11
The day of the burial came too soon. I wasn't ready. I don't even think I moved when I woke up that morning. The rain had already started, just a light drizzle - but it felt like the whole world was warning me: today's going to hurt.
Everyone was in black. Umbrellas everywhere. But halfway through, the rain didn't care about that anymore. It poured, soaking everyone. No one moved. No one spoke. Just the sound of water hitting coats and skin, and the occasional sniffle.
I held Aunty Linda's hand. Tight. Her hand was warm. Mine was cold, all over. But I didn't let go. If I did, I felt like I'd fall apart.
I couldn't stop staring at the caskets. Two. Side by side. That was them. My parents. Right there.
White lilies covered the tops. They loved those. I remember them in vases all around the house.
I shut my eyes hard. I had told myself - don't cry. Not today. Be strong. You don't want them to see you fall apart. You want them to be proud. But inside, I was shaking. I was scared. I was empty.
Someone started the ceremony. I didn't listen. Words floated around me, but none landed. I just stared at the boxes. Waiting. Hoping.
I had Googled everything the night before. Mistaken identity. Buried alive. Comas. It was pathetic, I know. But I wanted a glitch in the story. Something that said, "Wait, no, we got it wrong."
I whispered to them. Over and over. Please. Wake up. Please come back. Please don't leave me.
And then - without warning - it was time.
The caskets were being lowered.
And something inside me snapped.
I broke. Completely.
I screamed. Cried like I had no control over my own voice. My knees gave out. Aunty Linda grabbed me, but I was gone. Sophia came too, holding me, but I wasn't even there.
Are they really in there?
Are they really never coming back?
Then I heard the dirt hit the wood. That sound. That awful, final sound.
I lost it. I ran toward them, dropped to the ground, digging - bare hands, wet soil - I didn't care. I just needed to reach them. One more time. One more hug. One more anything.
People grabbed me. Strong arms. I fought. Screamed. Cried until I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see.
And then I just stopped. Like my body gave up. Everything shut down. I lay there in the rain. Shaking. Cold. Not just from the weather. From what was happening.
This was it.
They were gone.
People spoke to me after. Nice things. The kind of things people say when they don't know what else to say. "They're in a better place." "Stay strong." "Time heals."
I nodded. But inside, I didn't hear any of it. It all sounded fake.
They didn't know what I lost. Not really.
By the time everyone left, I was still there. Staring at the dirt. The headstones weren't even dry yet.
Aunt Linda came up behind me. "It's time to go, Ivy."
I couldn't move. It felt wrong to walk away. Like leaving meant forgetting. Like standing there was the only way to keep them close.
But I dropped to my knees and touched the headstones anyway. Traced the names through the water and mud.
John Michael Anderson
April 12, 1972 - October 5, 2023
A devoted father and husband
Your strength and kindness remain in our hearts forever.
Reading it broke something in me.
Sarah Louise Anderson
March 27, 1977 - October 5, 2023
A loving wife and mother
Your warmth and love will guide us always.
I couldn't breathe.
I held my chest and cried. Loud. Ugly. The kind of crying you don't even try to stop.
"I need you. I don't know how to do this without you. Please come back."
The rain hit harder. I stayed. Someone held my shoulders - I didn't even check who. I couldn't see anymore.
Eventually, I stood. Barely. I looked at the graves one last time and whispered, "I'll try."
Then I walked away with Aunt Linda and Sophia.
The days after were a blur. I got sick. Fever, chills - my body gave out.
Sophia went back to school. Aunt Linda stayed. She did everything. Sat with me. Brought food I didn't eat. Made me tea I didn't drink.
People came. Brought gifts. Food. Talked in soft voices. I didn't care. I didn't want any of it.
Because the house was full, but it felt empty.
Because they weren't there.
Their bedroom door stayed closed for days. I couldn't open it. But one night, I did.
Everything was the same. My mom's sweater on the chair. Dad's cap on the dresser. The smell of them still in the air.
I climbed into their bed. Curled up in the middle. Pulled the blanket around me and let it hurt.
I stayed like that for hours. Days maybe.
And every morning after that, I woke up and remembered.
They're gone.
I'm still here.
And I have to figure out how to live with that.
They always told me I was strong. That I could do hard things.
So even if I don't feel it now… I'll try.
Not for me.
But for them."