The Aftermath, Part 1

The next several days are a complete blur to me.  I remember having conversations with a few people about how this wasn’t my fault.  I never told anyone that I thought it was my fault, so their continued reassurances made me think that they did think it was my fault.  Why else would they think to say that?

I hated having to tell people that Dave was dead.  They would, of course, ask how, and I had to tell them it was suicide.  Dave was truly the last guy in the world anyone thought would kill  himself.

A mutual friend of ours had told me that Dave had been out drinking that night.  I knew he’d been seeing a girl named Gina, who had also worked at Target at one point.  She was also going through a divorce.  Our mutual friend told me that Dave had gone to her house that night, but her ex’s car was in the driveway.  He said that’s why Dave had done what he had.  I don’t know how anyone could possibly know that, but I have to admit that the possibility that it might have been her fault gave me a tremendous sense of relief.

Dave’s funeral was held at the cemetary.  My friends and family stood around me like my army.  My mom and my friend, Wendy, held my hands as I trembled from head to toe.

When it was over, I noticed that Gina was sitting in the front row, near Dave’s mom.  When most people had moved away from her,  I walked over to the casket and placed a dried rose that Dave had given me in the flower arrangement on top.  Then I sat down next to her.  I said, “Hi.”

She started raving about how much shit I had pulled on Dave and how I should feel awful.  I stood up an said,  “I didn’t come here for this.”  I tried to walk away.  The last thing I wanted was to make a scene at Dave’s funeral.

She grabbed my arm and pulled me back down.  “What did you come here for, then?”

”I thought that you might be feeling the same kind of guilt and regret that I’m feeling,” I sobbed as quietly as I could.  “I thought we could console each other.”

By now, my mother had come over and inserted herself between us.  “I’m the mom,” she said, which even then sounded funny to me.

Gina wrapped her arms around me.  She sobbed, “I’m sorry.  I know you’re a good person.  Dave loved you.  I’m sorry.  I’m not this kind of person.”  We held each other for a moment or two and cried.  Then I got up and walked away.

My family were talking amongst themselves and with other people.  Many people came to hug me.  I tried my hardest to keep it together.  When they began to move the casket toward the grave, I couldn’t stay there any longer.   I didn’t want to see him go into the ground.  I tried to sneak away without drawing attention to myself.  I found a spot behind a wall and began to sob.  One of the managers from Target came over and took my hands.  He said, “Jenna, you brought him so much joy.”  He had tears in his eyes and in his voice.   He continued, “Dave wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.  Dave loved you.”

I don’t remember anything after that.