- Ends -
In the middle of the eulogy at my mother's boring funeral, I started to think about calling off the wedding.
It was cloudy as we all sat in the audience, watching the local priest deliver the eulogy, droning on in a way that was supposed to show familiarity with the deceased.
The wind blew against us, jostling some ladies' veils gently and brushing over the shoulders of the present men. It felt as if the wind was caressing my nape, in particular. It was so soothing that it almost allowed you to forget about the rain.
But I never forgot it. I watched it, in fact. I watched as it trickled down the steel trap that was my mother's coffin, causing the wood to look sleeker than it actually is. I watched as it soaked into the wilted grass below, darkening the dirt. I watched as it trailed down the faces of the mourners around me before being followed by more rain. Did the rain fall down my face?
As I watched the rain fall from the gray clouds above, a realization dawned upon me: all things come to an end.
As you grow older, wonder ends. As you go into the workforce, wakefulness ends. As you watch your mother be loaded into her coffin, time ends.
My feet stir and shuffle in place as I think of my upcoming wedding; what will end when my marriage begins? Will it be my hobbies? My dreams?
My mothers' coffin is lowered into the empty doorway carved into the ground as my eyes turn to my fiancé.
The rain rushes down her face as she grips my hand tightly, her and mom had always shared a close bond. How would mother feel about my indecision?
I can see her scrunched nose that highlights her mole, her furled lip that somehow shows across her whole face, her furrowed brows as she begins to lecture me; her voice sounds muted.
I grip my fiancé's hand back, my thumb grazing over her engagement ring. She shoots me a grateful look as she gives me a cracked smile. She looks like a fallen angel.
The dirt around the burial only continues to grow darker as the rain keeps a steady pace. The grass begins to flatten as it's beaten down by the rain and the soles of the exiting mourners. My fiancé and I sit there for a few moments longer, watching as some men lift clumps of dirt into the air before throwing them into the doorway in which my mother lies.
My finance turns to me with a smile that presents her chapped and quivering lips.
"Let's head home." Her voice is truly angelic, cutting through the rain as the light begins to shine through from the gray clouds above. I hold her hand as she pulls me along and towards the car, not responding to her.
I wonder, what will end when she, too, is gone?