The Weight of Goodbye
They say grief comes in waves, but to me it felt like stepping into the dark and missing a stair. My grandmother Catherine wasn’t just family — she was my anchor, my safe place, my best friend. Her hugs had always felt like home. Standing beside her coffin that afternoon, I felt as though someone had taken away the air I needed to breathe.
The funeral home was quiet, the lighting soft, shadows gently falling across Grandma’s calm face. Her silver hair was styled just the way she always liked it, and someone had placed her beloved pearl necklace around her neck.
I reached out, running my fingers along the polished wood of the casket, while memories played in my mind. Just last month we were in her kitchen, laughing over cups of tea, while she patiently showed me how much cinnamon to add to her sugar cookies.
Memories in the Air
“Emerald, sweetheart, she’s watching over you now,” said Mrs. Anderson, our next-door neighbor, laying a trembling hand on my shoulder. Her eyes were red behind her glasses. “Your grandmother was so proud of you. She told everyone.”
I managed a small smile through tears. “Do you remember her apple pies? The whole street would smell them every Sunday.”
“Oh, those pies,” Mrs. Anderson chuckled softly. “She always said you helped. She’d brag, ‘Emerald has just the right touch with cinnamon.’”
I swallowed hard. “I tried baking one last week. It wasn’t the same. I reached for the phone to ask her what I’d done wrong, and then…” My voice broke before I could finish.
Mrs. Anderson wrapped me in a hug. “She knew how much you loved her, darling. That’s what matters most.”
The room was filled with people whispering stories about her life, laughter mixing with quiet sobs. And then, across the room, I noticed my mother.
A Strange Sight
My mom, Victoria, hadn’t shed a single tear all day. She stood alone, scrolling on her phone as though nothing unusual was happening.
But then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught her moving toward the casket. She paused, looked around, and slipped something small inside before stepping back. Her heels clicked softly as she walked away.
“Did you see that?” I whispered, startled.
“See what, dear?” Mrs. Anderson asked.
I hesitated, watching my mom disappear into the restroom. “Maybe nothing. Maybe I imagined it.”
But deep down, I knew I hadn’t.
