The Funeral

Numb. I can't feel anything. Or I don't know how I feel. Or I feel too much. I don't know. I just can't tell anymore. I want to scream and cry, but I find myself sitting in the back of the church calmer than anyone else. At the front there are two containers, two pictures, one parent. I can't bring myself to join him at the front. Can't bring myself to believe........ He's standing now to say his last words. Last words to my children..... our children. They were so young. My hands are shaking and my chest hurts. It's crawling up into my throat and my vision is beginning to blur. They were everything to me. I remember bringing her home from the hospital. My first child. My daughter. So headstrong even at birth. She wasn't going to wait for her due date and because of that Daddy wasn't there. It was just my mom and myself, breathing through contractions, waiting for her arrival. The first week was cloud nine. I had never been so happy, had never felt so peaceful. We ate, we slept, we stared at each other. I did nothing else. At one and a half she wanted to do everything her self, so I let her. She loved experiencing life and people. She taught herself to write at three and was reading fluently soon after. She spent most of her time in her room reading or learning all that she could. And a temper! Ohhhh what a temper at times. She would try to argue us into the ground. She wanted to travel and help people. I remember his face. His smile. He took his time coming to us and was a week late. After Daddy left for the night I held him in the dark room with only one small light to see his face by. I said his name and he smiled at me as if he suddenly realized I was the face that went with the voice he had been hearing all that time and it made him happy. He cried all the time and never seemed full. He had trouble sleeping and would only sleep for about 20 minutes at a time. I thought I would never sleep again. He had trouble gaining weight and the doctor blamed me for not feeding him enough even though he ate all the time. A second opinion said he looked just fine. His sleep problems continued into his childhood. Night terrors and hospital stays because of asthma and pneumonia. But he was so full of life. When he wasn't sick he would jump all over the place, saving the world everyday, always with a smile. He would sit with me and hug his blankie...... hug me. He was shy when people would first meet him, but once he warmed up to you he was the sweetest boy. He defended his friends, protected those smaller than him even though he was so small himself. He wanted to be a Jedi. There was a car accident. An SUV hit us broad side. I saw it coming as I went through the intersection. Our light was green, but there it was steaming towards us as if lights didn't matter. It was too late to floor it, too late to stop, too late for anything. It was like it chose us. They said I was flung from the car, but I was wearing my seatbelt. The car caught fire. There were people standing around and no one pulled them from the car. They just let them burn. They said there was no one inside that they could see, just me on the ground unconscious but unhurt. I think I remember seeing the car on fire. I feel like I'm forgetting something whenever I try to remember it properly. People look back at me as he walks to the pulpit. I see blame in several eyes. They blame me. It was late and they blame me for being out that late. The driver of the SUV ran off leaving us there and there weren't many other people out and it was my fault because I was such a night owl and I had them out that late. He's breaking inside. Everyone is. Why can I not feel anything? Why can I not believe they are gone? Wouldn't I know if they were really gone? Wouldn't I have felt them leave this earth just as I felt it when they came to be in it. I always knew I was pregnant before the tests could show it. I knew she would be a girl and that he would be a boy. Shouldn't I know that they were gone? It doesn't feel like they are gone. They are not here with me, but I feel as if someone has taken them and I need to get them back. I had a dream two nights ago of my son. He was screaming for me and I couldn't get to him, but I told him I was coming for him, that I would find him. They keep telling me they're gone and that they're not coming back. They've gone to be with the Lord. Then why was he scared? They tell me I'm in shock and that it's the first stage of grief. Everyone has moved into the other stages while I'm stuck in shock. A therapist said it was survivor's guilt and next week he'll try to get me to move past it. Finally I feel it. A tear falls and slides down my cheek. They're not here with me and I need to get them back, but everyone says they're not coming back. No one will help me. I'm shaking more and more tears fall and then a sob rips my throat. They were everything to me. My mind breaks open and it's screaming their names, searching the blackness for them, willing them to answer. I can't sit there anymore and I'm running out of the church, through the double doors, into the parking lot, mind screaming. I want to run that way, but a hand grabs my shoulder before I can move. My mom asking me if I'm okay. ' Mom' my mind says, but it's not my voice. I hear her calling me. My daughter is calling me. My eyes go wide. My mom says nothing, but her eyes seem to know. She hugs me and I begin to cry because she knows.