Three is a crowd: Julie would love to attend the funeral Diane loathes to be part of

(Continued from last issue)

David and Diane have been married for years; then there is Julie, the young secretary whose axis collides with the couple’s in ways none of them saw coming.

DAVID

After Julie’s departure, I thankfully still had so many things to attend to, that I did not have the time or need to deal with Diane’s impromptu appearance.

Out of respect for her parents, I went into the house to meet them and accept their condolences, but once those formalities were out of the way, I quickly made my exit.

I worked on the arrangements for my father’s funeral with the same focus and attention to detail and efficiency as I did at my job, and while some might have thought I was rushing the conventional mourning period with my go, go, go, manner, I was simply keeping the emotional and financial toll on our family to a minimum by reducing its duration.

On a more personal note, keeping busy provided a distraction from the personal pain of my father’s passing, as well as the emotional turmoil of my marriage – and affair. In that respect, however, it only worked for a while, as my relentless drive eventually paid off, and by the time I returned to the house a little after seven, all the funeral arrangements had been taken care of, and there was simply nothing left for me to distract myself with.

The first thing I noticed was that the number of mourners had more than tripled during my absence, as it took me quite a while, even to get the car back into the compound. The tent out front was now almost full, and through the crowd, I saw that my sister had taken over from Julie and was now buzzing about through it.

She looked as exhausted as I felt, and as I made my way across to her, I felt a pang of irritation at Diane; where was she, and why wasn’t she helping? Frazzled by all that she had on her hands, my sister turned to me with visible impatience when I got to her and tapped her on the shoulder.

“What?” “I’ve got the burial program ready; look at it and see what you think,” I answered, as I passed her the printed program sheet. As she read through it, her expression softened, and her eyes filled with tears. “

This makes it all so real; he’s really gone,” she whispered sadly, and I pulled her close in a tight embrace of comfort. I don’t know how long we stood like that; it was like everyone and everything around us faded away, and it was just us, two siblings clinging to each other in shared grief that no-one else could really understand.

DIANE

After several hours of sitting in David’s parents living room, a solemn, mournful expression glued on my face, accepting the condolences of an endless line of mourners that came in to view the body and commiserate with the bereaved family, the novelty of being part of ‘the family’ wore off, and I started wondering how soon I could leave without appearing rude or out of order.

Not only was I tired and aching from sitting in the same position for so long, but the children were bored and hungry, and it was getting increasingly difficult to keep them in any semblance of order.

I had just decided that eight would be an acceptable time for me to make my exit and was privately counting down the minutes to it, when David walked in and asked everyone in the house to temporarily move to the tent out front to listen to the final burial program.

He then passed by me without so much as a ‘hello’, to help his mother to her feet, and escort her outside, leaving my parents and myself to trail behind them with the rest of the mourners. It took a few minutes for everyone to settle down in the tent, but once we had, David thanked us all for being there and then announced the burial program; there would be a funeral service at nine the next morning at the church his parents had always attended, after which the body would be taken to their home village for another overnight vigil, before the final burial service and actual burial the following afternoon.

He concluded by thanking everyone once again for standing with the family ‘during this hard time’, said dinner would be served soon, and with that, ended the brief meeting. While the crowd dispersed, some returning to the house, others moving closer to the serving station being set up, I took the chance to corner David.

“It’s getting late, and the kids and my parents are tired; so, we’re going to have to leave now,” I announced, forcing a tone of regret into my voice.

“Okay,” he nodded. “We’ll come for the church service tomorrow,” I promised. “Okay,” he nodded again, his tone emotionless, his attitude uninterested, like he could not care less whether we came or not.

I could take a hint; he did not want to talk, and this time, I was not going to push it. “See you tomorrow,” I answered softly, then turning, left to round up the children and my parents.

JULIE

After my return to the apartment, I gave in to my pain and hurt, and wound up crying myself to sleep, but when I woke up a few hours later, it was as though I had cried out all my hurt, for I felt a lot calmer.

The angst and pain I had felt when I had left David’s parents’ house was gone, and replaced with a sense of acceptance and peace. That was not to say that my feelings about what David had done had changed, for they had not; I still thought he had been wrong and unfair, but at the same time, I accepted that it had happened, I could not change it – or him, and the best course of action, was to put it behind me and carry on doing what I had been doing – being a mother, lover, site manager and home maker.

All these were spheres of my life that still needed my attention, and I could not put them on pause to mull and stew over actions and decisions David had made, no matter how unfair or unjust I thought they were.

I got up and headed straight for the kitchen. Junior had woken up at the same time I had, and was already beginning to voice his hunger, so I quickly prepared him a bowl of yoghurt and diced fruits, which I figured would keep him satisfied until his lunch was ready.

After feeding him, I set him down in his playpen in the living room and got started on cleaning the kitchen while simultaneously preparing lunch. Once those were done, it was on to other chores in the apartment; keeping busy helped give me something to focus on and stopped me from thinking about David, which is how I preferred it at the moment, especially since he had not gotten in touch, so he obviously was not thinking about me either.

He did not get in touch until late that evening, and even then, he did not bother to call, and just sent a text saying the burial program was out; they would be going to the village the next day, and he would see me when he returned.

Attached to that was the burial program, and that was it; no invitation for me to attend, no inquiry about if I wanted to, just a simple stating of facts. My response to them was of no significance.

margaretwamanga@yahoo.com

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