Meet My Friend June

Blush lighting filled the crowded room as sniffles were muted behind wads of tissue. I could smell the musky perfumes like a vapor that clung to our sadness. It was an olfactory reminder of mortality,  although one also of comfort somehow. Grandma was always a couple decades tastefully behind her peers in gaining any matronly or aged qualities so the old lady stench reminded me not of her, but of her friends whom I'd come to love by proxy.

Elaborate flower arrangements of an elegance she truly deserved cascaded down iron tripods that adorned an oak podium. Behind it my distant cousin preached a sterile sermon. A Sunday sermon, at my incredible hero of a Grandma's memorial. All I wanted to hear was her voice, but since I couldn't I craved stories about her life before any of us had been around. Instead of hearing my Mom or her siblings or any other loved ones cathartically grieve their loss, we endured the church service because it was what Grandma wanted. So, we listened and my sadness fell to my toes like my pantyhose kept threatening to do if I didn't intervene.

When it finally concluded, I stood and tried to be discreet about hiking up my tights and sneaking my Mom a look that reflected frustrated sadness. One of deeper magnitude stared back at me. Dad pinched the tops of my shoulders and kissed Mom's cheek in solidarity and let us know that he and my brother would be waiting in the lobby.

I vacillated between being glued to Mom's side and making my rounds to our relatives. We exchanged tearful hugs and did our best to be strong, but the truth remained that our gentle matriarch was gone. That reality hit us in waves of sobs relieved by the exhaustion only found by loss. My Grandma was a pillar of kindness and grace unlike anyone I've ever known, although my Mom reminds me of her all the time. The loss of such a great woman was intolerable at best.

As the last stragglers forced their feet out the door, I understood their reluctance.  Once they passed the threshold of the funeral parlor her death was official. I just wasn't ready to cross over to the reality without her in it so I lingered along with Mom.

We were finally getting ready to surrender to the funeral procession marching toward the cemetery holding a headstone Grandma had picked out years prior. Just as we turned to grab our coats, my paternal Great-aunt (and Grandma's very best friend since childhood) surprised us with the hugest and most broken hugs. I felt her loss like a heavy cloud as I wrapped my arms around her waist. Even at her age she was so stunning- like an untouched Hollywood star. A tear rolled down her face as she held me at arms length and said to Mom, “I know you're getting ready to go, but I wanted to introduce you to someone.” She smiled and I saw her eyes almost sparkle.

I saw her gloved hand motion someone over from behind us. I looked at Mom and then to our new guest. A woman never short on words, I assure you I was even worse as a teen. Yet I can say with certainty that in that moment I was speechless.  My skin chilled into goosebumps and my mouth fell agape as I grabbed Mom's hand too tightly.

My Great-aunt smiled politely again and put her arm around a short woman with a thick waist. The woman's glasses were outdated by twenty years and her bulky tweed dress concealed a busty figure. The elderly woman smiled at us shyly. We waved limply, now both questioning our own sanity.

“Ladies, I wanted you to meet my friend June! She's just visiting for the day but wanted to pay her respects.” I looked to my Mom just in time to see the color drain from her face. She attempted a response but found no words to express her surprise so I made a quick save. “June, so nice to meet you.” Mom managed a “Thank you for coming…”  With a slightly more saddened smile, the woman nodded and looked to my Great-aunt who told us she would see us at the cemetery once she took June home. The women turned and made their way to the door, an elegant thin frame accompanied by an older and more sturdy build, both so distinctly familiar that neither of us could deny at whom we were gazing.

I grabbed Mom's hand once again and looked at her tear swollen eyes. Shakily I asked her, “Mom, was that…” she just shook her head in shock, saying, “I don't know honey. She looked just like… and her name was…” I saw them glance back one last time before leaving, making eye contact with Mom.

I watched her witness her own Grandmother disappear into the lobby with her mother's best friend. My Great-grandma June had died when I was six. Before the funeral we had never heard of a friend of my own Grandma with that same name, and certainly not her likeness. Yet there she was plain as day and in our very presence, at her daughter's funeral.

As spooky as it may seem looking back now, there was a comfort in seeing a woman again whom our family had so dearly loved. It was the “one more time” that victims of loss always pray for. Yet it was her silence that was startling, something Great-grandma June was never in excess of. She had an amazing laugh and always a word of wisdom or encouragement to share. But that day she had nothing but a presence that felt as temporary as a rose wilting in the desert.

I was sixteen that day and although it's been as many years since, I still can't find an explanation for what happened. It seems that no matter how much we learn in this life, there are some things we just aren't meant to understand.