Cerulean

The Funeral

October 27th 2022

She wailed and collapsed into a heap on the floor as his tiny casket was lowered into the ground. Draped over the top of the coffin was a patchwork quilt, the kind that a grandparent gifts to you when you're young and over the decades eventually becomes a family heirloom. Embroidered onto each individual square were various pictures of boats, planes, tractors and cars. It was the epitome of a little boys blanket. 

That was what he was after all, a little boy. He was just a child with his whole entire life ahead of him. His mother wept for the baby she would never hold again. Her arms were wrapped around her husband, the boy's stepfather, who held her close to him. The boy's stepsister, looked up at her grieving stepmother and offered her hand. It was quickly swatted away. The little girl looked at her father who gave her a small nod as if to say 'it's ok, don't take it personally.' He too had tears in his eyes. 

I'd been to funerals before but this was a stark contrast to any of those. The coffin before me seemed to small to be holding a person inside. All of the funerals I'd been to previously had been for an elderly relative, somebody who'd enjoyed a long and fulfilled life. There had been quiet sobs and sniffling throughout the service but overall they were a celebration of the life they had lived. The guttural wails that came from the little boy's mother reminded me that this was not a like those funerals. I couldn't imagine how she must be feeling. I didn't even want to comprehend that it could have been one of my own children in that box. 

His stepfather stepped forward and on the cue of the vicar began to sprinkle soil over the coffin. Everyone watched on as the first grains of earth fell upon the wooden box, obscuring the small metal plaque engraved with his name. As the vicar motioned for the boy's grandparents to sprinkle their soil, his mother suddenly yelled for them to stop. 

She ran over to one of the chairs behind the crowd of people and emerged holding a large cardboard box. She removed the lid and discarded it on the floor before removing the item inside. There it was again, the Cerulean. Seeing that toy pirate ship sent chills down my spine. The broken mast was the only evidence that the boat had encountered any sort of difficulty. It had fared better than the little boy it seemed. 

The mother walked over to where her son's partially covered coffin lay in the ground. She fell onto her knees, completely oblivious to the wet mud that would be seeping into her pristine black trousers. She kissed the side of the boat gently and leant forward down into the hole, dropping the boat down so that it sat on the coffin lid. 

"He wouldn't want to be without it," she said, gasping for breath in-between each sob. "She was his pride and joy."

"It's ok sweetheart," his stepfather kneeled beside her and cradled her head in his arms. His grandparents also held one another, sobbing into each others shoulders. His school friends held up pictures and banners they had made with his name painted on them. There were so many people here to grieve this little boy. All of them had gathered to mourn a 'wonderful, kind and loving shining star' as his mother called him. If only they knew what I knew about that little boy. If only they had seen what I had seen, they would know he was far from the loving star they thought he was. 

His mother eventually gathered herself and stood up. She began walking towards me with her arms outstretched. My husband dropped his arm from round my waist to make room for her. 

"Thank you," she whispered in my ear. "I know you couldn't save him but it gives me some comfort to know that he was with you in his final moments. Thank you." 

I shook my head. "Every day I wish it was me instead of him. You know that right? There is not a second that goes by when I don't wish that I could swap places with him."

"I know that Jem. Thank you for trying to save my Christopher." She pulled herself away from me and looked to my own son who was holding on to my husband very tightly. She looked back to me and began to sob uncontrollably again. Her husband walked over to us, wrapped his arm around her and led her away. 

A few attendees had already started to disperse, a cold autumn breeze creeping under their coats. It seemed to be only close family that remained now, whispering their goodbyes to the little boy who would never grow old. 

I watched his mother walk away from me and felt the familiar feeling of bile rising in my throat.  My fists were clenched in my coat pockets and I could feel the crescent shapes my nails had left in my palms.

I'm so sorry Alana, if only you really knew what I did to your Christopher.