Woke up super early. I know I had an early and long day. Believe it or not, we’re cleaning the freaking house. You’d be proud of Bella. She’s been doing chores without being asked. She’s not quite there yet, but one step at a time. I don’t want to rush her. Let her go on her own pace. She’ll eventually get there.
She’s been amazing through this. I am so proud of her. Gabriel too. They’ve been incredibly strong. I told them to find their safe place, where they will feel most comfortable and distracted. I want them to be surrounded by day-to-day life matters so that they don’t feel sorry for themselves. I don’t want people to feel sorry for them either. I wish people would understand that your life, us being in it was a privilege. Your loss is only a matter of us no longer experiencing you. Because you were special. You made people feel special. They loved you because of that. You never judged them. You accepted them regardless of their social status. You judge people based on whether they were real or not. That’s how they got in your circle. You tolerated the “Keeping up with the Joneses” kind of people, because you understood and accepted their insecurities. You felt sad for them. But you never made them feel that they had to keep up. You actually played it down so that they never felt insecure around you. I loved you for that. You never boasted about a car that you got, a handbag, a shoe, a coat, nothing that is of material value. You wouldn’t have cared if we lived in a hut. You knew that love is what matters. And people that were real mattered to you. You loved them. You adored them. Because they embodied you.

I made the bed. Steam vac’ed the carpet. Bogart had an accident. Damn dog is an idiot. Of course you’d pick the hardest dog to house train.

Had to pick up Ma at 9am to go to Church. I left at 8:30ish. Day started with bad driving weather. I had to take your car. I haven’t been in your car since you left me.

You f#$king bitch. You never took your brakes to get fixed. Damn. Urggg…. it’s been 3 months since the alarm has been blinking. “I’ll take it next week.”, “I promise, next week.” Bull shit. You never did. And when you had the appointment made, you missed it. Bitch.

Driving to Ma, I switch to SiriusXM. The entire time you and I drove in your car, the screen would pop up with your stupid favorite songs that you programmed in your system. Dr. Buzzard shit, Tina Marie, and you made me resent Stevie Wonder because you were obsessed with him. Every time SiriusXM would prompt your favorite song coming on a different station, you would accept it and it would switch. It drove me insane. But then eventually it too got on your nerves because you loved me and you knew it got on mine. So you sacrificed your love for Stevie for me.
But today, it prompted me while I was driving that Stevie was about to come on. So I pressed “Yes” to a Stevie Wonder prompt. And this song came on. I lost it. I started crying hysterically my damn sun glasses fogged up. Urggg..

I pick up Ma, roads were icy. We drove to the church first. We got there a little earlier than scheduled. You know how punctual you and I like to be even though I thought we were going to be running late.

[Cigarette break]
[Posted Ryan Copelin’s private message he sent me. It was freaking awesome, I had to post it and share it with all to read.]

Ma picked your songs, your readings. I told the Father that we were spiritual, but not necessarily religious and do not follow any particular religion as we don’t believe in a man made cult. We just believe in a God. Who needs rules if you’re a good person, period. He seemed fine with it. Of course I didn’t tell him all of the above, but you get the idea.

I was going to have Abbey Perry Madden read your eulogy. Apparently they don’t call it that anymore. Instead, it’s called a remembrance. Fine, why put labels on it? Call it what you want, it’s all semantics. The shit people waste their time on. Like seriously, who was the dumbass that spent the better part of the day naming something that will not make a difference. What a wasted time. And that’s what bored people do, find something to poke. Whatever. Their wasted time, not mine.
So, Abbey Perry Madden already wrote your eulogy. But the priest said that typically the spouse does the reading. I’m like “Bring it on. I got this.” I think to myself. I need to tell Abbey Perry Madden, I have a plan. I always come up with a plan.

We finish up with the Church and head over to O’Leary’s Funeral Home to arrange all the details. Flowers we ordered in the name of the select few, casket, etc. It’s going to be hooked up. Would you expect anything less from your mother and myself? Trust me, it won’t be cheesy or gaudy. Just sharp. Simple, but sharp. Katie O’Leary was amazing. She was so professional and made the entire process easy and swift. I gave her your clothing. Ma and I had a heated disagreement over what my flowers should say. I wanted people to know what you meant to me. Of course it wasn’t typical of what typical people would say on their flower arrangements. But I’m A-typical. I don’t do typical or what’s expected. I don’t live my life by how others expect me to live. You are welcome into my world, but don’t expect me to abide or live by yours. I don’t play by the rules. Fuck the rules. We make our own rules. That’s how you and I lived. We didn’t care what people thought about us. We never lived our lives wondering what people would say or expect of us. It wasn’t pretty. I yelled at her when it was her time to pick something to say. She asked Katie what would typically someone would have from a mother. I kind of lost it. I told her to express her love to you any which way she wants. Example: “A beloved daughter and best friend” That’s what you meant to her, she could have said anything and people would get it. But she went with what’s safe and typical. What people would expect. That’s not me. She’ll get to learn me. It can be difficult to understand, but that’s who I am. You accepted it. You embraced it. You embodied it. You and I gave each other the freedom to express ourselves even if it was controversial. But we didn’t care about what people think. It’s what makes sense to us is what matters most.

