I DIDN’T GO TO SCHOOL THAT WEEK. As it turned out, there were all sorts of crazy things that needed to be taken care of before a funeral, especially one that no one had been expecting. It seemed like Mom and Dad were on the phone night and day, in between errands.
Dad’s biggest concern for me was what I was going to wear to Caleb’s wake. “It’s about time we get you a new suit,” he informed me during Monday night’s dinner. “I want to make sure you look decent for your brother’s funeral.” It was a weird thing for him to be obsessing on, but I was giving both Mom and Dad plenty of space. When my grandparents arrived Tuesday afternoon, even Grandma backed off Dad and didn’t give him a hard time about anything. She kept her mouth shut and focused on cleaning the house and making casseroles and pies.
It was dumping rain on Thursday night, the night of the wake, and the roads were starting to flood. Dad’s car was stuck behind a large yellow dump truck moving slowly. He was getting frustrated and cursing to himself. His neck and shoulders curled toward the windshield as he wiped the fogged glass with a handkerchief. I thought he might lose it any second. Mom sat beside him with her head resting against the window.
“I think we’re headed for low numbers tonight,” Dad finally said.
“Huh?” I wasn’t sure what he meant.
“No one goes out on a night like this,” he said. “You see many cars on the road?” He looked over his shoulder at me like I was clueless.
“Christ, Niles.” Mom sighed. “It’s a wake, not a damn football game.”
“Just figures. Your brother never could get a break, could he?”
“Does it really matter if there are ‘low numbers,’ Niles?” Mom said, making air quotes. She sighed. “You know, Niles, I was the one who said…”
Dad exploded. “Oh no, Elise. You think I haven’t thought about letting him go swimming by himself? I hope to God you’re—”
“Listen!” I yelled. “Both of you need to pull yourselves together right now. Can we try to act like a family for just one night? Especially this one!”
Neither of them responded. I could feel the heat coming off my face. Mom finally reached over and took Dad’s hand. “All I was going to say was that I was the one who said it might be better to do this earlier in the day—when people are less tired.”
Eventually Dad hit the turn signal and pulled into Kriegshauser’s funeral home. Dad parked tightly against the left side of the building facing the road, so anybody passing by would see our car. We sat there for a moment with the car running and the rain blurring the windshield. Mom began weeping.
“I’m sorry, Elise,” Dad said to her. “Sorry for a lot of things.”
“I’m sorry too, Niles.”
Dad closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and heaved out a sigh. “Are we ready?” he asked us. He looked at me in the rearview mirror for assurance.
“I suppose,” I said.
We got out of the car, opened our umbrellas, and dashed through the pouring rain, dodging puddles.
The place was empty. Dad looked at Mom, confused. Dad and I wore identical dark-gray suits that matched the weather. Mom wore a navy-blue dress I’d never seen her in before. Despite her somber expression, she looked beautiful. I spotted our reflections in the entry-hall mirror. Yep—we looked like we were going to a funeral, and it all began to feel too real.
“Seriously, Elise. What do you think?” Dad asked my mother. “Think anybody is going to show up on a night like this?”
“I don’t think you should be worrying about that, Niles,” she said.
The funeral director reviewed a few last-minute details with Mom and Dad. We walked in silence down the hallway past a chapel, a kitchen, and some closed doors, until we reached an open pair of doors leading to a large room.
Here I saw Caleb for the first time since I’d left for my track meet on Saturday. He lay in a half-open casket on the far side of the room. I wasn’t sure what to do. A loud clicking sound came from behind me, piercing the silence. I turned and saw the doors to the room closing inward. It was now just Mom, Dad, and me, alone in the room. I suppose you could say Caleb was there too.
Mom and Dad walked up to the casket first. Mom began sobbing. She put her head on Dad’s shoulders, and he put his arm around her and held her tightly, and he, too, began to cry. For several minutes they stood in front of Caleb’s coffin, gazing at him and gently whispering a conversation I couldn’t hear. For the moment they seemed together, there for each other, and that made me feel good. Eventually Mom’s head left Dad’s shoulder, and when they turned to me their faces looked drained.
