HER SMIRK
I Never Wanted to Go to Your Funeral
You never know what people will remember about you
I never wanted to go to your funeral. You‘re younger than me. You die second. I die first. That’s the natural order.
I’ve been looking for you all week. Everyone has been. We’ve all been searching for you like you’re a missing person. We’ve been skulking around your house and waiting for you to walk out the door.
Your death doesn’t make sense to us. You were fine. No health issues. Nothing to clue us into your departure.
Your teeth were so white. You hadn’t even started coloring your gray hair. You didn’t have gray hair. You were young. No wrinkles to complain about. Maybe the beginnings around your eyes because you laughed so much.
You were always walking everywhere, stopping and talking to everyone, always having time for a visit. The last time I saw you, you helped me pick out a bat mitzvah card even though you were Catholic. You made that face you make — like I might not be the right person for this, Amy.
You smirked.
We talked about your son being given too much homework. How you might transfer him back to public school, even though our public schools are too easy. Your mothering was fierce. Nothing taken for granted. You loved being a mother.
The other day, after you died, I was buying shoes with my son. I was texting memories back and forth with our mutual friend.
I texted, ‘Normally I hate buying shoes at Dick’s Sporting Goods. This place is hell and cash registers to me — but then she died. And I can’t believe how lucky I am to be alive and shopping for shoes with my beautiful boy — the same age as her son.’
Our mutual friend texted back, ‘Remember that smirk?’ Of course, I did. Hadn’t I just seen it a minute ago?
Your hall-of-fame smirk. Your snarky smirk. We texted the word smirk back and forth like a prayer—maybe a dozen times. You’d probably tell us we were being sacrilegious. A smirk was not a prayer.
Writing this, I can feel your smirk expand across my face. Remembering it makes you alive. I feel your smirk ringing around my ears and catching in the back of my throat. Your smirk lifts my lip closer to my nose and makes my nostrils flare.
You never know what people will remember about you. Your smirk. Would you be pleased by being remembered this way or would it make you smirk? Shake your head at us.
I never wanted to go to your funeral. I’m only going to prove you’re not there.
