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Hell and damnation, perhaps. Is that where she’s heading? From what I know of my aunt, that could be a distinct possibility.
It strikes me there are no tears at this funeral. If anything, I doubt there is anyone here who knew her well enough to mourn her passing.
I heard of her, somewhere deep in my past. I just never realized she was real, not the way my mother spoke of her sister.
They never got on and we had nothing to do with her and when my mother died, my aunt never even sent flowers.
It makes me question why I’m here at all, but then I remember why. I inherited everything in her will.
A movement on the edge of the path distracts my attention from the open wound that is my aunt’s final resting place.
Two black cars have pulled up and I can’t see who it is because the windows are blacked out.
I continue to stare at the cars in fascination because it’s as if they are here to pay their last respects.
“The world has lost an angel.”
The woman beside me mutters, and I swear I have never met her before in my life.
“It has.” I lie because I’m unsure if she was, an angel that is, and I wonder if the mysterious car owners knew her.
A lot more than anyone else here, I’m guessing.
Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall …
The priest’s monotone voice commits my aunt’s body to the ground and, as we say a collective ‘Amen’, he retreats under his black umbrella.
I step forward. It’s expected. I am the only official family member here. Her legacy if you like. The last man standing and the keeper of all things unfamiliar because I haven’t got a clue how I’m going to deal with the tangle of red tape she has left me with.
I hold the red rose in my hand, the thorns thoughtfully having been clipped and I feel bad that I must toss an object of such beauty to its death before its time.
Is that what happened to my aunt? She was barely fifty when she died because of a freak accident that cost more than her own life. An explosion that came out of nowhere and killed everyone in the house.
I hold the umbrella a little tighter as the rain batters against the fabric and rather than prolong this, I toss the rose on the coffin and grasp a handful of wet sodden earth that lies beside the grave.
As I toss the dirt, it falls on the rose and strangely, that is what brings a tear to my eye. The fragile petals are buried under the dirt, the petals poking through as if imploring to be saved.
I turn away. I don’t need to see any more. My aunt is gone. There is nothing left to say.
I watch the rest of the mourners pay their last respects as I stand to the side.
The woman beside me cries as she tosses her rose to join mine and then stands before me and says mournfully, “I’m sorry for your loss. I was a friend of her housekeeper, Mrs. Millen. It was such a tragedy.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” I smile with sympathy because it’s obvious this woman is grieving for her friend.
She wipes a tear from her eye and moves away as the next mourner joins me and it takes no longer than five minutes for everyone to go, leaving me a solitary figure standing by the grave of a stranger.
The priest smiles with sympathy and leaves and then I notice one of the car doors opening and a man dressed in black steps outside. He must be a mourner too, and I wonder who he is, and I watch with interest as he removes a huge black umbrella from the car and opens it as he walks to the car behind.
He opens the door and I see another man step from the car, also dressed entirely in black. He is wearing dark glasses and waves away the offer of the umbrella with an impatience that interests me. Who is this man?
He plucks a rose from inside the car and heads toward me and I sense his eyes burning into me as he advances with purpose.
For some reason, my heart beats a little faster, as if he comes with a warning. It’s surrounding me. I can almost reach out and pluck it from the air. Something is happening and I know it will be interesting.
I should leave. I must leave. It’s as if my aunt’s spirit is warning me somehow.
The rain slides down my back as the umbrella shifts and as it glides against my skin, it causes me to shiver inside.
