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Give my sins to the devil.
Give my soul to God.
If, by chance, you wish to remember me, do it with a kind deed or word to someone who needs you. If you do all I have asked, I will live forever.
Remembering how I stared at the beautiful words on the paper for a long time, I had composed myself to deliver it the way it sounded when my father used to read it to me. Breathing in deeply over and over, I attempted to gain control of my emotions. But in the end, they had won. I didn’t make it through the first verse before I started sobbing. Grief overcame me – an unwelcomed search warrant for my heart. Aunt Maggie had finished the poem for me as eloquently as she did everything else in her life.
Standing back from the few people that gathered around the caskets, I heard a voice from behind, startling me, and I turned to see an older woman smiling at me. The term “little blue haired lady” came to mind as she stood there watching me.
“We all believe in you, Claire. Stay strong, child,” the woman had murmured, offering her reassurance. Hanging my head at her kind words, I stared at my hands, knowing if I saw any faith in her eyes it would have brought on a new round of tears. I was not sure who she was, which was not unusual. Many people in town knew my aunt or I had met them as a child. Knowing I should, at the very least, thank the kind stranger for her words, I looked up, but she was gone. It had felt strange to me as I never even heard her footsteps when she departed. It was even stranger that she said, “We.” Who had she been referring to? I wondered.
There were many more people I didn’t recognize. Some waved to me while others offered a warm smile, leaving me to wonder why they had been watching from so far way. I had thought that perhaps they were just as uncomfortable with funerals as I was. When I really thought about it, I was surprised so many people had showed. My parents left this town many years ago and my aunt had only a few friends. I remembered thinking how sad it was that people were more willing to offer warmth in a time of death, than they were in life.
Finally settling into a seat in front with my head on Maggie’s shoulder, I waited for the service to end. After placing a rose on both caskets, I ran to the waiting car unable to stand it another minute.
Aunt Maggie had been speaking to an older blonde-haired gentleman who hugged her before he left. She said goodbye to a couple of ladies she
knew from church before joining me at the car and wrapping me in a hug.
It had been extremely painful watching the grounds crew lower the caskets, dropping my parents into their resting place. When the men began shoveling dirt back into the hole, finalizing my parents passing, it was confirmation that they were actually gone. Nothing had remained but two bodies in pine boxes six feet under the earth. I recall how angry I was, thinking it was totally unfair for someone as young as I was to lose both parents.
Maggie was really great but I wanted to feel safe and cared for in a way that only a parent could provide.
Snapping out of my rumination, I heard Maggie’s voice again.
“Claire, you have got to…Oh, you’re up, good.” Maggie said, returning to my room. She came up behind me, resting her hand on my shoulder.
I twisted my head to look at her. “I miss them so much.”
“I know you do, sweetheart. I miss them too.” Maggie turned me around and took my hand, leading me to the bed. She pulled me down beside her and squeezed me to her chest. The dam burst, and the river of tears broke free.
When I eventually cried it all out, I pulled away from Maggie.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied, wiping the wetness from beneath my eyes with a tissue. I laugh inwardly, thinking how Maggie always carries tissues around in her pockets. “Now, school, get to it.” Maggie patted my leg before standing and leaving me to pull myself together.
“School,” I muttered under my breath.
While getting dressed, I tried not to think about how much I was going to hate today – I was kidding myself – it was all I could think about.
Since my parent’s death, I had been living in my aunt’s house – a final destination on my long path to adulthood. At times I drowned in self-pity, but often reflected on the fact I was home – the most stable home life I had ever known – the most grounded I had ever felt. It was full circle from where I had started my life. Sometimes anger consumed me when I thought of my parents raising me like we were in a traveling circus when I should have grown up here. Missing them made up for any ill will I had. More than anything else, I was angry I no longer had them.
Standing in front of the old mirror in my room, as I did every morning for the past month, I hoped if I stared long enough things in my life would fall perfectly into place. Sadly, I probably thought about the meaning of life more than most girls my age, questioning my purpose. Why was I here? When I thought about how short life was, I wondered if I would ever know. My life had been one huge challenge, much like a puzzle with missing pieces. Each time I thought I was close to solving it – I realized there were more than a few holes.
It was hard to believe I would be eighteen in a few days, when the tiny reflection looking back at me looked more like an awkward fifteen year old. I was all of five feet, two inches, and noticeably thin. My gaunt figure was only made less noticeable by the long waves of mousy-colored hair that lined my pale face. I always preferred to say mousy or sandy blonde to describe my hair color. I hated when someone used ‘dirty’ or ‘ash’ before the word blonde. Sometimes it was even said as a compliment, like either of those words was meant to describe something that was attractive.
My face was heart shaped, like a locket my mother used to wear. I thought I was just a bit less attractive than other girls my age. My lips were lacking in color, thinly lining my teeth, which seemed slightly too big for the rest of my face. This was only made worse by the fact that my jaw never seemed quite straight, because I made it a habit of pursing my lips to the side when I was in thought. Having been in thought quite a bit lately, I started to wonder if my pursed lips were permanent.
The only redeeming quality I had were the jade green eyes that were a gift from my grandmother. I was thankful for that gift. Unfortunately, I had also been gifted her name, Claire, Claire Blake. While I was sure it was a divine name in her time, it was dreadful in mine. Given my already faint complexion, I was sure I would always be known as Fair Claire no matter what town I moved to. Of course, this was one of the nicer things I had been called. It always amazed me the new and cruel ways adolescents could find to tease the new girl.
I noticed the intricate details of the mirror for the first time since I arrived. It was thinly framed in deep mahogany wood, adorned with carved roses, worn on each side where hands had adjusted its tilt for many years. It had probably been in the house as long as everything else. As though it could see what goes on, I assumed it knew many secrets. Like the ones families gossiped about over morning coffee.
Northfield loved gossip. Over the summer, I heard a couple of moms in the market talking about weird occurrences that supposedly happened in my aunt’s house years back. They had gripped their children’s hand and shuffled them away from me, telling them to stay close. Some old men in the hardware store had started a similar conversation a few days later. I walked into the next aisle to eavesdrop overhearing that a handyman named Bob Hawthorne had shown up at the house to check on some work he had done. The men said Maggie shooed Bob away, but he claimed he saw my grandmother talking to a ghost before he left. Evidently Bob left town after that and had never been seen again. The handyman allegedly saw a ghost and my poor aunt got branded as a ghost whisperer.
Having asked Maggie about it once, she explained Bob came by and Gran was in the house arguing with an old friend about politics. She had the curtains drawn in the living room and the sun reflected off the man’s rain jacket, creating a glow around him. Bob had insisted the whole room was glowing and my Gran was speaking to a ghost. Maggie said he wouldn’t even allow her to explain. He got in his car and sped off. There were numerous stories with reasonable explanations that people didn’t want to consider. It seemed like the people of the town needed a little drama in their lives.
If I stared long enough in the mirror, I almost saw my mom staring back at me with her reassuring smile, telling me everything would work out. I missed her so much. My heart ached with grief.
