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The sounds of church bells and traffic were muted behind the heavy, dark wooden doors of the Church of the Assumption. Momentarily blinded by darkness, Kate paused and waited for her eyes to adjust to the soft light. The faint scent of holy incense tickled her nose and provided an instant sense of comfort. Her parents stood next to her, quietly waiting for Kate to take the first steps into the lovely old-world church.
As they paused inside the narthex, the quiet echo of footsteps and coughs bounced across the stone floor and up to the church’s towering arched ceiling. She looked out across the nave at the growing congregation of mourners, most dressed in black, and amply represented on both sides of the aisle. Their bowed heads were gracefully illuminated by extravagant chandeliers and natural light filtered in through brightly colored stained glass windows perched high above the altar.
Some of the bereaved stood, speaking softly to acquaintances, hugging, crying. But most sat quietly, the harmony of creaks created by their movement on the old wooden pews, adding to the solemn mood.
Kate held her gaze straight ahead, grateful for the brimmed black hat and veil her mother insisted she wear. It made it easier to evade the sad eyes watching her from both sides of the aisle. Her simple black dress and string of pearls were also her mother’s idea, but the dress felt loose and disheveled. Her high heels pinched her toes—numb from the bitter January temperature—and felt unsteady under her feet. She longed for her gray and white flannel pajamas, her soft snuggly socks, and her bed with its thick, puffy comforter.
Piped notes from the church’s organ reverberated throughout the holy room with a familiar hymn, as Kate and her parents made the long walk to the front pew. Ahead, the closed caskets of her husband and son loomed at the front of the altar, draped in the traditional linen pall.
As they approached, Kate stood in front of the caskets, setting one hand on each.
Her husband and son. Sealed inside.
Her dad guided her to her place in the front pew to the left of the caskets. Kate’s parents sat on either side of her—to keep her from escaping—she guessed. She glanced over at Marco’s grieving mom, who blew her a sad kiss as they exchanged a moment of grief together.
Kate began to lose herself in the past but was shaken to her senses by her dad. He’d tightened his grip on her arm and gave her a strange look she’d never seen before. So sad. So worried.
What had she just done? Did she say something out loud? Why was he was looking at her like that?
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“No dad,” she whispered. “I’m not alright. But what am I supposed to do? Run?” She glanced around the church. “‘Cuz, I want to run.”
He wrapped his arm tight around her shoulder and leaned in his head to touch hers.
“Come on, baby. Stay with me.”
The strength of his hold on her, and the encouragement in his voice, helped her carry on. She stared past him at the caskets. They seemed to be moving further away. Shrinking backward.
From behind her, in the loft high above, choir singers began a beautifully mournful rendition of Ave Maria. The melody startled Kate, taking her breath for a moment. She listened intently to the soprano’s clear tone, and the accompanied harmonies, so beautiful it made Kate’s heart ache.
She wanted to cry out loud. Instead, safely hidden behind the black veil, she swallowed the choking lump in the back of her throat, but let her quiet tears fall.
She heard a low whimper and looked up at her dad, as he fought back tears. He’d always tried to be strong for her, and seeing him like this broke Kate all over again.
Her mother’s arm came across her shoulders from her right, and the three of them bowed heads and released their pain together. She felt her mom’s body shudder lightly next to her, and she fought to hold herself together as the funeral pressed on.
With each passing reading, intermittent song, and prayer, Kate felt more and more shattered. Father Byrne’s words of death, immortality, faith, afterlife—it was all too much. She felt guilty for wanting the service to end. For rushing the final moments with her husband and son, but her weariness was winning this fight. It had sapped her strength and her will.
After communion, the congregation sat quietly, as Father Byrne finished his holy duties and began his final remarks. Kate barely listened, eager to flee, but, when she heard him mention Marco and Renzo, and something about the Tango, her head popped up. At that moment, the sweet high melody from violins accompanied by an accordion graced her ears. Their song—the Tango—filled every crevice of the church.
She looked at her dad, the lights from above reflected in his flowing tears. Never had she loved him more. He knew the depth of the meaning that song held for her. He brought this song to the service. He made this happen. She collapsed into his arms. She’d never known he was capable of such thoughtfulness.
She lifted her head from his chest and scanned the congregation. They had joined in her pain, many wiping their eyes, all of them watching her with sadness and melancholy smiles.
She finally realized that they understood her pain.
