LJ Idol Season 10, Week 4 (Break Week), Prompt 2 - Sangfroid
I tell myself not to look. The hallway is filled with people. There are muffled sobs and whispers alongside the shuffling of feet. The smell of the flowers still lingering in the hall are dying off with the closed sitting room door. There are a mass of flowers in there waiting to be moved, but the door has been closed to stop the children from seeing.
Kids shouldn’t see a coffin. I get that, but a part of me wants to scream why are they here then. They should have been removed from the scene not hustled into a room being forced to keep quiet. An even larger part of me wants to open the door wide and scoop my son up for a hug, he would make me feel better right now. His warm sticky arms and sweet smell would calm the racing of my heart. But I won’t. Because they are right, he shouldn’t see this. I would normally wrap myself around my husband just now, let his warm, solid presence ground me, make me feel safe again. But he is in the room, getting ready to lift to lift her.
I never used to understand why people brought the dead home, it seemed morbid to me. Who wants a dead body in their house, but that was before. The last few days the only thing keeping any of us sane was her presence in the room, being able to go and sit with her, knowing we still had her there. Looking back I know I’m wrong, I remember her feeling cold, looking different, but there was enough of her still there to bring some peace.
Now that was leaving, I hear the sound of music in background, a song about colours or stars by one of those bands she would make me listen to.
“have you heard this song, the one that goes nanananan I, wanna fall, from the sky, straight into you arms, nananana”
I would nod and smile and let her continue to hum off key.
It plays low and soft, you have to strain your ears to hear. That was one of the rules I had about bringing her home. She wasn’t going to lie in a dark, dank silent room. She had never not had music on, and that would continue.
The shuffling of feet intensifies and I see the dark suited figures come out, heads bowed down, shouldering their burden. I look past them and stare at the room. Empty now, a bid wide space where something used to be. It fits our hearts and minds now.
For half a second I want to be that person. I want to break down and scream at them to put her back. I want to stamp my feet and cry and throw the mother of all temper tantrums until they put her back where she belongs. But I don’t. I think of how she was in the end, always with a smile, a laugh, composed, dignified, thanking those around her. Even in her worst moments she never broke, and neither will I.
So, with my chin lifted I put one foot in front of the other, I follow her out into the street and prepare to say goodbye.
Kids shouldn’t see a coffin. I get that, but a part of me wants to scream why are they here then. They should have been removed from the scene not hustled into a room being forced to keep quiet. An even larger part of me wants to open the door wide and scoop my son up for a hug, he would make me feel better right now. His warm sticky arms and sweet smell would calm the racing of my heart. But I won’t. Because they are right, he shouldn’t see this. I would normally wrap myself around my husband just now, let his warm, solid presence ground me, make me feel safe again. But he is in the room, getting ready to lift to lift her.
I never used to understand why people brought the dead home, it seemed morbid to me. Who wants a dead body in their house, but that was before. The last few days the only thing keeping any of us sane was her presence in the room, being able to go and sit with her, knowing we still had her there. Looking back I know I’m wrong, I remember her feeling cold, looking different, but there was enough of her still there to bring some peace.
Now that was leaving, I hear the sound of music in background, a song about colours or stars by one of those bands she would make me listen to.
“have you heard this song, the one that goes nanananan I, wanna fall, from the sky, straight into you arms, nananana”
I would nod and smile and let her continue to hum off key.
It plays low and soft, you have to strain your ears to hear. That was one of the rules I had about bringing her home. She wasn’t going to lie in a dark, dank silent room. She had never not had music on, and that would continue.
The shuffling of feet intensifies and I see the dark suited figures come out, heads bowed down, shouldering their burden. I look past them and stare at the room. Empty now, a bid wide space where something used to be. It fits our hearts and minds now.
For half a second I want to be that person. I want to break down and scream at them to put her back. I want to stamp my feet and cry and throw the mother of all temper tantrums until they put her back where she belongs. But I don’t. I think of how she was in the end, always with a smile, a laugh, composed, dignified, thanking those around her. Even in her worst moments she never broke, and neither will I.
So, with my chin lifted I put one foot in front of the other, I follow her out into the street and prepare to say goodbye.