Secrets? Never.

21. To Have Loved

The funeral of Emily Grayson was held on a cool, crisp morning. The sun peeped tentatively over a nearby cloud, shining down on the privileged few who happened to also be attending the aforementioned funeral. The birds were singing satirically, and Daniel couldn't muster many words of comfort for his three distraught children. He hadn't even written a eulogy for crying out loud! But nonetheless, he was there, and he too, was beside himself with complete and utter, unadulterated, unmitigated, grief.

As the party gathered around the grave, Daniel stepped forward, his shiny black dress shoes stepping calmly one in front of the other. He remembered he didn't have anything prepared, but words magically came to him somehow. He didn't think, he just felt, and spoke. He felt the pain and sadness, the love and the lust, and put it into words.

"You know what's scary?" Daniel addressed the loved ones he'd invited, as they dabbed at their eyes with tissues, and fumbled desperately for something to say to him once the proceedings had drawn to a close "Letting go of someone. It's a lot different to losing someone. When you lose someone, you have no control over it. They're just taken, and you've got to deal with it as best you can. However, the much braver approach by far is letting go. Forgetting about the hurt, the tears, the pain, and the lies. It sounds easy, but it's not. Because, once you love someone, you're attached to them. Everything that they did to hurt you, just makes you hold on to them longer, and strengthens your grip. Sooner or later, you realise just how much you depend on them. The fights, and the drama become part of you. That person, becomes part of you. Letting go of someone means letting go of a part of yourself. It's hard, and it hurts; it hurts so much, but sometimes," he stepped over next to the grave, with a white rose, setting it on the wooden casket "you've just... got to let go. I love you Emily. You'll always be the best part of me." He fell to his knees next to the casket, his heavy breaths materialising as condensation on the brass handles of the casket. "Don't forget to check in while you're off being infinite."

A tear rolled down his cheek as he lifted himself onto his feet, took a step back, retrieved Danny from Nolan, and stepped back as Nolan came forward to say his piece.

"When Daniel asked me to say a few words here today, I really had no clue what to say; how to put into words quite who Emily was, she was bullheaded but caring, intelligent, but confused, hot-headed, yet altogether calm. That doesn't even begin to cover it. Emily was one big contradiction, and I had no clue how to relay to everyone here just who exactly she was; until I saw this poem, and thought of her, and her notions of infinity." Nolan cleared his throat before beginning.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die."

Everyone else set a single white rose on top of the casket. Before filing over to Daniel and the children to one by one offer their most sincere condolences.

A huge, golden angel with a trumpet rose from the head of the grave. Daniel had chosen that particular headstone because it represented Emily so very well. After all, it is said that when the golden angel blows its trumpet, the world's end is nigh. And Emily's sudden demise all but ended his world; and would have, if not for their children. 'Emily Grayson,' was etched into the polished marble at the angel's feet 'Loving wife and mother.' That was it. Her life; reduced to a sentence. That was all she got. In spite of money, or power, or influence, that's all anyone really ever gets.

A few drops of rain fell on the mourners. As the drops turned to a downpour, the funeral party's numbers dropped; and dropped. At last, Daniel was the only one who stood in front of the angel, staring at the mound of dirt, before snapping; and relenting. He suddenly dropped to his knees once more in floods if tears, punching the muddy grass in front of him. His fists kept going and going, slap, slap, slap, against the mud. It was between his fingers, under his nails, in his hair, and on his face. The only words that fell from his lips were "Emily, why?!" Like raindrops from the heavens, they fell, each time the same. Over and over and over.

Isabella's reaction was much the same as her father's: she could remain stoical right up until the moment she crumbled into the abyss of emotion. Emily, now that you mention it, was no stranger to this approach either. Letting everything build up, until you fall beneath its weight. Isabella had wondered why it was that her father wasn't there; why he didn't come home with them after the funeral. After all, this was a better time than most to actually show up for your family, instead of closing yourself off. Danny hadn't stopped crying since they got back. Not for one moment. Charlotte couldn't deal with it, and had snapped at Sophia for trying to intervene. All he wanted was Emily. To hear her voice, her reassuring tones. 'Poor fella' she thought. At least her and Sophia could understand their mother's sudden disappearance.

As she felt it all becoming too much, Isabella dragged herself upstairs, not caring (or lacking the energy- she couldn't decide which) to lift her feet as she traipsed aimlessly. After taking a quick glance around her room, one into which her mother had tucked her each evening, and got into bed without changing out of her sodden black dress, and wept into her pillow. It was then she decided she didn't want to be grown up; because if this is the world grown-ups live in; she wants to stay young forever.

It's only when you lose someone, that you realise how important they were to you, how much your life is affected once they're gone, and what a gift it is, to have loved.

© Sarah Egan 2014 This story is subject to copyright and may not be copied or reproduced without the express permission of the author.