Grams’ funeral was two days later, on a school night, at the Harrington Funeral Home on Riley Street. It was Tuesday when I said my final goodbyes and fled to the restroom to cry all alone behind a stall door.
I stayed inside the restroom for as long as I could, away from the eyes of family and friends and people I had never met before in my eighteen years.
People I didn’t know paid their respects, even Linda, my Grams’ caretaker. When I emerged from the restroom, eventually having to succumb to a flood of old men eager to take a leak, I had to make an appearance and make small talk with people who wanted to discuss the loving woman who had been my Grams.
Linda was one of those people. She actually looked normal, I thought, wearing makeup and perfume and civilian clothing, a long black
