Funerals. They aren't fun. Especially if it's at a graveyard, and it's your best friend's funeral. They want me to speak, but I don't think I can. I'm sorry, Celeste.
That day was perfect; it wasn't too hot or too cold. The sun bathed the cemetery in a gentle golden glow, casting long shadows over the rows of gravestones. The air felt heavy, laden with sorrow and unspoken words. Family, friends, and acquaintances gathered, their somber faces mirroring the weight in their hearts.
The funeral ceremony took place at the tranquil cemetery. Instead of viewing the casket before it was lowered into the ground, we were given roses to toss in after it descended into the grave, a final gesture of love and remembrance.
"If anyone would like to say a few words, do so now," the priest's voice resonated through the gathering.
Kenmur, who sat next to me, raised his hand, a determined look in his eyes.
"Yes, the young man in the white tuxedo," the priest acknowledged him.
With steady steps, Ken made his way to the front, the murmurs of the crowd hushing in anticipation. He cleared his throat and began to speak.
"Today is a somber day. Today we bury a young one who was taken too soon. But today, we shouldn't cry because she is gone. We should be happy because we got to know her, even if it was for a short time," Ken's voice quivered with emotion. "My sister was loving, caring, and sometimes annoying. But she had fun, and that's all that mattered. She wasn't alone, either. For her partner in crime, Zeke, was always by her side. I don't remember a day when they were separated. I honestly don't. She loved him, probably more than he loved her, and as her brother, I was somewhat jealous. But as they got closer, I thought: maybe it isn't so bad. But yeah, my sister was amazing, and it was a blessing to know her."
His heartfelt speech touched everyone present, evoking both tears and smiles. Ken returned to his seat, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"You gonna say anything?" Ken whispered to me, nudging me gently.
"I-I, uh-," I stuttered, my words caught in my throat.
With an encouraging nod, Ken raised my hand, urging me to share my thoughts and memories.
"Yes. The young man in the beanie," the priest called out, acknowledging my hesitant presence.
Reluctantly, I stood up, my legs feeling unsteady as I made my way to the front, where Ken stood, offering silent support. I glanced at the sea of faces, familiar and unfamiliar, their gazes expectant yet understanding.
Taking a deep breath, I began to speak, my voice laced with a mixture of sadness and gratitude.
"Hi, most of you may not know me. But if what Kenmur says is true, you probably heard about me. But I'm not up here to tell you about me. I'm here to talk about Celeste," I paused, memories of her vibrant personality flooding my mind. "She was so funny, kind, and always knew what to say. I don't know how, but she always knew what to say. She was so smart and talented. I could've listened to her stories and poems for hours. But I can't because she's gone. But not as Kenmur said, I'm going to be sad because she's gone. I'm going to cherish the time she and I spent together. S-she wasn't just my best friend. She was a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a niece. She played those roles well. Everyone loved her. And for those who didn't. They missed out."
My voice trembled with the weight of loss as I concluded my speech. I looked down at the casket, adorned with flowers, a vessel now holding the memory of a beautiful soul. With a heavy heart, I returned to my seat, the weight of grief settling upon my shoulders.
"You okay?" Ken murmured softly, his voice filled with empathy.
"I feel great," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, bowing my head in silent reflection.
As the gathering came to an end, we formed a solemn procession to the open grave, one last opportunity to say our private goodbyes. The vastness of the cemetery surrounded us, the towering trees whispering their condolences in the gentle breeze.
Celeste, with her infectious laughter and compassionate spirit, had left an indelible mark on our lives. The thought of navigating a world without her presence seemed unbearable. And as we dispersed, the weight of grief clung to me like a shadow, especially in Boston, a city unknown and unfamiliar. It felt as though I was navigating uncharted waters, desperately seeking solace in a world forever altered.
Good God, help me find the strength to carry on in the wake of this profound loss.
YOU ARE READING
Memories
Teen Fiction----- This book series was written by someone who was struggling mentally in high school. Things will be cringey and may not make sense. Harsh topics will be brought up. My only hope is that you have fun if you choose to read. Thank you. Thank you t...
