for the church bells that rang loudly throughout the town while a light drizzle dampened the neighborhood. The sun hung low behind the deep clouds. Cars idled slowly down the streets towards the church. The air hung thick with benevolence. Umbrellas dotted the parking lot. Dark red roses lined the walls, wafting a sweet smell throughout the damp, dark day. Roses, of all the flowers they could have chosen. I would have preferred sunflowers.

Just as expected, Grams came dressed in black, head to toe. She wore her “funeral hat” with the dotted veil over her eyes. She carried, of course, the handkerchief my grandfather had given her the day they were married. There was a small run up the leg of her stocking. She must have missed that. She would have never left the house knowing of such an atrocity.

My sister, Annie, showed up with my niece in tow, sticky and messy haired. My niece, Alice, that is. At four years old, I can only imagine the morning Annie must have had trying to get her dressed for such an occasion.

Alice had been going through a phase of refusing to let anyone help her get ready for the day. She would scream at the top of her lungs if you went near with a hairbrush. And the tantrums she would throw if you picked out her clothes! The day was ruined if she was not able to make decisions on her own. She wore red striped leggings, a bright teal sundress with a cartoon kitten on the front and navy blue moccasins. She carried a mermaid purse over her right shoulder.

Annie looked exhausted. Her eyes, swollen and red with deep, purple bags. Her cheeks were sunken in and her lips washed out with her pale, dry skin. Recently single, today was the last thing that she needed in her life. The last six months had to have been the most difficult of her entire existence.

My demise was the start of the fighting between her and Ryan, her now ex-husband. Ryan and I had always gotten along. From day one he and I were thick as thieves. He and Annie seemed as though they were meant to be. They had a picture perfect marriage. Until, I got sick.

Annie was my rock when the diagnosis hit. She went into full “mom mode” making sure that I was never alone for each doctor’s appointment, dinners, no medication ever went unfilled. Ryan, on the other hand, spiraled. Having no siblings, I was the closest he’d ever gotten. I don’t think he ever fully dealt with my inevitable end. So, in turn, he left first.

This left Annie alone, playing mom to me and sweet, little Alice. It certainly took its toll. I could see it so clearly now. My heart ached in ways I couldn’t fathom as I watched her seemingly float into the church, Alice in tow.

She wore a long, tan maxi dress with a felt panama hat. Around her neck hung the amber stone I’d gotten her while I was roaming the Med right after college. She was sallow and thin, her collar bone sticking out more than usual on her slim frame. She pulled a package of fruit snacks from a pocket in her dress and slid in next to Alice in the first pew of the church. Alice, curled up on Grams lap munched happily, oblivious to the turmoil surrounding the day. There my remaining family sat, holding hands, staring straight ahead, breathing softly.

I lingered around the church, watching people filter in. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort each and every one of them. To see so much grief, over me was overwhelming. I had lived an eccentric, beautiful life. Even when I knew the end was coming, my life was extraordinary. A life to be celebrated, not mourned.

Had I been able to choose, this is not how my funeral would have gone. After the diagnosis, six months remaining at best, Annie and I walked the botanical gardens, sipping coffee in silence. I noticed tears starting to swell in Annie’s eyes. I pulled her towards me hard and let her cry. Once the sobbing had surmised, we sat on a bench, cross-legged towards one another like we did as kids, holding hands, foreheads together.

I recall, so vividly, pleading with her to  celebrate me, not mourn me. Once I said out loud that I knew there was an expiration date, a wave of calm came over me. I had been meant for so much in this world and by God, I had lived that way. Not one day went to waste. I had seen so much, loved so much, given all of myself to every city I’d ventured through and every person I met along the way.

The tears came streaming down our faces, pooling in between us. I knew that Annie was strong but I feared that this might break her. We had been alone so long, just the two of us, I worried how she would do on her own. Granted, she wasn’t alone as she had Ryan - at the time, and sweet Alice. But, could she do this all without me? Who would be there to hold her up when things went pear shaped after I was gone? This was the only part of my life that I had any fear of leaving behind.

