The Thing About Samuel

Chapter Forty - Jason

Jason - December 2013

The crematorium looked like a garden on a rainy, winters day. Every tree, leaf, and blade of grass seemed to lose its effervescent green hue and instead was awash with varying shades of grey. The clouds, sky, and sun seemed to blend into a brindle of yet more greys. And the suits and dresses that populated the ground on family, friends, and peers, were the darkest of all shades. Black.
​Jason held his son's little hand in his as they walked up to the plot where his mum was to be buried; all eyes fixated in a sad understanding on them. Sympathy flowing from every half-smile, gentle nod, or tearful caught eye.
​'It's okay, Dad,' Samuel's little voice came up from the end of his arm, and Jason nodded quickly.
​He didn't want to let go of Samuel's hand. It was just them two now. Annabelle wasn't going to be there to remind him parents evening was coming up, or to sit and read Samuel bedtime stories. Jason would miss that especially. He would secretly suggest earlier nights for the three of them just to see how Annabelle's concocted fantastical stories would conclude along with their son. Now it was the two of them. Just them.
​The melancholy group gathered around them. Even with the familiar faces of their parents, Annabelle's and his, friends that Annabelle had mentioned, and a few of the nursing staff from the hospice including Nurse Holly, Jason felt like the whole world was focussing on him, his son, and the small wooden box being lowered into the ground before them.
​Blurred out by his own thoughts, a man spoke from a bible. The faces of everyone around them looked to the vicar, and tears began to bubble from every eye atop shaking shoulders. Some being comforted by the arm of those nearest them. But Jason took his comfort from Samuel.
​The blonde haired, blue eyed boy holding his hand; not crying, but observing all that was happening. He had cried, of course. A lot. And Jason had, too. But Samuel had the same trait that Annabelle did. Selflessness. He knew that the little boy next to him was crying, inside. On the outside however, he silently watched, seemingly strong, to keep his dad from being upset. And in turn, Jason offered the same to his son. They would grieve together, later.
​'Remember her at her happiest,' Samuel whispered.
​Jason squeezed his son's hand. Samuel repeated the words back to him that he had said to his son earlier that day, on the drive over to the crematorium. It had been a surreal day. The world seemed to stand on pause as they passed in the black cars. The same sympathetic head nods and half smiles from passers-by and neighbours.
​The holy man continued to speak until eventually, the light oak box, adorned with a silver plaque that read 'Annabelle Knight, Dearly Loved. May Your Story Continue.' Samuel had chosen the final bit. Him and his mum had shared a love for stories, and writing in general, really. And nobody contested when he chose that as parting words for his mum.
​Jason put his hand around his son and looked to the sky for some brief respite, as if holding his face upwards would allow him access to some fresher air that would calm his shaking nerves.
​'Oh, Annabelle,' he whispered up to the grey sky.
​His son squeezed his hand and smiled, though Jason could see that his soft cheeks were now halved by two narrow streams of glistening tears. Jason sniffled, kissed his son's hand, and then faced the vicar.
​But Jason's eyes moved past the speaker for a brief second, and to a figure ten or twenty headstones away. A man, stood at the end of a path, and between the stone walls that connected the yard of the church to the village beyond.
​Was that...? Surely not. Neither he nor Annabelle had heard from Ryan since the night at the Hospice. And before that, it had been years...
​Annabelle's family had likely told him about the funeral though, and in their eyes they had no reason for him not to be here. Perhaps they might even find it odd that he wasn't....
​Jason sighed. They were best friends, Annabelle and Ryan. Whatever had happened in the past, mistake or not, could be forgotten today. But perhaps for Ryan, it couldn't.
​Jason offered a small nod in the direction of Ryan, at the end of the church path. He might have seen it, he might not, but shortly after the nod, the man seemed to wipe his face with his arm, and steadily walk away, throwing only one glance backwards to the group surrounding the now lowered ashes of Annabelle.