First and Last

I hadn't been to many funerals. By the time I was twenty years old, I had been lucky enough to have lost only three people close to me. But today I found myself at a fourth funeral, and it would prove to be quite different from any I had been to before.

I wasn't invited. My own grandfather, and I did not receive and invitation for his funeral. Then again, I had never met him.

I walked into the funeral parlor, briefly glancing at the casket placed at the front of the room. As I entered, a woman about my age clasped my hand suddenly. "Thank you for coming," she said somberly.

She had no idea who I was. I was sure of this, because I knew there was only one person here who would recognize me. My uncle John. I picked him out immediately and headed across the room to speak with him.

He turned and saw me, looking mildly surprised. "Sue! You came," he said, embracing me. "Does your mother know you're here?" he asked quietly.

"No," I said simply.

He paused, looking momentarily troubled. "Well, you're twenty now. It's your business. You're old enough." It seemed as if he were saying this to himself more than to me.

"Do you know anyone here?" I asked him, changing the subject.

"Just my dad," he said, his eyes flicking towards the casket.

I wondered what it was like for John. The only contact he had with his father was one letter a year. Was that truly something to be missed? Than again, I had even less than that, and I had come to the funeral.

Next to me my uncle sighed. "You know, I haven't seen him since a little after you were born," he commented. He glanced at me, looking thoughtful. I wondered what he was thinking of telling me. "Come on," he said. He led me across the room to a set of doors that exited into a courtyard. He sat down on a bench and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, taking one for himself before offering me one. I accepted.

"What did your mother tell you?" he asked, lighting his cigarette.

"Not much," I replied, leaning forward as he held up a lighter to my cigarette.

He looked thoughtful again, taking a long drag. "I figured 'not much'. But what did she tell you?"

I twirled my cigarette between my index and middle finger, trying to remember exactly what she had said. "Well, he won't...wouldn't... talk to her, me, or grandma. He only wrote letters to you, and that was once a year. He stopped writing her after I was born," I said.

"Did she tell you why?"

I shrugged. "Not really. All she said was he got remarried and didn't want anything to do with us." As I said this, I felt the bitterness creep into my voice.

"It's because of my brother."

I looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "What does Paul have to do with it?"

"Well, let's just say my father had high hopes for his firstborn."

I looked at the ground, the untouched cigarette still twirling in my fingers. "So that's it? Paul was convicted and that was that?"

"It was the start."

"The start?" I repeated.

He took another drag, pausing again. But now he was merely figuring out how to explain it. Apparently he had decided I had the rights to any answers he could give me. "Dad was kinda paranoid after that. Your mom and I couldn't live up to what he'd wanted Paul to be. Whenever we screwed up he'd just ask us if we wanted to end up like Paul." He sighed, apparently still troubled by this.

I looked at him, waiting for him continue.

"In the end, I guess we just reminded him too much of Paul," John said at length.

I put my cigarette to my lips, taking it all in. I sighed heavily and the smoke swirled in front of me. "So why won't he talk to Mom?" I asked.

"I don't quite know. I'd guess... I'd guess that she wanted him to come see you more, and when he wouldn't..." He shrugged. "Your mother doesn't like to talk about these things." They way he said it made me think she had given John the same silent treatment as she had given me. John stood and snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray next to the bench. "I'm going back in."

I nodded, still contemplating what I'd heard. I felt a bit relieved to finally know what my mother had been hiding from me all these years, but somehow, it didn't make me feel a whole lot better. I wish someone had thought to tell me all this when my grandfather was alive. For all the good such knowledge would have done me. Maybe it wouldn't bother me so much if my father's father didn't live on the other side of the world. How ironic. The one who could see me won't, and the one who'd want to see me can't. Why on earth would it turn out like that?

I shivered as the cold winter air began to penetrate my jacket. I shoved my cigarette in the ashtray and headed inside as well. From the other side of the room, I glanced at the casket again, wondering what I was supposed to feel. Grief for the grandfather who refused to know me?

I felt a surge of anger well up inside me. I wanted to spite him. I wanted to prove I was someone worth knowing. I was the first of my family to attend a university, I already had an internship, and I wasn't worth knowing? I wasn't Paul. I was about as far from Paul as one could be. Surely he knew that? Surely somebody had thought to tell my grandfather of my success? If they had, it had apparently fallen on deaf ears.

