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As we walked among the burnt orange leaves, neither of us spoke. Dillon understood that silence was the best way to support me. He unlocked his sleek black Aston Martin with a double tap. Once I settled and fastened my seatbelt, he started to say something but reconsidered. There was no need for words; I just wanted to get through this.
Leann Lawrence, my mother, was the most angelic person I’d ever known. She knew me better than anyone in the world. Growing up, it was just her and me, through all our trauma and struggles. I’d had her from day one, and losing her had shattered my heart in ways I’d never experienced.
As Dillon struggled to hold back his tears, a wave of numbness overcame me. It was like witnessing a horrific car wreck that was too terrible to look away from. I stared at Dillon. It was unlike him to cry, and to hear him sob made everything feel unreal. But he felt her loss deeply, especially because he knew how much it hurt me. After what felt like an eternity of staring, I returned to reality.
She was gone.
Our dreams of traveling together were shattered. The graduation photo I wanted with her would never be taken. She wouldn’t tease me about my eating habits or share my embarrassing childhood stories with Dillon. She was gone, and it hit me like a tidal wave. I broke down, and I couldn’t remember ever crying this hard in my twenty-three years of life. I grabbed my skirt and curled into a ball on the passenger side of the car.
When the storm of emotion finally released me from my tight ball, my blouse was soaked with the torrent of anger and sorrow that had poured from my eyes. I could have screamed. I’d seen people like Matthew or even Michael live long lives unscathed, except for the troubles they’d brought into my life. But my mother didn’t deserve this. Cervical cancer had claimed her, taken control of her body, and snatched her away in one fatal swoop.
These were the worst few minutes of my life, and it was my first experience with genuine grief.
I’d never been afraid of death until the day she passed away. I trudged through the leaves and climbed the two sets of stairs to the place she had requested to be churched before her burial.
I never even knew my mom wrote a mock will.
Tossing my bag onto an antique couch in the open space, I rushed up the stairs to find an empty room and broke down. Dillon and our friends accompanied me for solace, but all I truly wanted was my mother back.
The worst part of grief is the period between receiving the news and the funeral. No closure, no celebration, just overwhelming sadness. Nothing felt right.
I stood there, pain-stricken, struggling to understand why she was gone. Tentatively, I entered the church, fear in my eyes as I approached the casket. My mom, dressed in white linens and lace, lay at peace, undisturbed, in a white casket.
As I walked slowly down the shaggy tan carpet, passing rows of people, I looked at my mom for one last time.
My lips remained sealed, gripped by the antipathy of realizing this would be my last encounter with my mom for the rest of my life. My Tory Burch shoes carried me back across the old carpet, and I quickly took my seat next to my boyfriend, who had been a pillar of support. He had stayed with me, enduring my mood swings, wild accusations, and my uncanny ability to crave affection at the worst moments.
My best friends, Ronan and Abigail, had also been through a lot. Ronan had been there for my mother, which initially angered me, but I couldn’t help but love him for ensuring her comfort. I found letters from her, describing how he had shown her preferential treatment, let her bend the rules, played bingo with her, and more. She saw him as a son, and he felt like nothing less than a brother to me. Abigail sat beside Mikkel, Nina, Mara, Alexander, Lucio, and Marina, along with other family members and friends. I tried to keep the gathering intimate, as it was the least I could do for her.
I felt frigid, numb, and cold to the touch. It was as if I had died, and my stomach dropped as grief would consume me for the next three and a half hours.
While funerals provide closure to loved ones, they are the most uncomfortably painful yet healing aspect of the grieving process. Looking at my mom for the last time felt like saying goodbye to a part of myself.
I tried to avoid looking at her. I didn’t want to accept that she was gone. Death, with all its night terrors and illusions of her presence, had taken hold of me. As the pastor called on me to speak, Dillon stood by my side.
“We gather here today to remember my mother, Leann, celebrating the joy her life brought to us and acknowledging the pain of her loss. She passed away unexpectedly in New York City on August 16th, at the age of forty-six. It’s incredibly difficult to say goodbye, to wish we had more time and had spent it more together. We wish her illness hadn’t dominated her life, and that things could have been different for her and for us. Despite her struggles, she found pride in her love for me. Her one last wish was for me to find happiness in myself and someone else. I’m grateful she was alive to see me achieve that, but I wish she could have been there to witness the rest and see me make her proud. She drew strength from me, as her only child. Even when she was weak, she remained strong for me. She left behind a legacy of love and perseverance, a legacy to be cherished. This was the wonderful example she set for us all, reminding us to focus on what truly matters, especially in challenging times. In her memory, let’s hold on to these precious moments and keep the memories alive by sharing them with each other. We’ll conclude with the 23rd Psalm, ‘The Lord is my shepherd.’ On behalf of my family and myself, I thank you all for being here today.” I managed to contain my tears during the speech, but one final tear fell as I finished. This was the end.
For most of the funeral, I felt like I was in a daze. I hadn’t cried much, which was unexpected. The expectation with grief is to cry, scream, and let the pain out in one burst, as we see in movies.
This is what I had anticipated for myself. I never knew that I could feel so cold, numb, and heartless. The last memory I had of that day was lowering her casket into the burial plot. As painful as it was to witness, it brought an incredible sense of closure. I realized I might not have her back, but her presence would accompany me with every step I took.
In the words of my mom, “In death, only the body dies; the spirit remains with us always as we embark on fresh adventures. Each day, the spirits of our ancestors watch over us, guiding us through life.”
I would forever miss her, but I would spend the rest of my life trying to make her proud.
CHAPTER 46
Azzaria
In the early morning, I woke to the gentle touch of Dillon’s fingertips tracing the curves of my body. Our bare skin was pressed together, and my face was nestled in the crook of his neck.
His scent enveloped me, offering solace in the wake of my mom’s passing. Our connection might have seemed unlikely to some, but it was a powerful and passionate one. We were both intrigued by the unknown territory of each other.
Dillon had been drawn to me from the moment he first saw me, an irresistible pull that neither of us could resist. I mumbled, barely awake, “It’s too early. Why are you up?”
Dillon glanced at the time. “It’s almost eight, precious. I’ll make us some breakfast.”
As he moved to get up, I reached out and grasped his wrist, pulling him back into bed. “Stay, just a few more minutes.”
