Messages on a Coffee Cup

Chapter 24

  I took the last few sips of my coffee and placed the cup in its rightful place; standing on my dresser next to the others of its kind. The limousine parked itself outside of my house and let out a long honk, signaling the beginning of the worst day ever; straight to the funeral home and then the graveyard for one last look at her before we sealed her underground until the end of time.  

   It had always frustrated me how we are treated as royalty when we bury a loved one; comfort and luxury at our finger tips. It's almost as if we are being buttered up, only to be stripped clean of dignity while we mourn and weep over a pulseless body which was once bouncing with movement, beaming with life. As if the luxuries we are pampered with will somehow ease the pain gauged into our hearts by none other than the sharp knife of Death himself. You see, these methods only make us more and more weary of what we know is next to come; the inescapable oblivion of forgetting the dead. Losing the memories of the little things they used to do; their small imperfections, their bad habits, even their favorite things. I knew this feeling all too well; it had only been five days since her death and I'd already forgotten the simplest thing there was to remember about a mother, her favorite flower. 

   "My gut tells me they're hydrangeas but daffodils ring a bell. . . What am I saying, I don't know shit about flowers."

   "What?" Kim asked.

   "Nothing. It's just, she's been gone for almost a week and I can't even remember her favorite flower," I explained, letting yet another tear escape.

   "Hey," Kim started, bracing me by the shoulders. "We'll get through this."

   "Okay," I responded, her statement making me feel the slightest bit less isolated.

   We made our way to the door, dreading the second we hopped into the limousine. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight, sighing through an attempt at holding back tears.

   "Together?" she asked.

   "Together."

~

   As the vehicle slowed, the eerie grey stoned funeral home found itself in my line of vision, barely visible through the thick fog and trees concealing it from the public. It was as if mother nature set the weather-o-meter on the Depressing yet Ultimately Relevant to Holland Summers' Life setting specifically for today. I guess pathetic fallacy was a present theme, in my case.

   We finally came to a stop and I remained seated in the car until I realized that Kimberly is knocking on my window, already out of the car.

   "I can't!" I shouted through the door.

   She continuously motioned for me to make my way out of the vehicle, not taking no for an answer. I quickly got tired of playing this game with Kim and found the emotional strength to pull myself out of the limo. She instinctively locked her arm in mine and escorted me to what would result in my mentally unstable doom. It's a very rare occurrence in Westfield for a young girl of sixteen years to bury her mother so I suspected half the town is in attendance. Sure enough, I was right.

   We entered the funeral home a little behind schedule and were escorted to a giant room in which at least 500 people gathered to honor the life of one Katherine Summers. My eyes studied the swarms of people, most of whom I had never met before, when my gaze fell upon the casket at the back of the room.

   It was as if seeing her dead, limp corpse brought back forgotten pasts. It suddenly hit me like a baseball on a bat sending shivers down my spine and tears streaming down my cheek.

   "They were gerbera daisies."