Letting you go [COMPLETE]

Chapter 28

 Unedited.

Warning: worse than the last chapter. I got emotional writing this! (Don't hurt me).      

If James and Jordon's last name changed, can someone tell me, because I have no idea if I've even mentioned it before . . .        

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 A drunk driver. That's how he died. Jordon driving both of them to school, then being hit with a car, the driver so inebriated he didn't even know he'd hit them.

Jordon had died on the scene, James later on from blood loss.

After everything he'd been through, James had died because some idiot decided to get drunk and drive.

So here I sit, the front row of a church pew, crying violent sobs as photos of James and Jordon flash along the TV screen in the top corner of the church. Mum sits in the row behind me, dad and Rick with her.

The front rows are only meant to be for immediate family, but before I could even sit with mum and dad, James' mum had steered me to the front row to sit next to her. I'd gone without complaint.

St Vincent's church is beautiful, holding ceremonies every Sunday morning. I've never been inside before, never attended a ceremony, but it's as beautiful as they say. It's large and spacious, a glass dome at the top of the building. The front of the church has a glass mural depicting religious figures. Beside that is clean white walls.

Four pillars line the front of the church, a few metres in front of the first row; two on both sides of the edges of the room so they don't restrict the view. They're cut with white stone.

There's a dais up the front, just three small steps to get up. On it, sits two coffins, one with a photo of James and the other of Jordon.

The priest clears his throat, tapping his hand on the podium that's next to the coffins. "Welcome all, to this sombre occasion. Today we gather not to mourn the loss of two lives taken too soon, but to celebrate the lives they lead, the memories they leave behind. Now, if you'd all take out the brochures you were given . . ."

I reach underneath my black skirt to grab the brochure I'd been sitting on. I flip it open to the front page, blinking through tears to make out the words. It's an impossible feat.

"Now, if you'd all flick to page three and stand as we read A Time for Everything from Ecclesiastes 3." Every one stands, and I follow suit, legs shaking.

The Priests' voice rings out, loud and clear, as he looks onto a piece of paper, though I barely hear the words.

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die:

A time to plant, and a time to pluck what is planted;

A time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh:

A time to mourn, and a time to dance:

For everything there is a season, and a time for everything under heaven."

When he's finished reading, he murmurs, "Amen," and we all repeat the word, before sitting.

"Are you okay?"

The whisper comes from behind me and I turn to face dad. When he sees my tear stained cheeks, he pulls me forward as best as he can, resting his forehead against mine. "You're okay Alyson," he whispers. "You'll be okay. We'll get over this."