Writer's Block

I had never been all that close to my sister, Josephina, but when I heard the news that she and her husband had been killed in a car crash, I was filled with unstoppable waves of misery. I thanked the remorseful man who had told me the horrid news and hung up, hand shaking. I unsteadily sunk into a chair at my kitchen table, resting my face on my quivering hands. I sat reminiscing of our times together pulling pranks and other shenanigans on the neighbors. We had drifted apart after I had graduated, and when I decided to drop my law degree to become an author, I had been estranged from her and the rest of my family. I foggily remembered that she had two children, a boy and a girl. I stared at the blank wall, and was only slightly surprised to find quiet tears sliding down my cheeks. I finally surrendered to the sobs that were growing in my chest.

After I had sobbed for a good ten minutes, with a pile of used tissues around me, I decided to go to her funeral.

I owed that to her, at least, especially since I had been such a horrible sister in the past five years.

I traced a design in the wooden table, steeling my nerves. I was going. I had to go.

_______________

After a five hour drive from Lincoln to Spencer, I stood nervously at the funeral parlor's doors. I was getting cold feet, but I knew that it was too late to go back now. I smoothed the rumples out of my modest skirt and walked into the building. A woman stood at the entrance next to a picture of my deceased sister, greeting guests as they entered. Tears tracked black trails down her face, and her eyes had dark, baggy shadows underneath them. I jerked in surprise when I realized that she was my mother. The dark brown hair that I had inherited from her was now about half grey, and dark grooves lined her face, giving her a haggard appearance. Her startling violet eyes that both my sister and I had inherited were growing watery, the whites turning a light yellow.

I stepped toward the stranger that was my mother and shakily smiled at her.

Many expressions crossed her face in quick succession. Confusion, anger, sadness, and joy battled to gain control of her face. Joy and sadness finally won, and she stumbled toward me, arms wide. "Oh, Genevieve!" She sobbed, clutching at my vest. "Josie..."

I patted her back awkwardly, feeling stiff. "I'm sorry, Mom." I felt like a robot.

She drew away, eyes wild. "My dear Genevieve!" She rubbed my hair. "Please, forgive me!"

I was confused. "Why?"

Fresh tears brimmed out of her eyes. "Genevieve, do not leave me like your sister."

I looked at the woman standing in front of me with distaste. This woman had kicked me out of the family, declaring me a traitor and forbidding my father and sister from contacting me when I had followed my dreams to become an author. She had ceased all contact with me, pretending that I had never existed. She had scorned me, driven me away, and left me to the dogs.

But this was a different woman standing in front of me. She had the same name, yes, and the same face, but she was broken. And as much as I loathed myself for doing so, I forgave her.

"Mother," my voice was soft. "I won't leave you."

A spark of joy flickered in her watery eyes. "Thank you, Genevieve." Her voice was pitiful. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

_____________

The funeral was like many other funerals. Beautiful music played, a sermon was shared, and many people cried. I however, did not shed any tears. All of my tears had been shed that horrible night in the kitchen and the grueling five hour drive up. I just sat tiredly in the pew, feeling horribly empty.

After the service and before the procession to the graveyard, my attention was drawn to a verbal fight in the entranceway of the parlor. A young man was standing there, face cherry red, shouting at my mother. "I agreed to take care of them until the funeral," he growled. "Now that the funeral's over, I want them out of the house!" He gestured at a young girl, standing silently next to a baby seat, which held a squashed-looking little boy.

My mother held her own. "We have yet to find a family that will take them in," she hissed. "So I need you to care for them. I am unable to do so myself."

I felt sick. They were arguing over who had to take care of my niece and nephew while the two children were standing right there.

The man scoffed. "Nobody will want these runts." He gestured at the girl, who flinched away. "They're trash."

Blood rushed in my ears, and I swore I saw red. I stepped forward, shaking in anger. "I'll take them."

"What?" The man rounded on me.

I rose my chin, staring condescendingly down my nose at him. "I'll do it. I'll take them."