Moving On

It somehow feels wrong that the sun is shining today. Everyone is silent except for the birds, who are singing their song to take her up to the heavens. If it was any other day, any other place, then this would seem a perfect day.

If she were here with us right now I know she would be smiling. This was her ideal day; perfect weather, lovely heat, and beautiful sights all around. Inside I am smiling with the thought that she would approve of her funeral taking place as such a perfect time. Outside I can’t stop myself from crying.

My sister walks beside me. Normally I should be the one comforting her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and drying her eyes when she cries, but today we have swapped roles. I pull the tissue out my pocket and dry my eyes once more as we slowly move toward the church.

We are one of the first inside. My sister asks if I would like us to sit at the front, but I decline. I don’t want to be seen by so many people in such a vulnerable state. I take my seat near the back, as close to the wall as I can. Everyone else starts filing in, and soon enough most of the seats are taken, there are only a few at the back that remain empty.

After the first hymn my sister stands up and gives our eulogy. I wish I could have written something better, something more fitting for her on this day, but as I hear my sister read the words I wrote for her, it all feels wrong. I dip my head and pray, hoping she will hear me apologise for my poor effort.

Outside we each take a handful of dirt and toss it on her coffin. I toss a white orchid down too. Her favourite flower. I stand at the edge for a long time just looking down. Family and friends all come over to me to pay their condolences and check on me. I give each person a fake smile and reassure them that I will be fine. I don’t think anyone believes me, though no one stays.

My sister drives us straight back home. She asked if we should go with everyone else down the local pub for a drink, but I said I just want to go home. She comes with me but I know she would prefer to go.

I sat downstairs for a long time. I didn’t get up to put the TV on, or radio, I just sat in the silence, looking over old pictures. I heard my sister leave and several hours later come back home. She offered me some food but once again I declined. I knew she was concerned for me but I was feeling too much sorrow to care. I stayed in the same seat until it got dark, and then I went over and sat in her old chair by the window, where I fell asleep.

A month later I was woken by the sun shining on my face. I stared out the window hoping that I would hear her voice behind me, but then everything came back to me. I made myself some toast and sat outside to eat and listen to the birds sing.

The house felt empty without her. Normally there would be the sound of the radio, she would be cluttering around the kitchen or by the window drawing the horizon. Those pencils and paints would only gather dust now.

I took my usual walk down to the cemetery to check on her gravestone. I had been coming at least once a day since her funeral making sure the flowers were fresh and everything was tidy. That’s how she would like it. Something was different though. Right in the middle of her grave was a sprouting, not much now but I had watched her tend her flowers enough to know what it would grow into. A white orchid.

For the first time in over a month I felt myself smiling. I knew in that moment that everything would be okay again. I knew she was still there somehow, tending to her flower and helping it grow strong. Maybe the paints won’t gather dust after all, I thought. Maybe it’s time I started drawing again.