Six: In Memoriam

The day of Jennifer Elizabeth Maria Teresa Petruzzo Sambora’s funeral was gorgeous, clear and sunny.

It shouldn’t have been. It should have been a dark, dreary, depressing day. But, the trees were in full glory, showing off their autumn colors, the sky was an impossible Cerulean, and it was unmarred by even the wispiest of clouds. The MacAdams Funeral Home was full to capacity. Jennifer’s friends, family, co-workers and other acquaintances gathered to pay their last respects.

Richie sat in the front row next to Jennifer’s parents; his black suit and gray shirt emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes. He wore the tie that Jennifer had done up for him for Father’s Day, and he fingered the double-neck design with one hand as he clutched the final gift he had brought for his wife in the other.

Richie’s best friend in the whole world sat next to him, his wife by his side. His other bandmates were on the other side of Tiffany. His daughter and her mother sat behind him, the little girl’s eyes wet with tears – more for her father, who was clearly hurting than for the woman he had loved. His own mother sat beside his daughter, and from time to time, leaned forward to put her hand on Richie’s shoulder.

When the priest concluded his remarks, he motioned Jennifer’s brother to the podium to sing the hymn. “This is – was – Jen’s favorite.” he cleared his throat. “Though she couldn’t sing for shit, sorry Ma,” he grinned at his mother, who was smiling through her tears. “She always sang this loud and proud at church, even though she surely made the angels weep with her voice.” He smiled sadly at the chuckles from the crowd, then began to sing in a pure, clear, deep baritone.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found; was blind, but now, I see.

John paused, looking at his older sister; getting lost in a memory. A different voice picked up the next verse; a soft, feminine voice: honeyed whiskey with just a slight twang of Texas.

T'was Grace that taught my heart to fear. And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear the hour I first believed.

Jon stood up next to his wife and joined hands and voices with her.

Through many dangers, toils and snares, we have already come.
T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far, and Grace will lead us home.

Richie smiled at their harmony, and stood alongside his brother, lending his voice to the chorus. David and Tico stood too, moving to stand around Richie and put their hands on his shoulder as they sang.

The Lord has promised good to me...His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be...as long as life endures.

Starting with Jennifer’s family, spreading to her friends, and on through the rest of the crowd, the people gathered stood and joined hands, raising their voices high.

When we've been here ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun.
We've no less days to sing God's praise, then when we've first begun.

The whole congregation was singing now, their voices strong.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found, was blind, but now, I see.

When the last strains of the harmony faded away, the congregation was invited to say one last goodbye before returning to their cars for the procession to the cemetery. One by one, people walked up the aisle to the gleaming solid cherry coffin. Some knelt and said a prayer, others reached in to touch Jennifer’s folded hands, which were wound with her mother’s rosary. Others kissed their fingers and touched her cheek.

Her grandmother cried when she pinned a small gold Crucifix to the shoulder of Jennifer’s sweater; a high-necked, long sleeved sweater meant to hide the worst of the burns, then leaned in to kiss her hands. “Il mio bellissimo angelo, vorrei vedere voi, prima della lunga.” My beautiful angel, I will see you before long.

Her niece, who wasn’t quite sure what had happened to Auntie Jen, but knew what a coffin was for, put a favorite doll in next to her. “So she won’t be alone when she’s in the dark, Daddy,” she said when John asked her if she was sure.

The sisters she had met on T’s Place had put together a small album of pictures from their visits together; shots from England, New Orleans, Boston, Central Park, and their visits to Jen's house, showing Jennifer having fun and being loved. With tears in her eyes, Cheryl nestled it between Jennifer’s denim-clad hip and the white silk lining of the casket. “Goodbye, my friend,” she said softly. The other girls added their goodbyes, and touched her arm, her shoulder, her face.

Each person who passed looked at Richie with sympathy as he stood there, ramrod straight, and dry-eyed. Some clasped his shoulder or touched his arm. His friends and family hugged him tightly and whispered platitudes in his ear that he didn’t hear.

When Jennifer’s parents went up to say goodbye, they stayed a long time, holding hands and gazing down on their daughter. They prayed and sobbed and Mary Agnes reached in to smooth a lock of the wig they had put on Jennifer to hide the burns to her scalp. When they passed Richie, Jen’s parents gave him a long, hard hug. “She loved you so much,” Mary Agnes said to him.

“I know,” Richie said hollowly. “I love her too.” Neither Mary Agnes nor John commented on his use of the present tense, they simply nodded. They understood that kind of love, for they had it – the kind of love that would transcend death. Richie held up his left hand. “The ring...”

John shook his head. “That is your wedding ring,” he said. “Keep it and remember her.”

Mary Agnes took Richie’s hand. “You will always be our son. You are always welcome in our home and in our lives.” She kissed his cheek, then took her husband’s hand and went to the car that would take them to Jennifer’s final resting place.

Richie’s brothers stood next. They hugged Richie fiercely, lending him their strength. They too, went to say goodbye to this woman who had brought their friend such happiness. Each man said his own silent prayer, then waited with Jennifer’s brother.

Ava took Richie’s hand, and looked up at him. “It’s our turn, Daddy,” she said. Hands tightly clasped, they went to say their own last goodbyes. Ava stood on the kneeler and placed a bouquet of tall, lanky sun drop flowers alongside Jennifer. “I really liked you, Jennifer,” she whispered. “Goodbye.” She turned to her father. “I would have loved having her as a second mommy,” she said, and hugged her father hard. She tiptoed up to kiss his cheek, then walked quickly back down the aisle to her mother, who was waiting just outside the door.

Richie took a long hard last look at the woman before him. He tried to reconcile the body in the coffin to the vibrant, loving woman he had known. He wanted this all to be a dream – a horrible nightmare from which surely he would soon awaken. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes and stood for a moment, gathering his strength.

“I will never forget you,” Richie said to her. “I love you.” He took the gift he had brought his wife and slid the edge of it under her clasped hands. The black Stetson, the one with the hammered silver band, looked out of place against the pale green of her sweater, but Richie didn’t care. It was her favorite hat, and he wanted her to have it; even if she didn’t know she had it. Her ring sparkled and shone under the room’s lights, and he leaned in to kiss it before dropping to his knees to pray.

He knelt before her for a long time. Finally, Jon came up behind him and put his hand on Richie’s shoulder. “It’s time to go,” he said softly.

“Jon, I can’t,” Richie said.

Jon hauled Richie to his feet, and wrapped his arms around his friend. They stood there for long minutes, and Jon let Richie absorb whatever strength he could. With a sharp slap on the back, Richie straightened, and cleared his throat. “You be careful with her,” he said.

Jon nodded. “As careful as if she were my own,” he promised.

With a shaky sigh, Richie nodded, and the funeral director stepped up to close the lid. Richie choked on a cry when the lock clicked into place. He put his hand over the spot where Jennifer’s heart was, and a last single tear snaked down his cheek.

When Richie turned to leave, Jon, John, Tico, and David donned dove-gray gloves, and took their positions around the coffin; lifting it to shoulder height. Slowly, solemnly, they walked down the aisle and out into the brilliant sunshine. They made their way slowly down the stairs, making sure not to jostle the precious woman they had been given care of. Richie was standing by the hearse, watching. Gently, the four men slid the coffin into the hearse, and Richie shut the door.

Jon led Richie to the waiting limo, and gave him a final hug before helping his friend to climb inside next to Jennifer’s parents. He went back to his own car and slid in next to his wife.

“Is he going to be alright?” Tiffany asked.

Jon just shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, as their car joined what would be a mile-long line of vehicles. “I sure hope so.”