The Landlord

forty six - heavenly bodies

"Today, we gather to celebrate the life of Carol, a truly enigmatic soul whose presence illuminated our lives in unexpected ways. She often moved through the world like a shadow, mysterious and intriguing, yet her warmth and unwavering protection for her us, her friends, were the ultimate testament to her life. Carol had a unique gift for making each of us feel seen and valued, always ready to lend an ear or offer a shoulder to lean on.

Her fierce love was a shield, guarding us against life's challenges and uncertainties. Whether it was through a thoughtful gesture or a simple act of kindness, she had a way of knowing exactly what we needed, often before we did. Her smiles was infectious, and her stories, though sometimes shrouded in mystery, drew us in, making us feel a part of something special.

As we remember her today, let us not only mourn the loss of a friend but also celebrate the beauty of the connections she forged. Carol taught us the importance of loyalty, compassion, and the quiet strength that comes from truly loving one another. Though she may no longer be with us, her spirit will continue to guide us, reminding us to cherish each moment and protect one another just as she did. Dearest, if you can hear me right now, please know that you don't have to worry. We'll take care of everything. I love you, Lou." Abby wipes her tears as she delivers her eulogy.

"Lou?" I asked Larissa.

"Uh. It's her second name."

I roamed my eyes around the chapel, it was only us and a few people that were not familiar to me. I wasn't expecting a lot of people, but I was quite startled by how few attended her funeral. The empty spaces between the pews felt like a testament to the void she left behind, amplifying the sorrow in the air.

The soft hum of whispered condolences floated around me, but their faces were unfamiliar, shadows of those who had come to pay their respects. As I traced the edge of the altar, I noticed a framed photo of her. Her smile radiated joy, a stark contrast to the sorrow that enveloped the room. I felt a wave of grief wash over me, mixed with confusion. How could so few come to honor her?

I once again glared at Larissa, hoping to find solace in her presence. Her expression was so hard to read; she was lost in thought. I could see the weight of the moment on her shoulders, and I longed to bridge the gap of silence that hung between us.

"Larissa, do you happen to have a few words? This is your chance before they close the casket tonight." Ms. Frump says, with a bit of doubt that caused to break the silence.

"I'd rather not." she answered coldly.

I felt an ache in my heart when Larissa refused to share her eulogy. It was a moment heavy with unspoken grief, and though I longed for her to take the stage, I understood the weight of her hesitation. Losing Carol had cast a shadow over all of us, leaving us in a state of disbelief and sorrow. The thought of standing before a sea of faces, struggling to articulate the depth of that loss, must have felt insurmountable for her.

Larissa and Carol had shared a bond that transcended mere friendship. Their connection was a tapestry woven from smiles, late-night conversations, and probably even shared goals, each thread a testament to the years they had spent together. I could only imagine the flood of memories that rushed through Larissa's mind, each one both a comfort and a reminder of the void Carol's absence had created.

I held her hand. She glanced at me and gave me a small smile. That's all I can see because her eyes were covered with her sunglasses.

I realized that sometimes silence is its own form of tribute. Each person grieves in their own way, and if Larissa needed to hold her memories close for now, that was entirely valid. We could only support her in her decision, understanding that grief has its own timeline.