When You Were My Sister

Chapter One (The Funeral)

 Nola  

My entire body was rendered immobile, grief so heavy I could hardly breathe. Nothing in life made sense, I was angry at God. How could God take him from me, from us, so soon? He should have lived to be there to see me graduate University, beaming at me with pride the way he always did. He should have lived to be there to walk me down the aisle when I got married, calling me his special little girl and kissing me gently on the cheek when he gives me away. He should have lived to see me give him grandchildren. I wish I had been a better daughter. I wish I had shown him more how much I loved him. I wish I had fought with him less, spent more time with him before he died. My mind raced with notions of what could have been and what should have been, but I came to one conclusion, it was too late. Time wasted could never be regained.

The dark sunglasses I wore could not mask the pain I felt inside, from losing my father way too soon. There could never be enough time with him. I saw no one else, I knew my mother stood beside me, masking her own grief beneath her church hat. All I could see was the pallbearers lowering my Daddy's coffin into the cold earth, where he did not belong.

"Ashes to Ashes and dust to dust." Pastor Eli droned monotonously. He had salt and pepper low cropped hair, an uneven moustache above a lopsided mouth, light brown skin and dark brown eyes. He wore wired rimmed test glasses, a black and violet gown on his slim frame, even in the stifling humidity. He sprinkled dirt on the coffin, bringing finality to the ceremony.

I needed more time, I subbed. My mother placed her arm around my shoulders pulling me into a hug. I buried my face in her neck, her sugar and vanilla essence filling my nostrils. Tears ran down my cheeks soaking her black and white floral cotton dress, where my cheek rested. She rubbed my back soothingly. I admired her strength. I knew she wanted to break down and cry as much as I did, but she was holding it together for the rest of us. I knew she cried herself to sleep every night for the past two weeks ever since daddy died, and it broke my heart even more.

The funeral singers raised an old hymn, "Amazing grace how sweet the sound that saved a retch like me." Their singing was melancholy and made me want to cry even more. Why didn't people sing more uplifting songs at funerals? It was sad enough that we lost a loved one. Why drag the mood down even more with the saddest songs they could find?

I sniffed and pull myself free of my mother's embrace. "Gosh they are depressing." I rolled my eyes.

"Makes me want to kill myself." Auntie Mora said. She handed me a paper napkin from her big black hand bag. I took it and wiped my tears away and blew my nose.

"Mora." Mama scowled her.

Auntie Mora continued, ignoring Mama's scowling glare. "Or drink myself to death." She dug out her black bejeweled flask, she reserved for funerals from her bag, opened it and took a long drink. "Better." She said wiping her mouth, her breath stunk of rum.

I could not help myself I laughed, for the first time in days.

"You drinking here at this moment is not funny." Mama said.

"Ellen if there is a time you should drink, it is right now. You just lost your husband and I just lost my brother. The folks up at the church will not judge you if you allow yourself a moment of weakness." Auntie Mora raised her flask in the air.

Mama grabbed it from her hand stuffing it into her bag, before Pastor Eli could see it. "I don't want you getting drunk, there is still a lot left to do."

"What else is there to do? You got him into the hole already, funeral is over." Auntie Mora gestured with her hands.

"Oh, you are insufferable." Mama turned to walk away, but suddenly stopped in her tracks.