Got a sample of your hair because I want to send it to Ancestry.com to get your DNA tested. You and I were going to do it together. I got the kit from the annual Pollyanna at the Abbey Perry Madden and Daryl. I figured we use that kit to test your results instead. I wanted to know if you had an Arab in you. Okay, you did have an Arab in you, but genetically speaking did you have an Arab in you? Anyway, I’m going to find out what is acceptable, or do we need a spit? I’ll find someone that will accept a hair and find out what the heck you are. I know that Rose Urbano Fresta did the test and she received the results back. 17% of you was indeed Middle Eastern, but I have a feeling your father’s side had a higher percentage. I always told you’d pass for a Middle Eastern. And your name was Janine, ironically, my father was born in a town named Jeneen in Palestine, and my side of that family is basically from there. Ha.

I told Katie about what I had wished for a luncheon venue. That I wanted people to be able to freely stand up and talk, share memories about you. She recommended Anthony’s in Drexel Hill because it fit the bill.

We had to stop at the cemetery real quick because Ma needed to sign some papers. Somehow, we ended talking about the plots she had purchased back when Gabriel was 1-year old for all of us. The gentleman was explaining to us that there are 6 plots divided in 3 sections. Basically a stack of 2 rows with 3 columns. He drew it on paper. I told him I wanted you to be buried in the bottom center plot. My reasoning I say: She’ll be surrounded by all of us and she’ll be at the center of where the party will be. He laughed. He thought I was joking. He has no idea.

Somehow our conversation ended up with picking my plot. I pondered for a second: Should I be on her right side? She sleeps on the left side of the bed. But then it hit me.
A day prior to your passing, you and I were in the middle of these weird discussions we had. We were on our way to having our weekly Friday dinner with the Maddens. I asked you: Who would you prefer dies first, you or me?
You said: Fuck, me of course.
You were so competitive with me. You hated losing to me. It pissed you off.
Guess what? Next day you fucking won. And I thought I couldn’t win ever again. Until today. When it hit me.
I said: I would like to be buried on top of her. Ha. Bitch you lose. I get the last laugh. I’ll be on top of you for the rest of eternity. I’ll be annoying the shit out of you. So there, I win again.

[Cigarette break]

We then were escorted to your burial ground where you will be laid to rest, and I on top of you. Ha, I will never let you forget that part. I will always rub it in your face.

We were getting to learn where you will be buried so that in the future we could come and visit you. We were looking for landmarks. Ironically, next to your row, the first headstone is that of a Carmolingo. A family member of yours. Ma and I chuckled.

It was pouring at the cemetery. I am hoping that the grounds will be relatively dry by Saturday. We need a chair for Ma and the decrepit.

I was taking notes in my phone of every single detail. Times, locations, etc. I had to gather all that information and inform people of the plans. They’ve been waiting, asking, inquiring with each other. I felt awful that we didn’t have this done sooner. I could feel a sense of anxiety from them of missing your funeral.

We went to Anthony’s to check the venue out. Other than the odd drive to get to the venue, you’re going to like it once you get in. We didn’t have a chance to taste the food. We’re crossing our fingers on that end. But it will be an open bar. So if the food is bad, I figured, drink up. It holds up to 250 people. They asked me what the head count will be. I told them I honestly have no idea. It’s open for anyone who would like to join. I guessed conservatively 150, but who knows. There could be a 1000 people showing up with people lining up the streets to get a view of you. We should have carried you around in a horse drawn hearse like a departing queen would.

I dropped Ma off. I told her I was sorry for earlier. I kissed her, she said sorry back. We move on. That’s how you and I were. Fight. Make your point. Make up. Laugh. Kiss. Move on. Repeat. That was a part why we were together for so long. We knew what the end result was going to be, make up and move on. So why delay the inevitable? Just get to it sooner rather than later. Life is too short.

I get home. Trish Silvestri comes over. And in comes Adrienne Kuesel-Welber and the boys. Not soon after, the crazy wild bunch of hockey moms arrive hailing more food. Laura Silvestri Pflugfelder, Paulla, Melissa, Jenn and Sofia. We started talking, remembering, laughing about your stories. You somehow got everyone to laugh. I said at one point: The bitch still is making us laugh even when she’s gone. I made them your favorite drink. Malibu Rum with a splash of pineapple. Didn’t have pineapple, so I made it with Lemonade instead. Trust me, you would have loved it.

They loved you so much. You made them feel grand. We were talking about how you didn’t judge. Just as I had mentioned above. Your criteria for a true friend. You selected yours well.

Then I showed them Adrienne Kuesel-Welber hornet nest exterminating video when she came over and sprayed the nest covered from head to toe.

Then I showed them your video with Gina Porcellini DiBiase and Carla DeCaro Hancock dancing to Kong Foo Fighting at Poppy’s. Damn I hated that place, but I tolerated it because I was assured that between the three of you I was going to get a cheap laugh.

Then I showed them the video at the club in Miami with Jennifer Todd when you tripped over the couch you were standing on dancing.

I told the girls that this gathering tonight is exactly how I would love for the day to end on Saturday at the luncheon. For all of whom you’ve touched to stand around each other, share the stories they had with you. For them to leave on Saturday happy instead of sad. I want everyone to start their own Chapter 2 as I would mine.

I’m not sad. I just miss you. Fuck do I miss you. I’m fine. I’ll keep going for your memory. I will keep you in everyone’s memory. You know me, I’m very private, but I will finally open up my private place and share with the rest of the world what I had with you. I promise.

Good night my sweet.

I love you.

P.S.: Every time I read Day 3, I crumble. I can’t lie that I don’t fall apart here and there. But I quickly recover when I remember something about you that makes me laugh. It happens every second of the day. But these posts are helping me recover, from Day 1.