- 'The Briar and the Rose'
When the body was being lowered into the ground, I wanted to be there. I wanted to see the pile of earth without the green carpet covering the mound. The so obviously not grass tacky cloth that supposedly respectfully conceals at a place where the finality was clear as the day we laid her to rest - I wanted to see every thing and I wanted to know every part of the burial process, from start to finish. As morbid as that might seem, I even thought of slipping into the space between the casket and the concrete, of sliding myself down beside the coffin into the vault, with a lid to close me in.
A bit dramatic, I know, but only a week before I had overdosed on prescription medication, so this should have been me, in a coffin, dead. Had I known that she would be leaving, that she would go to a place where I could not follow, I may have gone about it all differently. Months later, I think of how I wanted a chance to say goodbye, a moment to apologize for failing her. This feeling will not depart from me, even as, at this very moment, her body is… no, I will not write of it.
You know, I touched her hair during the viewing but she was not there. The experience is supposed to help you accept that the person has passed on. I understood the purpose when I saw the open casket - a body without a soul. How can I relate what it was like to softly speak the words, 'good journey' to someone who has already left?
Everyone I love will leave me unless I find a way to go first.
thoughts: I think that I'll scrap this first attempt because it clearly is not the making of a novel of any sort and is far too close to actual memory than anything else. This is more like a reflective piece, although dark, and I'll just count it as writing exercise. If anything, I will write something every day and if all that comes of it are various bits of writings, well, that's better than not writing anything at all.
I'm having the revising / constant editing problem again. Argh.