It was now my turn to approach Caleb.
He was inside a traditional casket lined in white. He looked peaceful. I didn’t really know what I was supposed to do—or even think, for that matter. I felt guilty about all the times I resented him when I felt he was impossible—impossible to reason with, impossible to understand, and sometimes impossible to accept. I thought about all our ups and downs over the last few months, and I wondered about a future I would never have with him. I felt like I had to say something to him, but I didn’t have any words. So I kept it simple. I put my hand on his and whispered, “Peace, brother. God love you,” because those words always calmed him.
Then I walked to a corner of the room and started bawling. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d wept. I was shaking, and I wanted to stop, and I wanted to be alone. I thought Mom and Dad must feel the same, because each of us had retreated to a different corner.
I was staring blankly at a picture of Christ with his arms raised, thinking about all the times I had assured Caleb that God loved him, when I felt a hand touch my shoulder. It was Dad.
He turned me around and embraced me. “I keep thinking about that scene in The Lord of the Rings when King Théoden discovers his son is dead,” he whispered to me. “He says ‘No parent should have to bury their child.’ It’s not supposed to happen this way, Leo. This was not supposed to happen,” he repeated.
He lifted my chin and made me look him in the eye, making me feel like a baby. “Leo, my boy, your brother was my hero. When I think about the cards he got dealt, he continually amazed me with what he achieved, and I’m sad and I’m pissed because we’ll never see what more he had in store,” he told me as he wiped a tear from his eye. “A lot of what your brother achieved was because he admired you.”
“I’m not sure—” I began to argue, but he gripped my chin once more and redirected my eyes into his.
“I know he didn’t always make life easy for you, Leo,” he interrupted. “As a matter of fact, I know your brother could be a royal pain in the ass.”
All of a sudden I was laughing, wiping my eyes, and sniffling back tears.
“Nobody’s perfect, Leo,” Dad told me, holding me a few more seconds. “Trust me on that, son. But you made Caleb a better person, and he made you a better person. That’s what brothers are supposed to do,” he said as he let go, straightening the knot of my tie. “It’s time for us to pull ourselves together and hope some people show up.”
I took a deep breath and ran my hand across my hair.
Our family had lived in three different neighborhoods, and, surprisingly, people from all those places started filing into the room. I first greeted Mrs. Andersen and her daughter, Betsy, our babysitter when I was seven years old. I hadn’t seen them in nine years.
Mrs. Andersen walked up to me, placed her hand on my wrist, and started babbling like I’d just seen her yesterday. “I was reading the obituaries the other day and saw your brother’s picture,” she told me. “I almost fell out of my chair, Leo. I swear that whenever it snows, I look out our kitchen window and see Caleb in his little snowsuit shoveling your driveway next door.” She gripped my wrist harder and started rattling off more memories about my brother.
I looked around the room for Mom and Dad. Dad was working the floor, catching up with people I thought had fallen off the map. Mom sat with Grandma on a small sofa in the corner, and guests came to greet her there, mumbling a few words before visiting the coffin briefly to pay their respects. Grandpa was nowhere in sight. I figured he had probably slipped out back for a cigarette.
I moved toward an open space in the center of the room, where Dad met me briefly. “Were you just talking to the Andersens?” he asked.
“Yeah, that was them.”
“Christ,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Guess word travels fast,” he said. “And was that Betsy?”
“Yes.”
He glanced over my shoulder, gave her the once-over. “Well, she’s filled out nicely,” he said.
“Jesus, Dad.”
He scanned the room. “Well,” he said, “time to make a few more rounds.” He gave me a soft pat on the shoulder. “Let’s get back to work.”
I looked around the room for a familiar face. I spotted a tall man in a dark overcoat standing in the corner nearest the door. He was alone, and by the looks of him he didn’t know anyone and wasn’t quite sure what to do. I walked over and introduced myself.
“Jim Baims,” he said to me, extending his hand to me to shake.
“So you’re Mr. Baims,” I said with a small grin. “I’m Leo. Caleb’s brother.”
