The next few days are a blur. No matter how many end-of-life conversations and family cry sessions prior to her death, there is no way of protecting my heart from completely and utterly shattering.
I thought I would sob, throw myself at her bed, or even scream when it was finally over. Instead, I had just looked at my mother quietly as a nurse went about turning off every machine that was connected to my mother as a lifeline. It’s mind boggling to think that these machines work to keep people alive, and once someone dies, they just get turned off like a light switch. For weeks I’d heard the beeps from the machines, giving notice of signs of life, and now I am engulfed in the silence.
Ah the silence, now that she’s gone, the silence is definitely the worst part.
Friends and family surround us during the funeral. The funeral that my mother planned herself. It sounds so morbid, but given that there was nothing we could do to save my mom, my parents did what they do best; they planned. My mother was very adamant about wanting a celebration of life versus a depressing funeral. She’d even hired a merengue band to play during the entirety of it to make sure that people were at least swaying back and forth on their feet while discussing her life.
No matter how many brightly-colored tulips or upbeat music that surrounds us, it’s still her funeral, and there are only so many times a person can hear, “Sorry for your loss,” “I’m sure she’s in a better place," and "At least we know she’s no longer in pain.”
I am aware that people are speaking to me, but I can barely look anyone in the eye. I just repeat, “Thank you for coming” on a loop and hope that after I’m bestowed with the generic pity look, I am left alone.
I find myself constantly smoothing over my long dark hair, making sure my side bangs stay tucked behind my ears and not in my face. I pick invisible lint from my conservative black dress. The only one I own that doesn’t make it obvious that I have thick thighs and a booty that doesn’t seem appropriate to make an appearance at a funeral. My usual big brown eyes are slightly puffy, even though I’ve tried to keep the crying to a minimum today, and my full lips are adorned with nude lipstick that keeps getting reapplied since I can’t seem to turn down any of the Dominican appetizers that are brought to me every few minutes by well-wishers.
Then finally, I spot them. The cousin crew. We gave ourselves that name when we were kids. We’re children of immigrants, so none of us had extended family to grow up with. And in true Hispanic fashion, it was just easier to call ourselves cousins, instead of explaining to friends who everyone was. And as I see them make their way towards me, I’m forever thankful that I have my chosen family.
The oldest are Vanessa and Luciana, or Lucy as we all call her. Their parents are the other Dominican immigrants, Dr. Ricardo Ortega and Lourdes Ortega. Vanessa is the total mama bear of the group and has always been in charge of corralling the crew during holiday parties. Which seems to come in handy now that she and her attorney wife, Abby, have adopted five siblings whose parents died in a car accident last year. Vanessa is a social worker and caught wind that these siblings would have to be separated in order to give the younger ones a chance of being adopted, leaving the teenagers to filter through various foster homes to fend for themselves.
Vanessa and Abby had already been in the agonizing process of adoption when the opportunity presented itself, and instead of adopting one kid, they ended up with five. Three boys and two girls, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.
Lucy is a pediatrician and is married to Bill, an OB/GYN. They love to joke about Bill catching babies and then tossing them to Lucy to care for. Doctor jokes are weird. Lucy’s currently pregnant with a baby girl and due any day now.
Xioana and Roselyn are the twins, and their parents are from Puerto Rico, Dr. Manuel Astacio and Isabel Astacio. I became close to them when my parents and I moved to Puerto Rico for my last two years of high school. Antonio stayed behind because he was already attending college at Fordham. It sucked to be the new girl in a new place, but the twins rallied all of their island friends to befriend me, making the experience one I remember fondly.
The twins are always fun to have around because they’re always bickering, yet can never go anywhere without the other. They’re both married, and somehow convinced their spouses to buy apartments in the same building in Brooklyn. They’re both teachers at the same school and their students absolutely love them, especially when they pull the ‘twin swap’ prank every semester.
Then there are the Cuban immigrants in the group, Dr. Francisco Mejia and Maria Mejia’s daughters, Priscilla and Danielle. Danielle is in her second year of residency at Lenox Hill and will be specializing in neurology when she’s done. She and her husband Luis are like the Cuban doctor versions of Barbie and Ken, and some of the sweetest people you will ever meet.
Unlike her antichrist sister, Priscilla.
Priscilla is your quintessentialpeaked too sooncautionary tale. Grew double d’s by the time she was a freshman in high school, and hasn’t worn a top that fully covers the upper part of her body ever since. Also, she’s a massive bitch.
For some reason, she’s derived nothing but pleasure by teasing me for as long as I can remember.
As kids, she would always exclude me from any fun games or activities, and blame it on not wanting to play with little kids. As we grew older, her favorite pastime became critiquing my outfit or makeup choices. Then in a condescending tone would loudly offer her styling services so that I could hope to leave high school with at least being asked out once.
But enough about her.
Last, but not least, is Evan Cooper. Evan isn’t an original member of the cousin crew. He joined when he was fifteen and I was ten. His mother, Maggie, was a nurse at the same hospital my dad and Dr. Ortega worked at. My dad overheard Maggie talk about how her husband had walked out on her and her teenage son, so she needed to pick up more shifts to be able to cover rent. That meant leaving Evan home alone during the holidays since they had no other family in the city, having just moved from Boston. My dad and Dr. Ricardo weren’t letting that slide, so they offered Maggie and Evan an open invitation to any and every holiday that our families hosted. They both also put in requests for Maggie to be put on their rounds, so that she would always have hours on her schedule, and a more stable paycheck.
My brother Antonio was grateful to have another guy join the group, since he was the only teenage boy of the cousin crew. After that first Thanksgiving, Antonio and Evan became best friends, which meant that I saw Evan more often than just the holidays. He was always nice to me, and even ignored Priscilla when she tried to exclude me from the group.
Which is probably one of the many reasons that Evan Cooper was my first crush. Ever. But now is not the time to rehash that string of events as he and the crew make their way towards Antonio and me.
The first to reach me while standing by the casket is Priscilla. Instinctively my guard goes up. “Amelia,” Priscilla croaks. “Wow, I don’t even know what to say. I’m sure you’ve heard it all today. We all loved your mother. You guys don’t deserve this, I’m so sorry.” She pulls me in for an embrace.
“Umm, yeah. Thank you,” is all I can muster up. Sure, this is a funeral, so I should have assumed that she wouldn’t come here guns blazing, but that’s just always been my experience with her. Feeling her act warmly towards me caught me off guard, but actually made me feel better.
Before I know it, it’s hard to keep track of who comes second or third because the ladies of the cousin crew surround me with hugs and kisses. Promises to feed me and offers to stay at their respective homes whenever I don’t want to be alone. I smile and nod sincerely, because even though we are all first-generation Americans, at that moment, they are all acting like frantic Hispanic mothers, something I no longer have.
It takes me a minute to catch my breath and welcome the lightheartedness that these women have brought me. I even giggle a few times.
Then my eyes lock with a man hovering more than a foot above any of our heads. Evan Cooper.
He closes the distance between us, never breaking eye contact with me. “Amelia,” he sighs.
“Hey Mr. Big Shot. Thanks for coming.” I offer a timid smile, and he pulls me into a hug. His right arm slides around my waist while he places his left hand behind my head, keeping my cheek pressed into his chest, right by his heart. I slide my arms inside his suit jacket and sink into his hug.
“I’m so sorry. I should have come back to the city more and visited you guys once I found out she was sick. I should have been there for you guys,” Evan laments.
