"Do you think Jim was better off dying in his sleep?," Sharol asked, still unable to look him in the eyes. "I've heard people say it's better to avoid the pain and just slip off into a dream and never wake up again. But what if he was having a nightmare? Is that the last thing he'll remember? Or is Jim trapped forever in that nightmare unable to return to his body? Tori's girlfriend down in Vermont said she had a near death experience. Said the second she realized she was about to die, she was staring at a semi coming down the turnpike after her SUV hydroplaned out of control, and there was nothing she could do about it, that she was filled with a peace she never knew before. She said she never felt so alive. So okay with everything. Maybe that's the way we're supposed to go. Which do you suppose is better? Awake or asleep?"
She didn't wait for his response to keep on talking. He didn't have one anyways.
"I'd like to think going in your sleep would be best. I mean is being more alive before you die really a good thing anyway? We sleep to escape the hardships of life, would a sudden rush of it really change anything in the end?"
"I think you're right, dear."
Jimmy really had no opinion on the matter. He actually hadn't even been aware that people preferred one or the other. But he was taught that it was best to just agree with his wife when she got like this. She smiled at him then went back to crying. Jim's funeral had ended an hour ago and the other funeral goers were already at the church for the after dinner, but Jimmy and Sharol still sat in their minivan in the Fairbank's Cemetery parking lot. Sharol didn't seem to want to leave, and Jimmy had called off work for the next week for bereavement. He had no where to go.
Jimmy and Jim never really got close. Jimmy was never really clear on why. He'd tried on many occasions to connect with his son, but they seemed like water on leather as far as he could remember. Even as a toddler Jim wouldn't let him hold him for more than a minute before wriggling and writhing out of his arms. It was almost as if Jim prefered a fall to the floor than to be near Jimmy. And even when he grew up he never really understood Jim, or his weird hobbies. But Jimmy still phoned on birthdays.
Jimmy did find it odd that he hadn't cried at all about his son, though he liked to say that Sharol was doing enough crying for both of them. He remembered sobbing like a toddler at his own dads funeral and at his best friend Robbie's wake 3 years ago. Hell, he'd even teared up at the series finale of one of Sharol's soap opera's she always made him watch. But not here. Not now. Not at his only son's so sudden demise.
It's not that he didn't love Jim. He did, he told himself. He just never really got to know him. He was kind of like that estranged guy at work that you know you'd get along with if you got the chance to really talk but neither of you really feel the need to. And you never do. You may pass each other on the factory floor or at church, but you only ever faintly nod at one another and maybe exchange a slight smile. But you've both forgotten each other's name and the awkwardness of trying to find it again just doesn't seem worth it. And get on with your own lives. Their relationship was just like that except with yearly birthday calls and forced pleasant exchanges at Christmas.
When they finally made it to the after dinner Jimmy shared his concerns with the funeral director, who warned him that he may be in shock and the reality of the situation hadn't really sunk in yet, and it would eventually. But as Jimmy and Sharol drove home from the church in silence the only thing that shocked him was the tastiness of those little sandwiches they served after the service. It really stood out compared to the piles of dried out turkey and that bowl of half-assed potato salad that were served as well. He bet it was Margret Horner that made them. She'd been taking more risks with her cooking as of late and it seemed to finally be paying off.
That night he prayed about his lack of sadness for the passing of his son as Sharol snored relentlessly after a long day of feeling nothing but. He asked God if he had been a bad father. If maybe his inherited child raising methods had been misguided. If maybe he'd somehow pushed his son away. And God responded in silence. He often did that to Jimmy, though he didn't really mind. Instead Jimmy would just imagine his personal vision of the deity (which changed from day to day) nodding his head approvingly and maybe even giving him a reassuring thumbs up to let him know that everything was okay. But tonight he could only see a shaking head. Back and forth like a pendulum in an old clock. It had to have been his fault, he decided.
Jimmy shut off the bedside lamp, slid into bed, and kissed the back of his snoring wife's head and after a minute or two of restlessness, fell into a heavy sleep.