You are More

You Are More

A/N: I know I haven't been updating my other stories and I feel awful!  I honestly feel like I failed at those stories though, so I will be editing August's Time at the time being, but here is my new story (THAT I WON'T GIVE UP ON) I apologize in advance for all spelling and/or grammar errors.  Thanks for reading!

I have never seen anything more depressing than a funeral on a Saturday evening.  The gray, puffy clouds overpowered the sunlight and the strong currents are nearly lifting us off our feet.  It’s as if the weather was made for this very event. I stood a distance from everyone near a sturdy tree while everyone gathered around the wooden casket.  Out of all days, I decided to be the outcast.  Instead of wearing long, black dresses and fancy hats as if I was attending a royal funeral, I have my favorite dark blue denim jeans and long, white t-shirt on.  Also, while the women here have their hair slapping them against their face, my chocolate colored hair is in a messy side braid.

 I gawked at the younger guests as if I was vulture searching for its prey.  All had tears rolling down their cheeks and hugging one other, but deep down inside they knew they have every bit to do with her death.

“Now, Casey’s father would like to say a few words.”  The young female on stage calmly said through the microphone.  She must’ve been Casey’s older sister.

I foolishly gazed around for Casey’s biological father until I remembered he bailed out on her before she was born.  Instead, a man in his early forties walked up the stage's stairs.  The young woman gave him a heartwarming hug before getting off the stage. All eyes were focused on him.

I stood up straight and awaited for what he had to say.  The last time I seen him, he was a lot younger. Now I’m 31, and he looks completely different.  His hair was a lot golden back than, while now I can easily see the gray hair. He has a few wrinkles on his forehead and hands, but he looked very healthy for a man his age.

“I, Jorge Ward, was Casey’s father.” He breathed.

I’m quite stunned he didn’t say he was her adopted parent.

“I remember holding her for the first time when she was just an infant. She was so small, so delicate, and so fragile.”

I brought my hand up to my mouth and bit my lower, pink lip.  You were never there; you have no right to cry, I told myself. 

Jorge continued on telling us about his favorite memories of her; her first steps, first word, and first day at school. He spoke about her as if she never left.  He only spoke of the good in her life until he was near the end of his speech.

“Every day she would come home from school with her lips sealed and not a single eye contact with me.  I don’t understand…how...how,” he began to hesitate. I turned my focus back onto the crowd where the entire younger guests had guilty expressions on their faces. “I love you, Casey.” He ended his speech with tears flowing out of his eyes.  His daughter came scurrying up the stairs to comfort him.

It’s complete silence.  The crowd gathered closer around the casket, bowing their heads. Then, two men from the crowd came up to the casket, grabbed both ends of it, and lifted it.  I couldn’t watch them place the casket into the ground so I ambled off.  I crossed my arms against my chest and kept my head down.  I could still hear the depressing music being played as they buried Casey…my daughter…into the dirt.

  “Four, fifty-five.” The elderly women said with her wrinkly hand waving towards me.  I reached into my jean’s pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill.  I gently placed the bill in her hand and she closed her hand shut as if I was going to steal it back and run off.  She then handed me the bouquet of various flowers. “My condolences to your loss.” She said.