After The Goodbye

Soft music enveloped me. My shoulders relaxed. Salut D’Amour by Elgar played on the speakers of the church. I wasn’t particularly religious and neither was my family, yet I found myself in a church surrounded by family and friends. Everyone was bunched up in clusters. I saw my mom crying. A couple of other people too. I walked over to them to listen in. “We are here for you,” I heard one of my mom’s friends say while stroking her shoulder. I heard her promise to bring her dinners. My mom just nodded, strangely quiet considering how much she liked to talk. At home, she would go on and on about whatever book she was reading, something that happened at work, or how much my dad irritated her. Someone else gave my mom a hug, my childhood friend’s mom with Eden right beside her. I hadn’t seen her in years, honestly, I was surprised she was here in the first place. There were a lot of people here I was surprised to see. My boss, my piano teacher, my aunt. They were talking amongst my closest friends. I was a little bit taken aback considering how little time I spent with them. Despite all the people that had arrived, the sound of the chatter felt dampened, as if someone had taken a cloth and overlaid it upon the crowd. Music continued to flow between the spaces. The tension in my jaw released. I recognized this one too, Liebesleid by Kreisler.

My dad walked up to my mom and put an arm around her shoulder. His eyes were red with tear lines in the outside of his eyes. He whispered something in her ear, and my mom nodded, taking her place behind the lectern. As if by a silent magnetic command, everyone began migrating to the pews. I sat next to my brother. His eyes looked clouded, staring ahead, unfocused. I wanted so badly to light a match and place it behind his eyes, solely so that they would regain the light they had lost. “Hello everyone,” my mom spoke, a hush falling over the remaining voices, “thank you all for coming”. I began once again listening to the music, now fairly muted to allow my mom to be heard.

I allowed it to lull me into a state mirroring the feeling one gets from sitting at the edge of a waterfall. Quiet, serene, at peace. I had never been good at focusing on speeches. Even during school, it was always a thing my teachers would comment on, “amazing potential, needs to work on paying attention” was something I would hear from my mom after every parent teacher conference. It got to the point where they even brought up testing for learning disabilities, but my mom would have none of that. While my mom droned on and on about whatever she was talking about, I admired the features of the church. Large wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, forming a lattice with pipes that wove in between them. Surrounding the altar were two sets of dark wooded pews on either side of the altar. The altar itself was relatively plain with a piano that stood to the side for supposedly wedding receptions, although it looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. A layer of grey dust covered the lid, all the more noticeable since the piano itself was black. Someone should wipe it, I thought to myself. It’s like having lint or hair on a nice tux or black yoga pants, it sticks out like a sore thumb. I tuned in again to see my mom covering her face with her hands as she walked down and sat in a pew on the first row.

Next, it was time for other people to go up to the lectern. For some of the speeches, I did my best to pay attention. My dad talked about how much he cared for me as he shared stories from my youth. I rolled my eyes, inwardly of course. He probably didn’t even remember most of it. Hell, I was surprised he even showed up when my only place in his world was to serve. The position of servant and daughter intertwined. And his pressure. So much soul crushing pressure. To serve, to succeed, to devote. It all weighed on my chest until my diaphragm failed to contract, depriving oxygen from my lungs. Then all the oxygen ran out.

But of course he wouldn’t talk about that. Why would he? He likely blurred it all out. It is what it is, I suppose. I stuffed those memories in a crate long ago. I just wish they would stop picking the lock all the damn time. I huffed out a sigh, an inaudible one of course. Couldn’t have the guests turning their heads and taking away from whatever bullshit he was saying. I closed my eyes and listened for the music again, determined to not make this day about me being upset. Finally, the officiant went up to say some last closing remarks before everyone began shuffling out of the church. Final hugs were given on the front lawn.

When everyone left, the ones staying for the committal service all gathered at the back of the church. I had written letters. To all of them. Well, at least the people I assumed would care the most. One for my parents, one for my brother, one for my grandpa, one for my boyfriend, one for each of my three closest friends. I knew I was reliant on my words written on each page. I was glad I had written these so many months ago with as much deliberate care as my 3am brain could muster. “It’s not your fault,” I wanted to say as I watched each of them open it, read it, tears pooling in their eyes. I wanted to hug them, console them, remind them that it was my choice, but of course, I couldn’t do that now.

It broke me.

The officiant said his last few words before I was lowered into the ground. Watching them all look down at me, their tears falling on my face and mixing with the dirt. My face, clothes, arms, and legs were all smudged with dirt but not that it necessarily mattered. I closed my eyes as dirt began to fall in. The light in front of my eyes began to dim, but in the distance, a melodious harp began to fill my ears. The sweet sound flowed like nectar through my veins. I felt all my tension release for a final time as I followed the sound, soul lifting from my body’s weight.