Bittersweet

"She was a fantastic woman," Greenwich said, his voice cracking as he stood at the head of the grave, stealing glances down at Amelia Lionhart's coffin. "She was loved by so many. Always had a kind word to say, always encouraging."

In rows across the lawn, white folding chairs stretched out. Almost every seat was filled. The front row was of her children, then, as it went back, closer relatives, and then friends. Anyone there out of spite was in the very back rows or standing just close enough to hear the rambling speech given by Greewich.

No one knew how he ended up giving the service in the first place. Amelia had dated him many years back before her two marriages. She had asked him a few years ago if she went before him, he would speak for the family. Since she hadn't changed the idea before her death, he was standing there, blabbing to the people who knew her for nearly an hour.

"She was survived by her daughter and two sons, Amelia Lionhart, Junior." Greenwich continued.

Amelia rolled her eyes. Even from the grave, her mother made sure it was obvious how she hated her daughter's preferred name, AJ.

"And Jacob and Fisher Lionhart."

AJ and Jacob looked at Fletcher, who shook his head with a sigh. Everyone got his name wrong. It was a family tradition to misspell and/or completely forget his name. The life of the middle child, he supposed.

"Wait a moment," Greenwich mumbled. "This is wrong, his name is Fletcher... She was also survived by her sisters, her nieces, and her nephews. She was preceded in death by her first husband, Mark Lionhart, and her second husband, Jimmy Thomas."

Greenwich blabbered on for a good 10 more minutes. He then invited some to come up and give comments. Her sisters each took a turn, weeping and telling a short story about her. AJ, Fletcher, and Jacob managed to avoid having to say a few words.

Eventually, the crowd dispersed, the feeding was done, and Amelia's children sat in the den of her home. There were two couches, a love seat, rows of books on the walls, and a fireplace with a mantle. That's where Jacob was, staring at the whiskey decanter, thinking about filling up his glass again. AJ was on the couch scrolling through her phone. Fletcher was sprawled on the floor.

"Didn't Aunt Lucy say she was making a slide show of Mom? There was no way to show it at the graveside, and she didn't show it at the center." AJ complained. "I spent three days sending those pictures to her.

"I can't believe she's gone," Fletcher said existentially, staring at the ceiling.

"Seriously, did you guys see the video?" She asked.

"Anyone else think the service was weird? Lucille hated Mom, and she was up there talking about this and that memory." Jacon scoffed.

"Yeah, and that Green guy going on and on about how encouraging her words were. Words were never Mom's forte," Fletcher added.

"She was loved by a lot of people, though," AJ said. "There were a lot more people there today than I thought there would be."

"Eh," Jacob sighed. "They just think they're getting something in the will. I mean, right? That's what we care about, yeah?"

Fletcher sat up, looking at his brother with furrowed brows. "I do not want any of Mom's stuff. I literally couldn't care less about this...I don’t know. Can I say junk? Is that insensitive?"

"Well, it's not junk, Fletch, but I don’t really want any of it either. I've got too much stuff in my apartment anyhow. Hey, Jay, pour me some of that will, ya?" AJ asked.

Jacob grabbed an extra cup and blew in it before pouring the whiskey in. He plopped down next to her. "Here. Now, I'm not saying I'm only here because I want Mom's stuff, and I-I'm not saying I won't miss her, I just never really agreed with Mom on a lot of things. Especially when she got with Jim."

"At least she was a lot nicer after she married Jim. She treated him a lot better than she did Dad," Fletcher commented. "You know, Mom was imperfect. She just did what she-"

"Oh, bull crap," Jacob interrupted. "Are you seriously telling me you don't have any bad feelings about how she treated you growing up? Or how she dealt with you and the Tammara situation, the divorce?"

"Why are you trying so hard to get me to say I hate our mother? I'm not going to say it." Fletcher said, crossing his arms.

"All I'm saying is that I'm not gonna build her up, acting like she was a certain person when she wasn't. Just being honest. She-"

AJ groaned. "Put a clam in it. Seriously. You're saying a whole lot for being Mom's favorite."

"I was not the favorite!" He defended.

"Uh, yeah, you were," Fletcher backed up his sister. "The firstborn and a boy. Mom and Dad both favored you."

"Right, and what about you, AJ? The youngest and the only girl. You always got special treatment." Jacob shot back.

"Yeah, right," She tsked. "She was always giving me a hard time about everything. How I didn't have a boyfriend, a husband, a nice car, or a big house...God, she was annoying as heck."

"That's what I'm saying," Jacob said, raising his hand and finishing off his drink.

They sat in an awkward silence for a long while. Suddenly, the mood was somber. The only sound was the clock ticking in the hallway. AJ stared up at the family photo hanging above the bookshelf.

"We really did have some good times, though," She said softly.

Jacob stared at the floor, trying to remember the good memories but recalling few. Surely a few weeks down the line, he would, but in the moment, he could think of none.

Fletcher was feeling emotional. Amelia had really calmed down some in her old age. She, in fact, often relied on him to cheer her up when she was down. Especially after Jimmy's death. Though the bad memories never went away.

AJ looked at her brothers, realizing what they were thinking. She never truly realized how many different emotions come to the surface when someone dies. When their father died, it was hard, but there were no conflicting emotions. They were depressed and missed him deeply. Now their mother is gone, and every bad and good memory rose to the surface.

AJ was the first to break the silence. "It's getting late." She stood up, slapping Jacob on the back and ruffling Fletcher's hair. "I'm outta here. See you boys, tomorrow, I guess. We've got to start sifting through this house."

"Sure, sure, tomorrow," Jacob mumbled. "I have to work in the morning, though, so I'll let you know when I'm gonna head over here."

"I've got off tomorrow. Let me know when you're about to leave your place, AJ, and I'll come over." Fletcher smiled.

“Sounds good,” AJ said.

Three text alerts chimed in the room. The siblings stopped and looked down at their phones.

"Oh, well, there's the slideshow," Jacob said, standing up.

"Yeah," Fletcher sighed. "I don't know if I'm gonna watch it. I hate these things. They're always so...depressing."

"For some reason, that's just the way people do funerals. It's almost like they're purposely trying to make you even more sad," AJ commented.

She walked down the hallway. By the time she made it to the door, her eyes welled up with tears. Above the table by the door was a portrait of Amelia. Mark had taken the picture when they went on a family trip to Niagara Falls. She was positively glowing. It was always her favorite picture of herself.

“Well, Mom, I’m gonna miss you. Even if you were a grumpy old lady since the day I was born.”