I sighed, feeling incredibly tempted to go back outside for another smoke. Not for the first time I wondered why I was even here. I looked around the room. Some people stood in groups, while some drifted from one group to another. Some were chatting happily with friends or relatives they had not seen in years. Others were grieving, crying onto the shoulder of whoever would listen to their woes.

I wondered what my grandfather had been like. Clearly he hadn't treated everyone as he had treated my family. Or maybe he had, but nobody had the nerve to mention it at his funeral. Maybe, on the inside, everyone else was just as ticked at him as I was.

As I thought this, I saw the woman who had clasped my hand earlier. She was sobbing pathetically onto the shoulder of a man about her age. Her husband perhaps. Possibly brother, I mused, but I couldn't see any familial resemblance. I turned away, feeling rude for staring at her.

Somehow I doubted that anyone else here had a grudge against my grandfather. Maybe abandoning my family was really the only mistake he'd made. Maybe he had been a kind, devoted, loving father and grandfather for his new family. Maybe he had regretted what he had done to my family. Maybe he wanted to make amends, but just didn't know how to approach us.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. So many maybes, and I'd never know the truth. But that didn't mean I could forgive him. All I knew for sure was that he abandoned us. Even if he had wanted to make amends, he never had. And frankly, I didn't really care how much his other family loved him. That didn't change what he did to my family, and I didn't care how selfish that mentality was.

Soon enough people began to take their seats for the speeches. I sat near the back, trying to remain discrete. After all, I wasn't invited. I knew that if someone questioned me I could easily make something up. It was a funeral; I wasn't going to be interrogated.

I sat, listening to the speeches in quiet contemplation. First a co-worker, or rather, former co-worker, since they had both retired years ago. Next somebody from his church. I listened to the speeches, vaguely hoping for some mention of my grandfather's real family- my family- and how he regretted leaving them. Or even just that he mentioned us at some point... That would have been enough. But they said nothing about us. Well, what had I expected? The third speech, I was mildly surprised to note, was given by the woman who had... "greeted" me upon my arrival.

"Michael Evens was just like a grandfather to me," she began. "My grandmother was widowed before I was born and was remarried when I was one. He's always been there for me. I remember when I was a child, my parents were always working, so I'd go to my grandparent's place after school. Grandpa Mike would always help me with my homework. I was never good at math, but even in high school he'd sit down with me and help." She paused, laughing a bit. "Usually he had to read the chapter and teach himself the lesson before he could help me, but without that... I don't know if I'dve gotten as far as I have. He was always there for me and I owe him so much," she said, her voice cracking.

Her speech was the last, and I listened to her stories of my grandfather. Her grandfather. A loving, devoted grandfather the likes of which I'd never had in my life. I was happy for her and jealous of her at the same time, but I guess that's how it usually goes. After her speech, the casket was carried outside to the hearse where it would be taken to the cemetery. I had seen enough of the funeral. I caught John's eye and jerked my head towards the door, silently informing him of my early exit. He nodded at me from across the room.

I tried to tell myself that Margaret- I had overheard her name on the way out- had probably needed "Grandpa Mike" in her life more than I had needed him in mine. And maybe she had. Again with the maybes. It seemed for every question answered, there were two more behind it. I suppose it was better than only knowing as little as I did before coming here. I guess I'd hoped that someone would tell me something that would make me feel less upset at my grandfather. Nothing could change the fact that I'd never met him, and that was probably something I would always regret. I just wished things could have been different.

But they weren't. They'd never be different, he was gone, gone forever. Nothing would ever change that. I had no business here; we'd both lost our chance at meeting each other. I don't know what I hoped to accomplish by crashing his funeral. I should have just waited and asked uncle John about it all another day. He would have told me then; it never needed to be here.

Would have, could have, should have. Everyone has regrets. Everyone has something in their past they wish they could change. Some people say they don't, but that's a load. There's always something, even if it's only a small thing, like wishing you had phrased something differently so that you hadn't come across as such an ass. But if that's all you had to regret in life, I guess that'd make you lucky. Really lucky.

I walked through the parking lot towards my car, parked deliberately away from the cars participating in the procession. I had never intended to go to the graveyard. After all, I was pushing my luck just coming to the funeral home.

Maybe in my grandfather's case, he regretted not spending more time with his real family. Maybe he died wishing he had met his biological granddaughter.

Or maybe he never spared us a thought, never gave a damn.

"Maybe."