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“Got it.”
My mind blocked out the prayer and the echoed textbook responses around me. I don’t think I could even try to participate with the giant lump of sorrow stuck in my throat. Instead, I closed my eyes and inhaled. I needed to breathe in the wet, fresh air around me. I needed to feel the dampness on my skin. I needed to live in the life I had.
Reaching out, I opened my hand, palm up to the sky. Cold raindrops landed on my hand, filling the creases of my palm. I hoped that, wherever he was, Uncle Russ could still feel the rain.
Or, even better, he could feel the sun on his face.
On the other side of Uncle Lucas was a set of vines that scaled the side of the building. With my hand still open, I reached across him, careful not to interrupt his prayer. Taking one of the leaves in my grasp, I brushed the pads of my fingers against the smooth, flat greenery.
English ivy.A type of vine that can climb up the side of a building with no help. It lives on its own, surviving by clinging onto the nearest surface and spreading as far and wide as possible.
A brief smile appeared on my lips at the sight of nature mixed into Uncle Russ’ mausoleum. It was comforting, in a way.
I dropped my hand and looked around, only to see everyone still in prayer. I briefly glanced at the other mausoleums before landing on a dark figure down the curved path. There was a man standing there, completely still, watching our burial service from afar. He was tall and broad, wearing a dark rain jacket with the hood pulled up, preventing me from seeing his face. But even though I couldn’t see his face, I could feel the intensity of his stare on us. On me.
Rain dripped off the rim of his hood as he stood without any cover. I could immediately tell it wasn’t the umbrella guy from earlier. Was he a guest? Was he visiting another mausoleum? Was he a friend of my uncle? His dark pants looked to be drenched as I continued to watch him, waiting to see if he wanted to come over and join the group.
But he didn’t. Instead, he simply stood there as the priest rambled on, our vision caught and locked on each other, the rain running off his hood and onto his shoulders.
“Here we pray for eternal rest and mercy of the Lord.”
“Amen,” the group muttered, snapping me back to the service. I briefly looked to my dad and uncle, but they didn’t seem to notice that I wasn’t participating. And if they did notice, they didn’t care.
The priest nodded and stepped to the side, allowing us privacy and access to the inside of the mausoleum. The husband and wife stepped in first, but only stayed for a short moment before exiting. They greeted us politely before heading back to their car.
My mom and dad both walked up the few stone steps and headed inside. A quick sob escaped my mom, and my heart lurched at her sadness, feeling similar emotions in myself.
But when they were inside, I looked back over to the curve in the path, only to see the mysterious man was gone.
I tilted my head curiously at the empty sight.
After a drawn-out minute, my parents came back out, and my dad made his way to me. With a quick peck on the side of my head, he whispered, “I love you so much, baby girl.”
Another tear rolled down my cheek. Uncle Lucas extended his elbow to me, and I wrapped my arm around him. Dropping our umbrellas, we walked in unison up the steps and into the mausoleum.
On the inside, it was spacious. There were two stone benches, one on either side against the wall. Colorful stained-glass windows lined the opposite walls, letting in minimal light as pigmented reflections barely illuminated the concrete floor. Beautiful stone columns rested in each corner, and a rectangular counter sat against the back wall.
And on that counter was a plain black vase.
It’s hard to comprehend the fact that my uncle has been reduced to ash that can fit in a countertop container.
What once was a person who never ceased to make me laugh was now a pile of dust wrapped in ceramic.
“He loved you, Celeste. You and your sister.”
My uncle’s voice was soft as his words found my ears. I nodded, unable to speak.
There was never a doubt in my mind that he loved us. I know Uncle Lucas and my dad love us, too, but now it felt like there was a missing piece in our family. One that we could never fill, never get back, never let go of.
“Is she okay?”
I looked at him, momentarily confused. “Who, Serena?”
He gave a nod.
“Yeah,” I took in a breath, thoughts of my sister floating through my head. She took Uncle Russ’ passing just as hard as I did. “She’s as okay as she can be.”
“Where is she?”
