I imagined my father’s burial to be a modest tribute to the guy who kept our family together.
I didn’t anticipate my stepmom to make it into her personal drama, but a letter from my dad disclosed truths that embarrassed her and her kids in public.
The day of my dad’s funeral was one of my hardest.
It was hard to refrain from crying that morning as I said farewell to the guy who had kept our family together.
We all knew this day was coming, but nothing prepared me for its smothering weight. He had been unwell for a long time.
Then they arrived.
My stepmom, Vivian, entered like a runway with her four white-clad adult children.
Like they were lost on the way to a luxury boat party, they were stark white.
Everyone was mourning in black, heads bent. But not them.
They walked in like VIPs, turning heads for the wrong reasons.
What I saw shocked me.
As I ran toward her through the mob, my chest constricted with wrath.
“Vivian,” I said, low but sharp enough to break through the murmuring, “what the hell are you doing?
Why are you dressed like—” I wildly gestured at her flowing white dress and her kids’ matching outfits, “—like this at my dad’s funeral?”
She was unfazed. She offered me a lazy, condescending smirk that raised my blood pressure.”Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, prolonging the syllables like a kid having a tantrum. “Calm down. Your dad wanted it.”
Wanted it? My voice rose despite my best attempts to maintain quiet. “No way Dad would’ve—” She interrupted me by removing a folded package from her fancy purse. “He wrote me a letter,” she continued, holding it out as if it explained everything. “Said, ‘Vivian, you and the kids must wear white. This is my final desire.Looking at the letter in her palm, I felt everyone’s eyes. Early whispers rippled among the audience.”No,
Shaking my head, I said. “No way he—” “He did, darling,” she sighed, her eyes lightening as if she was enjoying the spectacle. “He promised something special. You should be glad we followed his wishes.” People gasped behind me, the atmosphere tense with every passing second. Are you serious? With shaky voice, I demanded. “You expect me to believe Dad wanted a spectacle at his funeral?”
Vivian shrugged and put the note in her backpack. “Believe whatever you want,” she responded calmly, “but we’re just following his final instructions. Just what he wanted.”She turned to her kids and said, “Come on, let’s go take our seats,” as my hands shook and wrath rose inside me. Avoid being late.
I was speechless as they walked toward the front row, leaving me in a mix of uncertainty and rage.She and her kids sat in the first row, dressed like VIPs at a posh banquet, as the ceremony began. They basked in the spotlight, their white garments shining against black mourning.
Joe, my dad’s best buddy, led when I felt I couldn’t stand their attitude. His face was emotional and his eyes heavy with sadness, yet there was also a tightness that made my stomach churn.As he cleared his throat, the room fell quiet and everyone focused on him. A letter was in his hand. “Vivian,” he said calmly. He motioned for her to stand, and I saw a tiny grin on her face. She gently stood up, chin up, like she was accepting a prize.
Her kids stood behind her, smug. “This letter…” Joe started, nervously, “was written by your husband.” Joe read the letter with a firm voice, and the room held their breath.Joe read “To my dearest friends and family,” overcome with emotion. I appreciate your presence today to commemorate my memory. I must address something that’s been bothering me.” I peered at Vivian.
Once haughty and pompous, her face changed. As she stood up, her eyes flickered anxiously around the room.Joe said, “I couldn’t help but notice that Martha, my ex-wife, took care of me during my illness. She came when I needed her, but Vivian and her kids were usually absent—unless they required something from me.” Vivian’s face was colorless. She stood still, as if to vanish.
After sitting securely, her kids were anxious and afraid, their eyes wide.Murmurs rolled through the gathering like a wave, and everyone looked astonished.
“Not true!” Vivian growled beneath her breath, but her voice broke, revealing her dread. Joe scarcely hesitated. I realized that my new family cared more about what I could do than who I was. He looked at Vivian, “And then my financial adviser told me money was disappearing from my accounts.
Our investigation revealed Vivian and her children were responsible.”The room gasped collectively. The boom made the walls shake. As every visitor stared at them, Vivian’s kids, who had been seated so confidently, looked pale as ghosts.
Vivian was furious, her calm facade shattered. “This is a lie!” she screamed, shaking. Complete fabrication! This crap is unbelievable!” She stared around the room with her fists clenched, looking for someone to defend her. No one spoke.
A deafening hush. Joe remained focused. He raised the letter again and spoke clearly.I expected them to portray the heartbroken family at my funeral. Invited them to wear white. I wanted them to shine so everyone could see them.” Vivian gasped, stunned. She shouted, “You bastard,” shivering with hatred. “You think you can humiliate me in public like this? You’ll regret! Everyone will!” But Joe continued.
His booming, clear voice broke through her wrath. “Vivian, you and your kids are banned. This is for those who loved me for who I was, not what I could provide.
Leave, and let my actual relatives and friends grieve.”Suffocating quiet. Each everyone in the room watched Vivian and her kids awaiting their next move. Her face was a mess of disbelief, wrath, and shame. She almost exploded, her furious eyes flashing. She looked around and saw the visitors’ harsh, merciless stares. The weight of judgment crushed her, and she lost her struggle.a
Her once-smug offspring withered under examination, staring at the floor as if they could disappear. She huffed loudly, her lips twisting in distaste. “Fine! “This whole thing is a farce,” she yelled, grabbing her handbag off the chair. Though her voice was venomous, everyone could tell she was surrounded. Defeated. “Come on,” she yelled at her kids, her voice shattered. Vivian stomped out, her heels tapping on the floor in embarrassment.
She realized she was done.A dense quiet followed when the door slammed shut. It seemed like the room was breathing after the storm, as no one moved.Joe folded the letter with a sombre gaze around the room.
“Now,” he added, his voice firm, “let’s continue with remembering the man who truly deserves to be honored today.”So we did. The gentle service celebrated my dad’s life with those who loved him for who he was. We laughed, sobbed, and told tales about the guy who brought us together. What about Vivian? She received what she deserved—a shameful farewell. Even after death, my dad laughed.
He revealed their deception and ensured the truth.My dad died, but his knowledge and sense of justice lived on. As Joe told an amusing anecdote about my dad, one thing was evident. “Dad always knew how to pick his moments,” I muttered.
