A Thousand Times Enough

⋆ Chapter 24 ⋆

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dreams That Don't End

XXIV. • °

"Today, family and friends, we are gathered here due to a devastating loss—one that has carved a hollow into each of our hearts. A loss so deep, so soul-rattling, that words barely hold its weight."

"Today we remember someone who gave back without question, who poured love into her community the same way she poured it into the people she cherished. Someone who never hesitated to help—Sandra was that someone."

He paused, taking a breath sharp enough to shake him. His voice cracked. "Sandra was my friend. One of the best I've ever had. Brave, selfless, the kind of person who never let fear stop her from doing what was right."

I lifted my eyes from the ground—slow, heavy, like dragging through wet sand. I refused to look at the casket. I couldn't. My gaze slid to my dad, who'd long since cried every tear he had. Now, he just sat hollow. Not numb. Just... somewhere else entirely.

I scanned the crowd. Barely a handful of family. Just enough to count on my fingers. That was all the support my mother got. She'd barely spoken to her family—my grams never approved of my dad. Mom told me Grams thought he was never good enough. And when Mom got pregnant with me, the silence between them grew into a canyon neither wanted to cross.

They only reconnected when Grams was dying, and even that brief flicker of warmth was extinguished. When Mom passed, I was left with pieces—a photo here, a half-story there. Nothing that added up to closure.

My eyes found Aunt Mick. She was wrecked. Her only sister—gone. But even they hadn't been close. Bitterness lingered between them like cigarette smoke you can't air out. Aunt Mick had accused Mom of waiting too long to make things right with Grams. Mom hated the guilt. Eventually, she shut her out too.

When I told Dad that Aunt Mick was flying in from California, I thought maybe—just maybe—she wanted to help. But he shut that thought down before it could breathe. Said she didn't care about us. Said all she wanted was whatever scraps were left behind. Said we had no family. Just each other.

"Sandra... my dear friend... we will miss you more than words can hold. I hope Milton and his daughter find peace, knowing you're watching over them with love and light. Rest easy, my friend."

As his final words landed, I heard the mechanical churn of the casket lowering. A sound so soft it felt loud. My breath caught. I kept my head straight but from the corner of my eye, I could see her being swallowed by the earth. The final goodbye I wasn't ready for.

A single tear broke free, trailing down my cheek. And then it hit me—like a brick wall to the chest. All those nights I cried quietly in my room, all the times I avoided the photos on the wall that Dad nearly threw out. I thought if I forced myself to accept her death, it might hurt less.

But how do you accept something like this?

"No... no, stop!" I shouted, lunging forward. I reached for the casket, for her. She couldn't go. Not yet.

A hand caught me mid-lunge. My dad. His arms locked around me.

"Let go!" I screamed, thrashing against him. "That's Mom! Dad, it's Mom!"

He held me tighter. "Josie, you can't."

I fought. I fought until the last sliver of the casket disappeared. My strength buckled. Pain stabbed through me, sudden and paralyzing. "Why did she leave us? Why?"

"Josie..." His voice was a whisper of a whisper. "I can't let you go to her. She's gone—"

"No!" I cried. "How can you say that? How—" My knees gave out. We both sank to the ground.