Page 85 of Find Me in the Rain
The last memory I will have with my mom will involve lowering her in the ground. Part of me wishes this were something I could skip, something I didn’t have to be a part of.
But I know that no matter how desperately I don’t want to feel that pain, that pain needs to be felt for it to leave me.
At least the pain will be sooner than later. I slip my black panty-hosed feet into my booties and grab my black trench to go with the rest of my black attire.
I opted out of any ounce of makeup, knowing it will be sliding down my face before we even arrive at the church.
I might not have been very religious, but my mom was. She believed we all had a purpose and a path that would find us. But she didn’t force it on me. She said that when the time came, it would find me.
I grab my phone and walk to Jack’s room, where he is tying his tie around his neck, like he does to his shoelaces. I drop to my knees in front of him, stifling a laugh that rises in my throat. Guilt washes over me that a laugh could even form at all.
“Here, buddy, it’s like this.” I undo his knot and retie the only tie he owns.
Charlotte picked everything up for us while Josh has been keeping the house clean and keeping us fed and alive.
“Mommy?” his quiet voice asks.
I meet his saddened gaze.
“What will happen to Grandma today?”
I grab his shoulders and pull him down with me as we sit on the floor. “Grandma is going to get a new home, a place in the earth, where we can always go to visit her. To talk to her, tell her about our day, the good and the bad, just like we did in the hospital.”
His eyes drift to the side in thought, and then he says, “Can we go see her tomorrow too?”
I nod. “Of course.”
I take his little hand in mine and guide us down the stairs, where Charlotte and Josh are waiting. Without a word, we get into the car and drive through the rain to say a final good-bye to the best mom in the world.
Charlotte kept the ceremony small when planning; she knew I wouldn’t want a ton of people around. But once my mom’s name hit the paper, people all over town wanted to be able to attend, to mourn. And who am I to say they aren’t allowed?
When we pull up to the church, a line of people are working their way inside. I take a deep breath in, the air catching in my throat every other second.
Josh parks the car, and I beg my body to stop. To not go inside, to just pretend this isn’t real. That she isn’t really gone.
But I can’t do that to Jack, I can’t do that to myself, and I can’t do that to her.
When we get out of the car, Jack reaches for my hand, giving it a little squeeze. That’s my boy, always looking out for me.
On our way in, everyone offers sad smiles, followed by the phrases you’d expect.
“I’m so sorry.”
“She was such a wonderful woman.”
“She will be missed.”
It continues, even after we take our seats in the front pew. And the tears haven’t stopped streaming down my face since we arrived.
The pastor takes the podium, silence greeting him. Silence should be calming, peaceful. But it’s not. In the silence, all I hear is her voice, her laugh, her cry. The silence is in the moments that have passed and the ones we’ll never see. The silence is eating me alive.
My breaths quicken as he gives an opening prayer.
Breathe. I try to calm myself, but nothing’s working. And the spiraling pressure in my chest and lungs is tightening.
I need air. I need fresh air.
I’m on my feet before I know it, barreling down the aisle to the doors. Not a word is said as I burst through them into the pouring rain.
