I remember Margo’s husband and sons appearing in time for breakfast after flying in from Paris. She had told them not to come, and given that none of the three really knew Dad, the fact that they cut short their trip to be with Margo is special. I’m envious of that. More, I’m relieved that Joy has her cousins with her.

I remember wearing the little black dress that Margo ordered online yesterday for early-morning delivery today. The eminent personal shopper, she chose different ones for each of us. I may have a full wardrobe of black in New York, but I’m not in New York, and neither Joy nor Anne has anything remotely appropriate to wear to a funeral. Jeans and Joe does have a sundress rack, but the offerings are beachy and short.

I remember the church choir singing “Be Thou My Vision,” which took me right back to childhood Sundays with Mom, and “Eternal Father, Strong to Save,” since Dad was a JAG in the Navy, and “Amazing Grace.” I remember the arched windows running the length of the nave, clear-glassed and multipaned, and the pastor’s voice, another throwback to my childhood.

I remember wanting to sit beside Jack—who wore a tie and jacket and looked so respectable that I hated it—but ending up between Anne and Joy. I held Joy’s hand, or she mine, while, sitting in the row behind, the so-respectable man in the tie and jacket put a hand on my shoulder at discreet moments. I remember the godawful ride behind the hearse to the grave by the sea.

Dad does have a beautiful spot. It is deep into the cemetery, in one of the older sections within sight and sound of the surf. Gathering here, we are fewer in number, mostly those who were closest to him. I stand with Jack and Joy—because Anne is with Bill, and Margo with Dan, Teddy, and Jeff, and, really, is there anyone to question it? Jack and I were best friends back then. It stands to reason he would support me now.

I remember a string of graveside prayers, the lowering of the casket, and Joy clinging to me when the first clod of dirt hit mahogany. I remember needing to touch each of my sisters as we turn to leave. And then there are others to thank before they walk back across the grass to their cars. Seeing blonde hair in retreat, I realize it is Lily and wonder, briefly, if she is here to make sure my father is well and truly gone.