I Hate That Day

It was time to say our final goodbyes,

The family gathered, the priest was there too

But all eyes were on you.

The name engraved in the marble, a vase, and some ashes was all that was left of you.

I stood still, shaking, caught in between what I felt and what was socially acceptable.

As a tear fell I heard, “It is not right to cry in public.”

My grandmothers words damed my tears.

As she stood there calm as ever I shook with emotion.

My aunt, shaking too, grabbed my hand,

“Lauren I want you to stand with me when we lay him to rest.”

We walked.

With my hand in hers I walk slightly behind,

ready to stand beside her and be her support.

Suddenly, cold, clammy hands take hold of my shoulders with a death grip.

The socialite now held me back.

As our hands separated my aunt crumpled without my support

she was now was a pile of rubble on the floor.

I tried to fight my way to you and to pick her up and put her back together but the loss of you left me weak.

I froze.

Standing there I watched them put you in a box.

“Don’t do that” I yelled “He’s claustrophobic.”

They didn’t listen.

Then sealed the door on my heart.