Closure

1

ROBERT RANSFORD

SON, FRIEND, LOVING HUSBAND

MAY HE REST IN THE PEACEFUL DWELLING OF OUR LORD

1870-1901

That's what her husband's headstone read. Clara Ransford stood in the bitter cold surrounded by black-clad friends and family who all eyed her with solemn pity. The chilly breeze ruffled the black veil which covered her face. Her cheeks were warmed by tears which slowly rolled down from her eyes and dripped off her chin as she watched the oak casket being lowered into the ground. The minister prattled on about how Robert was finally at peace, but Clara could hardly focus on the eulogy. Her attention remained firmly fixed on the sight of her husband's casket until it sank so deeply into the earth that it disappeared from view.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," the minister said in a monotone, concluding his eulogy. Then his eyes turned to Clara and he motioned to the mound of dirt piled next to the grave.

She tried to nod her head affirmingly but couldn't find the strength to make even the slightest movement. After a long and silent moment, Clara felt her mother's hand touching her arm, guiding her toward the heap of earth. On stilt-like legs, Clara staggered forward and reached a trembling hand down toward the dirt. She scraped a small clump of soil into her curled fingers and turned to face the grave.

She froze as she peered into the earthen cavity, gazing down at the lid of her husband's casket. Her vision blurred as a wave of fresh tears flooded her eyes. She wrapped her fingers tightly around the clump of dirt in her hand. Awash with grief, Clara felt indignant. She couldn't dare to throw dirt on the grave. Doing so would admit finality, it would affirm that her husband was indeed gone and would not return. So, she stood rigid, silently refusing to partake in his burial.

"Come now, dear," Clara's mother said softly. Her voice was sweet and sympathetic, but her words caused anger to boil in Clara's bosom.

"No," she protested through gritted teeth.

"This is the worst part, I know," Mother said with an empathetic sigh. "Take your time if you need to."

"I won't..." Clara stammered as she choked on her tears. "I can't do it."

"Mrs. Ransford," the minister said to Clara with a shallow, insincere look of sympathy and motioned his hand toward the grave, "please."

Once more, through clenched teeth, Clara said defiantly, "No."

The crowd stood silent, the sounds of their breathing and hushed sobs became eerily drowned out by the rustling of leaves on trees and the grotesque cawing of crows nearby. All eyes were trained on Clara, and she felt their stares burning against her temple. But still, she remained indignant. She would not throw dirt on her husband's grave.

After a long while, Robert's mother came forward and picked up a clump of dirt. She shot Clara a bitter look, not that Clara cared. Robert's mother held out her hand, whispered a final farewell to her son, and opened her fist.

"No!" Clara gasped as she watched the dirt tumble out from her mother-in-law's fingers. Impulsively, without thought, Clara dove forward, desperate to stop so much as a single square-inch of her husband's casket from being covered. Down she fell, six feet to the bottom. With a hefty thump, her body slammed into the casket and loose clumps of dirt were shaken from the grave's walls, falling on top of her.

The crowd above her roared with shock. Clara heard gasps and screams echo downward, reverberating off the earthen walls. But she ignored their cries and wrapped her arms around the wooden box, clinging desperately to what remained of her husband.