How Long is Forever?
“Daddy?”
The man looked up from his computer to see his four-year -old daughter creeping towards him with her stuffed bunny in tow. The poor creature had been hugged around the neck so many times it had no stuffing left in that area and its head lolled from side-to-side over the child’s arm.
“Hm?”
“How long will mommy be dead?” she asked, climbing into a chair across the table from him.
He swallowed hard and stared at the computer screen where line after line of different styles of urns leered back at him from the funeral home’s website.
“Forever, Jasmine,” he said quietly, his eyes blinking rapidly.
They had told him it would be good for Jasmine to see him cry, to know that grief was normal in this situation. Perhaps they were right, but he didn’t think all-out hysterics were quite what they had in mind, and hysterics were exactly what threatened to do him in just then.
“How long is that?” Her voice was sincere and curious.
“It’s…”
Jasmine gazed up at him with wide brown eyes that held complete and utter trust. Just like her mother’s...
He looked back at the computer screen. Urns in every shape, size and material; too many to choose from, but at the same time, none of them were right. Every time he tried to imagine the woman he loved inside a brass or pottery prison for all eternity-he just couldn’t picture it.
“A very, very long time,” he said at last.
The man looked up from his computer to see his four-year -old daughter creeping towards him with her stuffed bunny in tow. The poor creature had been hugged around the neck so many times it had no stuffing left in that area and its head lolled from side-to-side over the child’s arm.
“Hm?”
“How long will mommy be dead?” she asked, climbing into a chair across the table from him.
He swallowed hard and stared at the computer screen where line after line of different styles of urns leered back at him from the funeral home’s website.
“Forever, Jasmine,” he said quietly, his eyes blinking rapidly.
They had told him it would be good for Jasmine to see him cry, to know that grief was normal in this situation. Perhaps they were right, but he didn’t think all-out hysterics were quite what they had in mind, and hysterics were exactly what threatened to do him in just then.
“How long is that?” Her voice was sincere and curious.
“It’s…”
Jasmine gazed up at him with wide brown eyes that held complete and utter trust. Just like her mother’s...
He looked back at the computer screen. Urns in every shape, size and material; too many to choose from, but at the same time, none of them were right. Every time he tried to imagine the woman he loved inside a brass or pottery prison for all eternity-he just couldn’t picture it.
“A very, very long time,” he said at last.