Grace and I were thankful that the rain had stopped. It was as if the weather had created a temporary dam in order to let us have this moment.
Arriving later than we anticipated, we ended up having to park further away due to the number of cars that were lined up along the street. Not wanting to test our luck with the weather too much, we both walked quickly down the street and towards the front doors of the chapel. Rounding the corner, Grace and I were humbled.
The whole town had shown up. Friends of mum’s whom I hadn’t seen since Grace and I were in preschool. Children and grandchildren of the parents who had often been at our house for sunset dinners a long time ago. A unique amalgamation of people blended through the front doors, all silently finding their seats, all looking towards the front, all looking towards mum.
Wanting to savour the moment, I was instead encouraged to move quickly when a loud crack of thunder landed overhead. I flinched at the sound and hurried along inside, which was when I saw her.
The simple oak coffin lay dormant at the front. Commanding a respectful silence, no one spoke above the sound of a whisper. The lid to the coffin was closed and already a handful of flowers and mementoes were placed on top of it from, I assumed, close friends.
Still in shock over how early someone could be taken from them, most people remained transfixed on the coffin in front of them, but some people turned. They saw Grace and I enter and offered a sympathetic smile here or a silent nod there. Grace moved to the side to speak with the priest about what I could only assume were final arrangements. My feet, however, were rooted to the ground.
The past few days felt somewhat fictitious. My life had been turned upside down. From my mum to the pregnancy. If someone had told me that this is where I’d be a week ago, I would’ve laughed and said they’re crazy. The problem now was that I was here and that these things did happen. Frozen in place, I contemplated where to go when a reassuring hand fell onto my lower back.
Walking up beside me, Grace whispered in my ear: You okay?
Forever the woman who had it all together. Despite the trauma, the pending divorce and the fact that she had me as her shitty sister, she managed to pull through. Harbouring her own scars internally, no doubt, but projecting an outward air of control regardless.
I followed her down the aisle and we took our places in the last remaining seats right in front of mum. Grace’s soon to be ex-husband was seated next to her. She shuffled in with a sad smile of greeting towards him. Like a lost child, I could see he wanted nothing more than to be there for her. Hesitantly, he moved to squeeze her hand. She didn’t move away and to my surprise, looked over at him and smiled in gratitude. Thanking him for being here, Grace smiled and Jordan held onto her hand even tighter.
You could see that they still loved each other. Regardless of what they may have said, their body language gave it away. Jordan’s pleading eyes always seemed to settle when they landed on Grace. Her own tense shoulders relaxed in the familiarity of his presence. They seemed comfortable together.
The priest was now talking on the stage in front. I took a moment to look over towards mum. Flashes of memories assailed me. Spending Christmas Eve making gingerbread in the heat of an Australian summer, then later putting out a glass of milk and a plate of chocolate chip cookies for Santa and some carrots for the reindeers. I would eagerly awaken in the morning and race towards the living room. Snowy footprints leading from the old fireplace in the corner all the way to the Christmas tree left me in silent awe. It wasn’t until I was older that I found out that mum was creative enough to use her old hiking boots and a dusting of flour to make the footprints. To a five-year-old, it was the real deal. For everything—from the flashing lights on her Christmas tree earrings to her Santa’s helper apron—mum always gave one hundred percent. It wasn’t what she spent that made Christmas so special, it was the amount of effort she put in. She could’ve put up a cardboard Christmas tree for all I cared. It was the fact that she would’ve spent all night making it whilst we were asleep that really mattered.
She would do anything for us and that realisation hit me cold in the chest. Without realising it, a wave of pressure pushed down on my shoulders and I could do nothing except sag under its weight. Pulling my head down to my lap, I held it as I cried. Body shaking, I let the pure anguish of the loss envelop me. A hand from behind me braced against my shoulder with a firmness that was all too familiar. Without me ever looking back, a dozen tissues were passed over my shoulder and into my hands. The heavy scent of vanilla from the person behind me was the only confirmation I needed to know that it was Rose who sat behind me and gave me those tissues.