The overwhelming floral scent from the endless procession of flowers delivered to our door on the day of his funeral made me sick to my stomach. As we leave, another bouquet. 

‘Fuck sake! I’ll get it.’

I jump out of the car and sign for the flowers. 

Back in the car, we exchange sad smiles that offer no comfort. We hold hands tightly, afraid that if we let go, we will lose each other, too. 

‘Who would have thought we’d be burying our baby brother today?’ Tim said.

I have nothing to say. I gaze out the window, lost in the overgrown lantana.

We arrive at Palmdale, numb. 

I spot a friend hiding in her car, scrambling to get her shit together to face me. I’ve been away travelling and living in Ireland the past six months. Now, I’m living in a fish bowl with everyone watching what I’ll do next.

Who cares?

I have to do one last thing for him. 

It’s beginning. 

Our family is ushered in first through an archway of sad teen faces in Wadalba High School uniforms. I search the crowd for his face. He’s not here. 

I reflect on the words I wrote on the thirty-six hour flight home as I chugged back straight vodkas, selfishly wishing I was dead instead of him. 

This can’t be happening. 

I turn to find comfort from someone. Anyone. 

You’ve got this, a friend mouths. 

No, I don’t want to. I want to run away and hide under the bed in the room I smashed to pieces after the phone call informing me that he had died on his motorbike four days ago. Four bottles of wine, please. 

I need to be brave. My body weighs a tonne. Legs shaking, hands trembling, tears restrained.

I gather all my strength, take the deepest breath of my life and fumble for my notes.

I’m done. Where am I?

Turning to his coffin, I say, ‘I’ll see you soon, Jake. I love you.’

But what I really wanted to say is, I hope someone will love me as much as you did.