snapshot •josh dun

eight

It was heartbreaking. Seeing her try to stay composed.

We all sat in a tiny London church, all wearing black. Abigail wore bright yellow. Her mom loved color. She clutched to little packets of grey leaves, because her mom's favorite tea had always been English Breakfast and she never went a day without drinking it. Abigail tried her hardest not to cry. Her mom always said not to indulge in the sadness, but partake in the light.

Something broke inside of that seemingly strong English girl.

We all walked up to the coffin, paying our respects. Everyone just sort of awkwardly sat as Abigail took her turn last.

I watched as she placed the tea bags in her mothers dress pockets. She laced her moms pearl earrings into the holes in her earlobe and ran her finger over the semicolon tattoo on her ankle. I knew Abigail believed in a new life after death. But that meant letting go. And Abigail hated goodbyes.

I watched, a small part of me breaking as she just rested her hand on her beloved mothers face. I stared with sympathy as her eyes spilled over, and she dropped to her knees, holding her head in her hands as she cracked at the seams. I jolted out of my seat, glaring at the rude people giggling and whispering.

"You're okay. It's okay Abigail." I whispered, helping her up. Her red face produced even more incoherent sobs when I lifted her up and walked her away from the coffin. After that she just cried into my chest, almost as if she hadn't cared about what other would say.

Later on, we both blankly stared with tears in our eyes at the pink setting sun. Abigail stared down at the porcelain white coffin being lowered into the ground. She smiled a bit, still crying. I watched as Abigail looked at the now orange sky and back to her mom. She took out a bouquet of orange roses, her mom's favorite color, which were inscribed with every word and phrase the daughter had never gotten to say to her mother. A bouquet of teary nights and crippling regret. After everyone else had dropped in an orange rose, the first handful of dirt was thrown onto the coffin by Abigail.

When everyone had cleared out, only the bright girl and I were left. She had just stared at the headstone, re-reading the words.

"Here lies Marie Rose Bedford. Beloved mother, wife, and friend. 4/12/1963-2/17/17 'May you lie in ground, but fly in heart'"

She had carefully arranged the flowers and stuffed bluebirds placed on the grave. Bluebirds were her favorite animal. Abigail hadn't wanted her mom to get cold, so she wrapped her moms favorite scarf around the headstone.

I looked at the girl I loved as she kneeled in the dirt, just staring and mindlessly tracing hearts in the soil.

"Let's go home." I whispered, getting her up and hugging her.
She nodded, the last of her tears being shed.
"May I stay with you Joshua?" She quietly inquired, her voice cracking.

"Always."