Late To My Own Funeral
Most people don’t need to tell the time anymore. Everybody found their inner watch and then followed it to whatever life made sense. But, you see, I am still the old soul you knew. I still hold on to the small faded-gold antique pocket watch you gave me. I need to see the seconds ticking and the arms moving. Otherwise, I will sit here for an eternity. You were right, my dear Amber. I will be late to my own funeral.
Just give me one more moment, just one more. Let me breathe in the salty air and hear the waves clash up the beach. Let me watch the couple walking by the water, laughing with their arms around each other. Life took us on many turns, eh? We thought we would live forever and then we lived every day as if it was the last one.
Yours came before mine. I sat next to you in that yellow wall hospital, watching you gasp and your dark eyes watering as I held your weakly thin hand in mine.
“It's alright, dear. It is alright. You did good. You can let go”
That was the last tear you shed and then you left me in that room with your grieving husband and I heard your grandchild shriek. She clasped a hand over her mouth and fell into her brother’s arms but I was still holding on to your hand. Then the nurse came and said: “It's alright, dear. It is alright. You did good. You can let go”
When we first met, I was just a girl afraid of the crowd and you were looking for someone in it. Every day since then we found each other. You found me when I came home from my travels. Suddenly a stranger in my own land and disconnected from all that knew me before. You told me that my laugh had changed when we met for coffee and then ask me to be the maid of honor at your wedding.
I found you when you miscarried your first child. Your husband called me. His brown eyes were red and baggy beneath his dark curly hair. His head was down as if it was too heavy for his neck. He said nothing, just opened the door wider and let me in. You were on the bathroom floor, curled into a ball and hugging your knees while staring at nothing. You would barely blink but I sat next to you until the sun went down again. The orange glares colored the room. Your husband brought us a glass of water. We drank it in silence and then sighed. That day I told you that I wanted to be your children’s godmother. You cried and I left you there. We were just young women then, you were afraid to try again and I was afraid of giving up.
You were a city girl, Amber, and I grew up in a small town by the river but we poured ourselves into others. Somehow we kept giving to all around us, even when we were empty ourselves. You fell in love with the boy next door and I wrote a story about the dark knight in shiny armour whom I could only change. You never confessed your love to that boy and one day he was just out of your mind. I never found my knight and one day I just forgot. You left the city and I left the town but now the river had turned to a pond.
You were born to be the oldest and I was the last, tumbling my siblings many years later. I was always late after all and you were always on time but now it feels as if you had gone too soon. Just this last time could you wait for me like you always did? I can still remember it so clearly. The black backpack hung around your shoulders as you held your purple bike standing in front of our favorite Thai restaurant. I am almost there, my dear. Just one more moment. Wait for me this last time.