Once we had composed ourselves, I left specific requests for how I wanted the ending to go. I asked to be cremated, not buried. I hated the idea of bugs and dirt and just, being. I would be gone so there was no need to hold on to anything physical. Donate all that she could and send the rest of me to the flame. I wished for part of me to be spread among the wildflower fields a few towns over where I’d spent so many days writing and dreaming and the rest of me in the ocean with it’s ever changing, vast openness. I wanted to be a part of nature. I needed to be in the places that made me feel whole, especially once I was gone.

She agreed and we pinkie promised. I asked to have a ceremony for me in the wildflower field with those closest to me, those that understood me. To have flower crowns, music, bright colors and love. “Celebrate me!” I pleaded. I could not bear the thought of a stuffy, church ceremony with praying and tears. That was not me in life and I did not want it to be me in death. Grams, however, had other ideas.

My picture sat large, in a gold gilded frame at the front of the church. Annie had taken the photo after my college graduation in my beloved wildflower field. I was draped in a guazy white dress, with a low back and crocheted detail. Atop my head sat an incredible flower crown we made that morning. I had been twirling with pure abandon, ready for the adventures to come, the smile on my face beaming from ear to ear. The sun hit perfectly behind me, giving me a halo glow. The photo was pure joy, which is exactly how I had lived. Annie and I chose this picture a few months before the end, sitting in bed together, giggling over memories and sipping rose.

I gracefully ran my fingers along the gilded frame as the preacher spoke. I grazed my fingers over the urn where the remains of me sat dormant. I had picked the urn myself. It was a beautiful maple box etched with sunflowers and a gold leaf stripe around the top. It sat atop a beautiful table draped with a macrame runner surrounded by lavender, daisies and black-eyed susans. This was me. At least Annie had a say in some part of this.

I looked out over the faces, mostly family in black. I asked for colors. Oh, Grams. I was not surprised to see few friends in the church that day. Most of the closest friends I had I’d met while traveling abroad. Greece, Spain, London. It would be quite a toll to come all that way to pay your respects.

As the service ended, Annie picked up Alice, curled up asleep on Grams lap. They hugged one another tightly and made a tearful goodbye. Alice stayed asleep as Annie tucked her in the car. I had missed the entire service, the whole time watching my sister and her sweet baby. I crawled in the car next to Alice, not ready to move on just yet.

I held on tightly to her sweet, sticky little fingers as we drove. Annie played the mixed tape I’d made for her when I’d found out I was sick. All of our favorites. We used to dress up and sing karaoke until all hours of the night when we were little. We would sneak into clubs to see our favorite bands play when we were teenagers. Once, when I was in college, Annie, Ryan and I managed to sneak backstage at a The Head and The Heart concert. That was one of the best nights of our entire lives.

I watched Alice’s eyes flutter, dreaming and smiling while Annie drove, tears streaming down her face to the sounds pumping from the stereo. The car rolled to a stop at my wildflower field. There, stood my friends, all of them from home and abroad. There was a pergola draped in flowers of all colors. There was music playing and wine and dancing. There were smiles and tears, giggles and memories floating all around the majestic, open space.

Annie pulled the photo of me out of the back of her car. Carefully she removed the photo and placed it in an antique, reclaimed wood frame with the glass missing from the front. Dannie, my peace loving yogi from London came to help, taking the flowers and macrame runner from the trunk and placing it on a beautiful picnic table that had been constructed under the pergola. My urn was placed on the center of the table and my photo next to it. There were gold and silver makers placed around the table. One by one, my friends came and wrote memories of us together on the mat surrounding the picture. After each one would finish, they would all cheers and dance. Alice danced and sang around the field, enjoying the people and the cheering. My funeral was a good day for Alice.