The Things I Should Have Told You. Carmel Harrington

      ‘Had he never mentioned it before to you?’ Mae asks.

      ‘No. He told me what he wanted to wear. He also told me to call Larkin’s, the funeral directors, when it was time. I just assumed it would be a burial. It never crossed my mind he’d chosen cremation.’

      Larkin said everything was under control when I rang them. Pops had even paid for everything up front and arranged every last detail himself. I’m not surprised by that. Pops always did everything in his power to make things easy for me. Even down to arranging his own funeral service.

      ‘You know, it’s weird, but I thought he was getting better, you know,’ Mae remarks. ‘This past week or so, have you noticed that he seemed, more energetic or something?’

      I had noticed it. He’d seemed stronger to me too.

      ‘He was on his laptop a lot. I thought that was a good sign. I should have copped on that he was up to something. He was organising today. Getting it all in order.’

      ‘It’s going be so quiet without him,’ Mae said.

      ‘Did you mind him being here all the time?’ I ask her. ‘I know you always said you didn’t, but it must have been difficult at times to have a father-in-law living with us.’

      Mae shook her head vehemently. ‘I loved Pops. I always knew that you and he were a package. Pops and his mini-me. I’m going to miss him so much.’

      A tear slips from Mae’s left eye and travels inch by inch down her cheek, leaving a white trail through her makeup. She wipes it away with the back of her hand and closes her eyes, to stop any further tears following.

      She looks vulnerable and soft and before I allow myself to think and stop, I walk over to her and take her in my arms. I can feel her resistance, the tension that always appears in her body whenever I get close to her lately. But I remember Pops’ advice and don’t let her go. I hold her tight and stay silent. And then, at once, I feel her body relax and she moulds into my arms. Her soft breasts press in close to my own chest and our hearts seem to beat in unison. I hear her breath quicken or maybe it’s mine?

      ‘I miss you,’ I whisper into her hair.

      ‘What?’ Mae asks.

      ‘Mam, Dad, the car’s here,’ Jamie’s voice bellows out and Mae pulls apart from me. The moment, whatever it was, is gone. But her eyes meet mine and I recognise in them something that I haven’t seen for a long time.

      Love? Or at least a recognition of the memory of a happier time. A spark of hope gives my grief blessed relief for a moment. All is not lost. I then feel crap that I’m even thinking about myself on the day of my father’s funeral.

      ‘Thank you,’ I say to her. I want to say so much more, but I don’t. I just put on my jacket.

      ‘For what?’

      ‘For being here. As long as I have you by my side, I can get through this.’

      She looks away from me and murmurs, ‘It’s time to say our goodbyes. Come on.’

      Damn it.

      ‘That was way cool,’ Jamie declares for the third time since we left the crematorium. ‘The way the coffin just disappeared behind the curtain. Pops would have loved that.’

      ‘It was creepy. If I die, please bury me,’ Mae replies, shuddering.

      We are driving home to Wexford. To say it’s been a rough few hours is an understatement, but somehow or other we’ve gotten through two services. The first one was the funeral mass in Wexford. It was a packed church of family and friends, who were all there to say goodbye to a good man, who lived a good life. Then the second service in the crematorium was for just us family. Exactly as Pops requested.

      I watched Mae and the children go through so many emotions during those two different ceremonies. I saw sorrow, heartache, desolation, anger and loneliness. I recognised each of them because it is how I felt too. But now, in our car, driving home, the energy has changed. Now there is an air of frivolity amongst us. I recognise it for what it is. It’s often the way when things are this serious, giddiness sets in at some point because the mind cannot take any more. It happened at Mam’s funeral. Pops and I had said goodbye to the last well-wisher and then Pops farted. A loud, rasping, wet fart. I giggled. And then I felt horrendous. I expected to get a clout across my ear from him for that. But he giggled too. Soon the two of us were making wet, loud, fart noises under our arms, through our mouths, any way we could. We put on a good old comedy act for twenty minutes or so, till we cried with laughter.

      I realise now that it would not take much to set us all off. We all need a few hours respite before we face going home to a house that doesn’t have our beloved Pops in it any more. So we begin bantering away about death as if we hadn’t a care in the world. We could have been discussing the weather, such is our ease.

      ‘If I die, you can burn me,’ Jamie states. ‘And I want a super-cool urn for my ashes.’

      ‘You know, the largest urn in the world is in Tustin, USA,’ Evie says.

      ‘How big?’ Jamie asks.

      ‘It’s sixteen feet tall,’ Evie tells him.

      ‘Cool. Was it for a giant? Or a troll? I bet it was a giant,’ Jamie says in wonder.

      ‘Oh, without doubt a giant,’ Mae says with a smile.

      ‘You can get urns made in the likeness of people’s heads you know,’ Evie adds.

      ‘What?’ Mae shrieks. ‘That’s macabre.’

      ‘It’s true, Mam. I saw one of Barack Obama once on Facebook,’ Evie says.

      ‘Who the hell would want their ashes stored in a president’s head?’ Mae responds, looking mystified.

      ‘There’s a lot of crazy in this world,’ I chip in.

      ‘When I die, can I have an urn made into a spaceship?’ Jamie asks. ‘Or maybe one like Darth Vader? Pops would love that, you know. He loves Star Wars.’

      ‘He was more of an Obi-Wan Kenobi fan than Darth Vader,’ I murmur. ‘But, yes, he loved Stars Wars.’

      And for a moment I allow myself a daydream where Pops can come back and talk to me in spirit like Obi-Wan could in the movies.

      ‘That would be cool,’ I whisper.

      ‘Less of the talk of dying please,’ Mae remarks.

      ‘Okay, but Mam, I’m not joking here. I will die if we don’t get some food into my body. I’m starving,’ Jamie complains and then, with perfect timing, his stomach lets a loud grumble out.

      I look in the rear-view mirror and seeing the children smile makes my throat tighten. It’s been a tough few days. Damn it, a tough few months. Smiles have been few and far between. I shake my head to stop further tears coming.

      ‘I could eat something too,’ Mae says. ‘What do you think, Olly? Can we stop or do you want to get home? It’s been a rough day, so don’t worry if you want to just keep going.’

      I peek in the rear-view mirror and Jamie is pretending to faint. Evie throws her eyes up to heaven, but I can see a hint of a smile on her face. Then I spy the golden archway ahead and a decision is easily made for us. We are an unlikely looking bunch queuing for our fast-food fix. Mae in her black trouser suit, Evie and Jamie wearing a mixture of dull greys and black and me in my good suit, with a black mourning tie. I loosen the knot and pull it off, stuffing it into my inside jacket pocket.

      ‘That makes all the difference,’ Mae teases.

      With our food piled high on red trays, we sit down. Evie and Mae with their McChicken Sandwich meals, me with my Big Mac and Jamie with his Happy Meal.

      Jamie pulls open his cardboard box of happiness and rummages for the plastic bag, eager to find out what the toy is this time.