Ghost of Me.

0,5. Echoes of Farewell.

C H A R L I E ' S / P O V

The air hung heavy with grief, and the scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the crisp chill of a cold, winter morning. The somber melody of a distant drum accompanied the rhythmic steps of uniformed soldiers, their boots resonating like a solemn heartbeat.

Clad in a pitch-black dress, its fabric clung to my form as if mirroring the weight in my chest. The dress, chosen for its simplicity, was a stark contrast to the vibrant military uniforms that surrounded me. A veil of tears blurred my vision, distorting the meticulously folded flags that flanked the casket.

Rows of soldiers stood in disciplined formation, a tableau of mourning rendered in shades of navy and gray. Their stoic expressions belied the camaraderie that bound them—a brotherhood forged in the crucible of service. My father, Major Charles Reeves, had been a steadfast member of this fraternity until his final breath.

The distant sun cast long shadows across the perfectly manicured lawn, illuminating the faces of those gathered to bid farewell. My aunt, a pillar of strength beside me, struggled to contain her own grief. She clutched a tissue in one hand, a futile defense against the tears that welled in her eyes.

The bugler stepped forward, his instrument poised for the haunting strains of Taps. My father's casket, draped in the flag he had served, seemed to bear the weight of collective sorrow. A lump formed in my throat as the first melancholy notes echoed through the crisp air.

The flag, ceremoniously folded with precision, was presented to me by a solemn-faced soldier. Its triangular form held the essence of my father's sacrifice, a tangible reminder of the cost of service.

As Taps played its mournful refrain, I clutched the folded flag to my chest, my fingers tracing the embroidered stars and stripes. The fabric, coarse against my skin, carried with it the gravity of finality. Tears, unbidden, traced delicate pathways down my cheeks.

The bugler's final note hung in the air, lingering like a whisper of farewell. The soldiers, a silent testament to my father's legacy, saluted in unison. I, too, raised a trembling hand in acknowledgment.

In that poignant moment, as the final echoes of Taps faded, I felt the undeniable weight of pride and sorrow. My father's presence, once a comforting constant, had become a memory etched in the fabric of military tradition. The dress, the tears, the folded flag—all intertwined in the tapestry of a daughter's farewell to her father. The sun dipped below the horizon as the military ceremony concluded, casting a warm glow over the gathering. The air was filled with a quiet solemnity, broken only by the murmur of hushed conversations and the occasional shuffling of boots on the grass.

With the ceremony behind us, we made our way to the modest reception hall where the wake would take place. The familiar faces of military comrades, friends, and distant relatives offered sympathetic nods as we passed. The reception hall, adorned with somber decorations, seemed to echo with the collective grief of those who had known and respected Major Charles Reeves.

Inside, the atmosphere was heavy with shared sorrow. The scent of fresh flowers mingled with the aroma of brewing coffee, creating a bittersweet backdrop to the grieving process. The room was adorned with photographs capturing moments from my father's military career and snippets of our family life. Each image told a story—a narrative of sacrifice, duty, and the love that transcended the distance imposed by military service.

The subdued hum of conversations and the clinking of utensils against plates filled the air as people gathered to pay their respects. The wake provided a space for shared memories and shared tears, a communal embrace of loss that transcended the boundaries of rank and familiarity.

As I stood by the table holding a portrait of my father in uniform, guests approached with condolences and words of sympathy. The veil of tears, no longer held back, flowed freely, leaving a trace of mascara on my cheeks. My aunt stood beside me, her support unwavering, her own tears hidden behind a facade of strength.

The wake unfolded in a blur of shared stories, whispered condolences, and the warmth of comforting embraces. Each handshake, each shared memory, became a lifeline connecting us to the legacy my father had left behind.

As the evening wore on, the collective grief found expression in shared laughter amid tears. Military comrades, now comrades in mourning, recounted tales of my father's leadership, his unwavering commitment to duty, and the camaraderie that had defined their shared journey.

In the midst of the wake, I found myself surrounded by a community bound by a common understanding of sacrifice. The military tradition of standing together in the face of adversity became palpable, offering solace and a sense of belonging in the midst of profound loss.

As the wake drew to a close, the room still echoed with the resonance of shared sorrow. The folded flag, now placed on a small table beside the portrait, served as a poignant reminder of the farewell we had bid to a man whose legacy would endure.

As I stepped outside, the cool night air offered a moment of respite. The stars, distant witnesses to our collective grief, shone brightly overhead. The funeral had marked the end of a chapter, but the journey of mourning, healing, and remembering had just begun. In the silent embrace of the night, I allowed myself to feel the weight of loss, knowing that the road ahead would be one of navigating the complexities of grief while honoring the indelible mark my father had left on the world.

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This is the final chapter of the prologue, there will be one more chapter heavily based around  the loss of her Father before we begin moving on! He won't be forgotten, but he won't be constantly mentioned. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, It brought me goosebumps to read. 
Much love, Ash <3