The Story of Griffin Hawkins

Chapter Thirty-Seven

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Unedited, first draft

Chapter Thirty-Seven

It was all a blur. Every moment. Presently, I couldn't repeat everything that happened. The words that were said were forgotten. The people that came to support were forgotten. The comforting hugs were forgotten. It was all forgotten...except for one thing.

Griffin.

Seeing Griffin lying in a casket at the funeral wake. That was burned into my mind forever. His pasty skin and serene face. That moment would never leave my mind, no matter how hard I tried to forget it. The moment my eyes made contact with his lifeless body, my knees went weak. Someone caught me. My dad? I couldn't stop the body-crippling sob that took over.

I felt sick.

My head hurt.

My eyes hurt.

My heart.

The Hawkins' insisted I stand up with them in the receiving line, but how could I? I could barely manage to go to the casket, let alone stand there for hours near him. Seeing him. Missing him.

Instead, I sat on a couch in another room, away from his body.

Away from the broken faces.

Kirsten sat with me. My mom too, maybe my sister, maybe my dad, maybe my brother, but I couldn't remember.

My head was in Kirsten's lap most of the time as she soothed my hair.

An even worst part of it all was saying goodbye the following morning, when his casket was lowered into the ground, for the final time.

I couldn't take it. I had to walk away and I threw up what little was in my stomach behind a tree at the cemetery.

But, the absolute worst part of all of it, when Ansem came up to me at the cemetery, after I had collected myself enough to walk back over.

The service was over, the cool spring breeze nipped at my skin. Ansem held out an envelope with my name scribbled on it in Griffin's handwriting.

"He," Ansem cleared his throat, struggling to maintain his composure, "he wrote you a letter." He held it out to me. "I didn't read it. We got one as well." He informed me.

I could only stare at the harsh handwriting that belonged to Griffin. Kirsten ended up taking the letter from Ansem.

"I realize that we were not close, you and I, but don't lose touch, okay?" Tears filled his eyes. "I'm really happy he had you in the last moments of his life."

It's funny how one sentence can break you all over again.

So here I was, three months with him gone and just starting to not cry every day. I sat at the cemetery with the newly planted grave marker. Griffin's name was eloquently scripted and a summer bouquet that I had brought. I continuously played with the letter in my hands, flipping it over, and hesitating mostly.

I was trying to gain the courage to open it. I reminded myself that I needed ten seconds of insane courage to open it and from there, I would be okay.

With a burst of determinization, I slid my finger under the flap and pulled out the handwritten letter. It was in black pen. He took time to write this, I could tell immediately. It was rushed or hurried, it was relaxed...at peace.

Finally, I was reading his words, his last words to me. They were painful, a stab into my heart. It was losing him all over again.

However, his words gave me comfort. Ever so slightly they eased my pain, until eventually, I could read the words and remind myself of a quote from a movie, 'We will meet again, but not yet. Not yet.'