He looked startled. “Please,” he said, “call me Jim.” He studied my face. “So you’re Leo?” he asked me tentatively, like he was unconvinced. “I’ve had several meetings with your parents, but I don’t think we’ve met. Caleb talked about you quite a bit. Actually, Caleb used to talk a lot about your eyes.” He laughed softly. “Glad to see you still have them.”
“Yeah, I still have my eyes,” I said, laughing. “Just barely.”
Mr. Baims shifted his gaze toward the front of the room and the open casket. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re all right, Leo,” he said to me. “I always kind of imagined you as a blind kid.”
“There were a few close calls,” I said, trying to make light of it. “But I’m still mostly intact.”
I told him that Caleb used to mention his name quite a bit as well, usually when he was in a foul mood.
“I’m sorry about that, Leo,” he said.
“You don’t need to apologize. There was no rhyme or reason to it.”
Mr. Baims smiled. “Caleb and I had our run-ins,” he admitted. “We didn’t always see eye to eye about how to behave in the classroom.”
Dad acknowledged Mr. Baims from across the room just as I spotted Curtis and Mary standing in the doorway. I thanked him again for coming and went to meet them in the hall.
Curtis was wearing a black suit that certainly provided more dignity than his father’s leisure suit had. Mary wore a simple black dress. I knew it was kind of weird to be thinking about her appearance at a moment like this, but she looked amazing, and she lifted my mood. She took my hand and held it.
“How are you doing, man?” Curtis asked. He sounded concerned, even solemn, for once.
“Fine, I guess,” I told them. “I’m kind of on autopilot at the moment and haven’t really had much time to process.”
“Wow,” Curtis whispered, looking around the room in confusion. “Who are all these people?”
“Hard to explain.”
Curtis then spotted the coffin. “Whoa. You didn’t tell me it was going to be open casket.”
“Sorry, Curtis. My father meant to consult with you about it, but I think you were busy when he called.”
Curtis flinched, and I softened. “Seriously, I think it’s a Catholic thing,” I told him.
The three of us walked over to the casket and looked at Caleb. Curtis was clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t know what I think about the whole open-casket concept,” he concluded. “Would you do it?”
“I’ve never thought about it,” I told him.
His raised his eyebrows skeptically. “You haven’t? Really?”
“A hundred percent,” I told him. “Can we save this conversation for another time?”
Curtis looked around again at all the people. “One thing is for sure, Leo,” he told me. “Caleb had more friends than you.”
I smirked, then guided Mary to a corner of the room, where we could sit down for a minute. “How are you really doing?” she asked.
“What do you mean, how am I doing?” I asked her, gently nodding toward the casket. “The last time I saw him, he was so crazy with life, running and laughing. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“I don’t think it’s supposed to make sense, Leo,” she said quietly, taking my hand. “My grandpa Pete always told me, ‘We’re all just waiting in line.’ Not too upbeat, but kinda true.”
“And on that note, I think I’d better get back to work,” I told Mary, figuring it was better to keep moving. In the corner of the room, I’d just spotted Mr. Baims with Caleb’s teacher and some of his friends from school. “Dad told me I had to walk around and talk to people. C’mon. You should meet Caleb’s friends.”
The four of them were seated on two couches facing each other. Caleb had been in the same class with them for a couple of years, and I had met all of them at one time or another. Scott Brewster and Kevin McCarthy sat on one side, sunken into their seats, arms crossed, chins pressed to their chests, looking somewhat confused. Juanita and James sat opposite. Juanita Daniels was the closest thing Caleb had to a romantic interest. She wasn’t any taller than four feet and had these tiny facial features that reminded me of the little old lady from the Poltergeist movies. In terms of their relationship, I’d never heard Juanita say as much as a single word. Their connection was basically platonic, but Caleb adored her. Of the four, James and Juanita seemed the most understanding of the occasion and acknowledged me when I approached them.
James spoke first. “Your brother was quite a guy, Leo.” Juanita nodded.
“Quite a guy,” he repeated. He was Caleb’s oldest friend and I’d known him forever. He had a deep voice and had always spoken to me in a fatherly, almost patronizing way.
