Chapter 20: Going Home

The next morning will be remembered as one of the saddest days of my life. I came awake slowly, still groggy from sleep and fatigued by the trip and my father's condition. Mom shuffled slowly into the room, holding a hanky to her face.

Her voice cracked as she said, "He's gone."

I jumped out of bed and went to hold her, and started crying with her. Crying is exhausting work, and I wondered when this crap was going to end. I had never felt so tired, ever.

Mom made two phone calls after she got dressed; I made coffee and listened to the end of the second one.

"That's right, this morning."

"I'll expect you then," she said, and hung up the phone.

She glanced at me and said, "The coroner will be by in an hour to pick him up."

Her eyes were dry and she had a very determined look on her face. She sipped some coffee and lowered her head, bringing something up from her emotional depths to make it through the next few days.

I had no such power, and I was crying as I stammered, "Are we ... is he just going to lie there? Isn't there something we should be doing?"

Mom lifted her head and looked me in the eye. "I've thought about this moment for over a year; Jack planned his funeral beforehand. All I did was set things in motion."

"What's going to happen when they take him ... wherever?"

"The coroner will pick him up and issue a death certificate. His body will be picked up by the funeral home as soon as the coroner releases it, which should be almost immediately. I have his dress uniform already laid out, and he'll be buried in the Veteran's Cemetery here in Phoenix. Actually, I think it's in Mesa, but I know where it is."

"Do you know how ... what happened?" I couldn't allow the word 'die' to pass my lips.

"I think he willed it," Mom said. "For the last two months, that's all he talked about. If you hadn't called when you did, I would have called you. He waited to see you and tell you goodbye, then he went to the bedroom and willed himself to die."

"That's so sad," I said.

"No, honey, it's not. It's what he wanted the most, and he hung on through sheer will until you came."

My feelings were a torrent of conflicting emotions. I was happy I got to see him, and sad he was dead. I was going to miss him very much.

I went out to the back yard when the coroner arrived. I was still crying — Jesus, would it ever end? — and I just could not watch somebody handle my father like a piece of meat.

I found some solace in the fact that my father didn't inhabit that body anymore; he was gone wherever souls go when they leave their earthly vessel. I hoped he liked his companions.

Last night he'd said that no one truly dies until the last person that knew them also dies. If someone's name is still spoken by those who knew him, he isn't really gone. I hoped that was true, and that his beliefs came to pass. He was a gentle soul who loved me, and I loved him back. I prayed the Goddess would treat him with respect.

For the next two days, the phone rang off the wall. Visitors came and went bringing condolences and food, we went to the mall to buy me a black dress — one of the few things I hadn't packed — and through it all, Mom remained unfazed until the last person of the day had gone.

She'd lean on me sometimes, or smile when I touched her face or kissed her cheek. She seemed to find comfort in the fact of my presence. I was alternating between being calm, aloof and absolutely devastated. I'd start crying for no reason at all, and several times I laughed like an idiot laughs at unfunny jokes.

I called home and told Charli what had happened. She offered to fly down to be with me, but I talked her out of it. Lisbeth sniffled on the phone, and I felt sorry for her. I called Roberta and got a few more vacation days added to my trip; when I explained why, she told me to take what I needed and not to worry.

The funeral was a fitting tribute to my father; the non-denominational chapel at the cemetery was packed with people I didn't know. Eight men in uniform spoke of him in fond and glowing terms, and the Chaplain gave a beautiful sermon. At the graveside, I nearly jumped out of my skin when the rifle salutes went off. When that was over, the six military pallbearers folded the flag on the coffin into a triangle and gave it to my mother. All but one had tears in his eyes.

Mom drove home carefully and slowly, her eyes dry. I sat near her, sniffling every once in a while. When we got inside the house, Mom put the flag on the mantel and opened some of the food containers people had brought. Within minutes, people started arriving to give their condolences. I made several pots of coffee and kept bringing different things out to the table. Mom talked to each person for a minute or two, and then turned to the next.

It was almost sundown by the time the house was empty. Mom and I sat on the couch drinking beer with our shoes off and our tired feet up on the coffee table.

She asked, "How do you feel?"

"Numb," I replied.

"Me too," she said. "I've been told that it goes away after a while."

"I hope so."

"You hungry?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Me neither. Wanna go lie down?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You lead, I'll follow."

We undressed next to each other in complete silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I repressed the little tingle I felt in my groin. We usually slept holding each other, and I'd only worn my T the first night; her breasts were very soft and warm against mine. I had my right leg between hers about knee level; she'd pulled it there as we lay down. My right arm was resting on her side just above her waist, and hers was under me at about armpit level. Her left arm was lying on her thigh, palm almost flat, and my left arm was under my pillow.

My eyes fluttered open when she spoke softly. "I've dreamed of this often."

"What?" I mumbled.

"Being with you, touching you."

"Feel free," I whispered. "I love you." She was my mother, and I would deny her nothing. If touching me would help her heal, I'd welcome it always. I felt a tiny bit guilty, because I had lied to her when she'd asked if I ever thought of her sexually. My mother was a sensual woman. My heart thumped as I thought she might no longer be off limits to me.

I felt her shift, and a hand — it had to be her left one — caressed my ribcage, just below my breast. In little up and down movements, her fingers crept closer to my armpit, then drifted lightly around it and over my shoulder to my neck. There was a light touch, and the hand tapped its way down my chest to my breast. Her hand slowly closed around my flesh and gave it a gentle squeeze. My nipple tightened and became stiff under her palm.

I was tired, but not asleep. Her touch was soothing and warm; I relaxed completely. She released my breast and smoothed her palm back over my ribcage and down to my hip; I let my hand drift down to hers. We snuggled a little closer, and I could feel her pubic hair against my thigh. She leaned over and kissed me, a light touch of lips that lingered. When it ended, I initiated one of my own. Our noses were a few inches apart, and I could smell the whiskey she'd been drinking. I knew she wasn't drunk, and neither was I. One cheek of my bottom was cradled and squeezed; I moved my hand down a few inches and returned it.

"I love you so," she said.

I kissed her softly and said, "Show me."

She pulled me close and rolled so I was on top of her, then put her hands on my butt and kissed me. Her mouth was slightly open but she didn't use her tongue. My leg was still between hers, and I felt her hips start moving. Very slowly, the movements got firmer and more noticeable. I shifted a little to bring my clit into play against her body.

Her hips slowed the tempo and she asked, "Will you make love with me?"

Her voice trembled as she asked, probably in fear of being denied — I had experienced fear of that type — and I kissed her in answer. It was gentle, but I used my tongue and lips almost forcefully, trying to get her to react.

Within seconds her hips were pressing against me in a rapid rhythm, and I felt my thigh getting damp. I smelled her arousal, that wonderful musky scent, and kissed her once more. She held me close and uttered a stuttering cry, her 'a-a-a-a-a-a-ahhhh' of impending release. I began moving my hips in counterpoint, grinding my clit against her and pressing my thigh deep between her legs.

In less than a minute, she tensed and stopped me from moving, pushing her vagina against my leg with all her might. (I couldn't think of it as her pussy; I just couldn't.) Her eyes opened wide and she gave a short but very loud shriek, then the shaking started. That was enough to make me go over the edge, and I came with her. It wasn't a great big one, but I was happy.

A few moments later, we were lying side-by-side, holding hands. She rolled to face me and kissed me, a light little peck on the lips. I kissed her and used my tongue tip to graze the inside of her upper lip. The kiss became more passionate until we broke apart, breathless.