Deceased

Deceased

It was a perfect day for a funeral.

The sky was blackened with dark clouds increasing the sweltering humidity in the air. A light spray of grey rain soaked gently through the mourner's black clothes, glazing their faces with a glossy finish. A few of those less affected sheltered under umbrellas, huddled together wrapping thick black cloaks around their shivering forms.

The monotonous sound of a priest could vaguely be heard across the resonant sound of tempest forced its way through dead branches of winter afflicted trees. His words melted unheard into the abyss.

No poetry could comfort his despair yet. It probably never could.

Emerald green eyes fell upon a woman standing on the edge of the open grave, so close he could imagine her desperately wanting to fall in and be buried alive with the lifeless body of her son. She knew grief better than he ever could, what he felt was guilt.

It was impossible to know which could be worse.

A man stepped forward and took the hand of the mother. A simple action, a private consolation and understanding of pain, after all, only the father could possibly know what it was his wife was feeling standing at the grave of their child.

Eyes shifted away. The guilt was too much to bear, but he would not walk away. The problem with guilt is that it is always felt like it is deserved.

So he stayed, and he watched from afar as family and friends said their goodbyes, laid flowers and trinkets around the fresh tomb, and slowly walked away, feeling content that he was at peace and that they could carry on. True, some stayed longer than others. The mother in particular wept silently for her lost child, but allowed herself to be led away by her equally grieving partner. At least they still had each other.

Finally the site of lament was cleared but for the two men waiting to seal up the sepulchre forever, but there was one more goodbye to be said before they covered his coffin with earth.

He walked up to the void in the graveyard, open and welcoming and for minutes just stared at the engraved name that marked the headstone.

Bright green eyes filled with tears that spilled almost silently out of their pools, accompanied by uncontrollable sobs. He hadn't expected this. He had expected control and shame, and a harshening of the permanent ache that was the only symptom of a wounded soul.

Now his soul poured out of the confines of his body and dropped into the grave to be buried with the boy he had failed to save. The boy he had killed.

He wanted to atone for his sins, wanted forgiveness and wanted more than anything to feel like he was worthy of either of these things, but sometimes sorry just isn't good enough and goodbye is just too hard to say.

His body was drenched and weighed down with water and his soul was in a similar state, but he knew that that would never dry out.

With a heavy heart he traced with delicate frozen fingers the name that would forever be imprinted on his spirit, labelling his crime, and read the words that would for eternity be now associated with this memory.

Gone, but not forgotten.

Never forgotten.

~ Fin ~

Time heals all wounds, but nothing can erase the scars

In loving memory of a cousin

1982 - 2003

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