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The rabbi recited theAl mekomah tavo veshalomin Hebrew over my mother’s grave.

I didn’t understand a word, but his tone sent chills through me. Even in a foreign language, the sounds of a life having ended were loud and clear. I was never comfortable at funerals, not that anyone was, but normally I would come late and hide in the back. Today, there was no hiding from my mother’s cold metal casket. Next to it was a picture of her from Gia’s middle school graduation. She looked beautiful, relaxed, and suntanned. Dad was still able to walk then, and they had flown in the night before from one of their cruises.

After the prayer was over, one by one our family and friends threw dirt on her grave. The ritual was supposed to be healing, but when it was my turn, it felt as though I was trying to bury my feelings with her. I had only thrown the tiniest bit of dirt, but I was worn out, as if I’d buried her entire casket alone.

I hated talking at these things, but Jerry had spoken inside at the service, so it was my turn. I owed it to all the people who showed up, and to my mother.

“Thank you all for coming today. My mother would’ve loved this turnout. I’ve thought a lot about her life, which ended far too early. She was a successful person, but if I’d said that to her, she would not have agreed. She didn’t think anything she did was important or worth mentioning, but if she wanted to do something, she never did it halfway, whether that was learning at seventy to drive a stick shift or finding the perfect dress.” A few people chuckled the way people do at funerals. Not a hardy guffaw, a quieter knowing laugh. “Before my mom met my dad, she was a flight attendant, and for three years she traveled the world, until my father took one of her flights. He fell in love with her when she woke him up to put his tray back for landing. I know this because she told me, repeatedly, and they were still in love until the day she died.”

My father was staring through me. Two days earlier, Jerry and I told him what had happened to Mom. Dad didn’t say a word, but the tears streamed down his face. Now he was staring blankly, and I didn’t think he knew where he was or why. I envied him.

I went on to talk about my mom’s life and what a good friend she had been to so many people and how my father, brother, and I would miss her. After I finished, I placed a rose in the dirt on top of her casket. Friends and family began to move away from the gravesite. I stayed put. I leaned down and spoke quietly. “Mom, how could you leave before I could really get to know you? Our relationship wasn’t easy, but I had hope that we would find each other and connect in a way we hadn’t before. That hope is gone. You loved Gia with all your heart and were an amazing grandmother. I wish you had accepted me the way you accepted her. Without judgment. I will do my best to take care of Dad. We’ll all miss you, and I’m sorry if I took you for granted. I thought you’d always be there to change my hairstyle, to rearrange my cabinets, and to give me your recipe for roast chicken. I’ll miss each of those things every day.”

I collapsed into a folding chair. Some of my high school and college friends came over and expressed their support, which I couldn’t take in right now. Ellen and Sam came over to see how I was, and we ended up crushed together in this uncomfortable group hug. The two of them left quickly, the way everyone does after a funeral is over. We’re all trying to outrun death.

“This sucks,” Jerry said, sitting down beside me. It was the first time we’d agreed on anything.

“What’s going to happen to Dad now that she’s gone?” I asked.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said.

“What do you mean,you’llfigure it out?”

“Mom made me the executor of her will and gave me instructions on what she wanted if anything happened to her. I’ll be making the decisions about Dad’s care,” he said.

“Why did she pick you? I’m the oldest.”

“She didn’t think you’d be able to make the hard decisions that we were going to be facing. She thought you’d be burdened with guilt.”

“I would’ve done anything he needed, even if it was hard.”

“I know, but Mom wanted to make things easier for you. We’re also going to have to put her house on the market.”

“I don’t want to sell the house.”

“Dad’s never going to live there again, and his care is expensive.” I didn’t think I could take one more thing, and then Jerry handed me a sealed, padded envelope. “Mom wanted you to have this if something ever happened to her,” he said.

I took the envelope but didn’t open it. Maybe I was in shock, or maybe I’d never feel anything again. My legs were unsteady, and I was numb. I needed to get away from everyone. “Can you drive Dad and the nurse back to Brooklawn?” I asked him. People were coming back to my house after the funeral, but I didn’t think Dad needed to be there, considering he no longer remembered any of them anyway. Jerry helped the nurse get Dad in the car, and they left.

The only people still at the gravesite were Jim and Gia and two men standing thirty feet away next to a backhoe, talking quietly. They were subtly looking at us, waiting to finish burying my mom’s casket. I didn’t want them to cover her up, because then she’d really be gone. Both my parents had disappeared, even though only one of them was deceased. How was I going to survive?

“I can’t believe Grandma’s dead,” Gia said, tearing up. “I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost you or Dad.”

My heart broke, and I tried to assure her that we weren’t going anywhere, but who knew what life was going to throw at us? When she stopped crying, I asked Jim to take her home. I had my own car because I’d driven Dad and his nurse to the funeral. I didn’t want Gia around him in case he had a hallucination or yelled at her. It was hard to know what he was going to do anymore.

I opened the car door and tossed the envelope that Jerry had given me on the floor of the passenger seat. I was relieved to be alone. When I pulled out of the gates of the cemetery, I needed to turn right to go home. Instead I turned left, and in twenty minutes I was standing at the door to his apartment.This is a bad idea. I’m a terrible person. I can’t do this.

Michael opened the door. “What’re you doing here? Isn’t today your mother’s funeral?”

I didn’t answer. I just took his head in my hands and kissed him. Not the kiss of seeing a friend, but a passionate, not-holding-back kind of kiss. He pulled me into his apartment and shut the door. I didn’t want to think about my mother, my father, my marriage, anything. We fumbled our way to his couch, and my hands moved to his chest. Michael pulled away, breathing heavily.

“Are you drunk?” he asked. I didn’t want him to question this. I just wanted it to happen. I pulled his shirt over his head and felt the tautness of his pectoral muscles. “This might be a bad idea,” he said as I attempted to pull down my skirt without bothering to unbutton it. Pencil skirts weren’t meant to be worn if you wanted to have sex. I finally yanked it off. Seeing me in my bra and panties must have shut him up. I lay back down on the couch, and he got on top of me, kissing my neck, the pressure feather light. I began to quiver. He moved his lips to my ear, his tongue circling my earlobe. He whispered something, but I had no idea what, because my brain had left my body. I guided his face up to mine, and we began kissing. Deep, hard kisses that left us breathless. He stood up and took his pants off, then got back on top of me, and I melted into him. His fingers brushed over my bra and across my breasts so gently I wanted to scream for more. As he reached down and looped his fingers around my panties and began to take them off, my phone rang. It was Gia’s ringtone. I was so startled I fell off the couch.

I came screeching back to reality. I had to get a hold of myself. I was married. “My mom died,” I exclaimed.

“I know,” he said, helping me up off the ground and easing me back onto the couch. “This will ease your pain.”

“No, I can’t.” I stood up and pulled my skirt over my hips, not caring if the zipper was in the front or back. “I have to go,” I said, picking up my purse and running out. As I drove away, I realized there were fifty people at my house eating potato salad.