“Tell me what you’ll remember most about him, James,” I said. The night had been a series of brief conversations, each person telling me something kind, wonderful, and memorable about Caleb. James ended that.
“For one thing, your brother sure could get mad!” James said loudly. “Boy,” he yelled, “Caleb sure could get angry!”
“Oh, yeah,” Juanita agreed. “Caleb sure could get mad.” Scott and Kevin sat up, suddenly interested in the conversation.
“When he got mad, Miss Lee told us to get under the desks,” James continued. “Miss Lee yelled ‘Get under your desks now! Cover your head! Go get Mr. Baims!’ ”
“Really?” I laughed to myself. It wasn’t difficult for me to imagine one of my brother’s tantrums and everyone running for cover.
Mr. Baims, hearing his name, interrupted his conversation with Miss Lee and tried to redirect the group. “C’mon guys, let’s tell some of the nicer things we’ll remember about Caleb.”
James nodded at Mr. Baims’s suggestion. “Caleb was quite the baker,” he recalled.
“Oh, yeah,” Scott confirmed. He spoke softly without expression. “Quite the baker.”
“He was a good runner—even better than me,” Kevin added. “And he brought brownies on our birthdays!”
“Caleb never forgot a birthday,” Scott said.
Juanita nodded in agreement. “Caleb never forgot anything!”
They told me about Caleb’s lemon cakes, his musical tastes, and the time he pulled the fire alarm, but nobody could tell me about Monica and who put butter on her nose. She would remain a mystery.
I looked over at the casket once more where Caleb lay. Beneath his fixed expression, I could imagine his gleeful grin. “Well,” I said to them, “I guess it’s going to be a whole lot quieter in the classroom.”
“That’s for sure!” said James. “That is for sure!” Then James leaned toward me and mumbled, “I am very sad about Caleb.”
It was starting to get late. I had a conversation with a couple of my dad’s friends from the office, Caleb’s teacher, and a few more neighbors. I said good-bye to Caleb’s friends, wished them the best, and wondered if I’d ever see any of them again.
Suddenly the room emptied almost as quickly as it had filled. I walked with Mary and Curtis to the entrance. Curtis nodded at me and slipped outside, leaving Mary and me alone.
“You need anything, Leo?” she asked.
“I think we’re doing all right,” I mumbled.
“Seriously?”
“I’m not sure what I need, Mary.” I looked back down the hallway. “My brother is inside a box back in that room, and he’s going to be lowered into the ground tomorrow,” I told her. “It’s all pretty surreal at the moment. He’s gone.”
She grabbed my hand. “I keep trying to think of something more original to say than ‘I’m sorry.’ But, truly, I can’t think of anything. I’m so sorry.” Then she started crying.
“Please,” I said to her, trying not to lose it. We held each other a minute before we both pulled ourselves together. “I have to go back,” I told her. “Thanks for coming. Tell Curtis I really appreciate it.”
“We’re here,” she told me.
I nodded, then turned back inside before I finally lost it again.
The evening ended the same way it began: just my mother, my father, and me. An attendant came by again and closed the door. We looked at one another and didn’t say a word, then each of us approached the casket alone to look at Caleb one last time and say good-bye. It was strange, looking down upon my brother, his eyes softly closed, his face relaxed. I thought about the last time I saw him, finishing our run together and exchanging high fives. I reached into my pocket and took out the cross-country medal that I had won at districts in October, the race of my life. I wanted to give him a gift that meant something to both of us. Before leaving the house earlier that evening, I’d grabbed it from the shelf in our bedroom. It had been displayed beside the medals Caleb had won at the Special Olympics and half marathon. For a moment I’d thought about taking Caleb’s medals, but I’d decided I wanted to keep them. I slipped my medal into his breast pocket, patted his heart, and whispered good-bye.
After a few more minutes, we left the room and grabbed our umbrellas, preparing for the storm, but, when we stepped outside, the rain had stopped, and the sky was clear. I saw a sliver of the moon in the darkness, and there must have been a million stars above us.