After the Storm

The Weight Of Goodbye

Prompt: (Erased.) My fault, I pressed Ctrl + V instead of Ctrl + C. 

Astrid stood a silent sentinel amidst the sea of black-clad mourners, her gaze fixed on the polished mahogany coffin as it descended into the earth. The finality of the moment pressed down on her, a tangible weight that seemed to constrict her chest. Beside her, her father's form shook with sobs, the sound of his grief a stark contrast to the sombre silence that enveloped them. She reached out, her hand trembling as it found his, offering a lifeline in the palpable sorrow.

Her father, once a pillar of strength, now seemed so fragile, his tears carving rivers of loss down his cheeks. Astrid's heart ached as she watched him, the man who had always been her rock, crumble under the weight of his heartache. She squeezed his hand tighter, wordlessly promising to be his support, to be the strength he needed in the wake of their shared loss.

Aris and Ariana, her younger siblings, stood close, their youthful faces etched with a sadness that was too profound for their tender years. Aris, ever the stoic, had a furrow in his brow, his eyes distant, as if he were searching the horizon for a sign of the mother they could no longer reach. Ariana's eyes, brimming with unshed tears, held a glimmer of the innocence that the harsh hand of loss had not yet fully stripped away.

The cold breeze whispered through the cemetery, carrying with it the muted sounds of the service. The clergyman's voice, usually so commanding, now seemed to falter, heavy with emotion as he spoke of life, love, and the cruel thief that is death. Astrid listened each word a note in the elegy of her mother's life, a melody of memories that would forever play in the recesses of her mind.

As the coffin settled with a soft thud, a collective sigh rippled through the crowd, a release of breath they had all been holding. Astrid felt her father's grip on her hand loosens slightly, a silent acknowledgement of the end of the ceremony, but not of their mourning. They would carry this grief with them, a shadow companion that would walk beside them in the days, months, and years to come.

The mourners began to disperse, their footsteps a hushed shuffle against the gravel paths. Astrid remained steadfast, her eyes not leaving the grave, as if by watching she could somehow bridge the gap between life and death, between her and her mother. She heard Aris's quiet voice beside her, a simple "Let's go home," but it sounded like a whisper from another world.

Home. The word echoed in Astrid's mind, a place now hollowed out by absence. How could they return to a place so full of her mother's presence, yet now so irrevocably empty? But they would go, because life demanded it, because their mother would have wanted them to forge ahead, to find joy even in the depths of despair.

Astrid finally tore her gaze from the grave, looking at her father, her siblings, and then at the sky above, where the clouds had parted to reveal a sliver of blue. It was a sign, she thought, a sliver of hope amidst the storm of their sorrow. And with that, she led her family away from the grave, away from the finality of goodbye, and towards the uncertainty of tomorrow, carrying with them the love and legacy of the woman who had taught them everything about living.

Astrid's memory unfolded like the delicate petals of a flower, revealing a day drenched in golden sunlight, a stark contrast to the somber hues that now colored her world. She remembered her mother, a figure of warmth, her laughter a melody that danced through the air of their vibrant garden. It was a day of simple joys, the kind that etches itself into the soul, a day when her mother taught her how to plant sunflowers.