Pain

Men aren’t supposed to cry. It’s been pounded into our heads since we were boys. We are supposed to be strong and never weak. But it is so hard not to break down weeping when you feel your heart split. A choking feeling is rising up in my throat, and more than anything I want to get away and collapse in peace; away from all the sympathetic faces and sidelong comments. The temptation to cry becomes something fierce when I see women, dressed in black robes, standing tall with tears running down their faces. Most of the men comfort them, or are lost in thought. But none of them are crying…

There is no one to comfort me though. The only one who would have been able to make me smile at times like these, is the reason for this pain in my chest and the grieving of everyone around me.

I would never feel the warmth of her skin or the softness of her hands again. Now she is cold and lifeless. The sparkle in her eyes is gone forever. She will never again experience the warmth of the sun again; buried six feet under the ground.

My chest feels like it is being crushed under a heavy weight and my eyes stare straight ahead, unseeing. People should not have to bear such pain and agony. I feel as if I will never smile again. In fact, I don’t even remember how to.

Something in me longs to scream and cry out, so that I might be able to express my pain in some way. But I’m too weary; too tired to cry, too exhausted to allow myself the relief of conveying my mentality. Not for the first time, I long to be someone else, anyone other than who I am. I don’t want to be me any longer. I wish to be that lonely person walking across the black paved road across from the cemetery, with nothing more on their mind other than worrying about getting the laundry done, or getting dinner ready for friends coming over. Life would be so much simpler if I wasn’t me.

A soft hand on my shoulder causes me to turn round and look into the eyes of my best friend and brother-in-law. Ron’s eyes are hollow and pained. And though he too, is suffering, he knows his pain is nothing compared to mine. He is imaging how he would react if he lost Hermione, and he can’t even fathom. His hand grips my shoulder, as if he could transfer some strength to me.

The funeral lasts long, but I don’t hear it. Memories of Ginny’s sweet face haunt me. All the time we spent and dreams we shared is all I have left of her.

Memories: so fragile and easily lost. That is what scares me most. I’m afraid of forgetting how she looked; her smile, and our love.

They lower her coffin into the ground and her family steps forward to toss their dirt in. I hold back, not wanting to say good-bye yet, and also terrified that I’ll be too late.

Someone nudges me forward and I walk in a daze toward the hole in the ground. The gleaming wood of the maple coffin is scarred by the random chunks of dirt dropped on top of it. The thought of my beloved trapped inside this wooden box makes me nauseous, and I fall in my knees in the freshly overturned dirt.

I can no longer hold back the tears. They flow freely down my face, making me forget the rules of manhood. It is only I and Ginny in the world. All else in forgotten from my mind by the loss of my heart.

My weeping is broken only by my gasping breath for air. I feel as if I will die from the pain in my heart. The only thing I want is to be with her and near her again. The ironic thing is that, as the Boy-Who-Lived, I survive, while being forced to watch those I hold dear suffer.

The dirt is clenched between my fingers; soft fresh earth. And though my life is stormy, the cemetery is filled with warm sunshine and blue skies, as if the heavens are mocking me, saying my misery is not felt anywhere else.

I wish it would rain. Thunder and lightning would symbolize my torment and agony. The pelting drops of rain would wash away the pain and salty tears upon my face.

Silence resounds behind me, as if the people are afraid to feel what I’m feeling.

Slowly I rise, wiping tears away, and streaking my face with dirt. The pain I feel will never go away, but I grasp the handful and dirt in my hand and let it dribble gently onto the box below. Silent tears run down my features as I quietly lift my face toward Heaven and blow her a kiss.

“Goodbye, my love,” I whisper, and turn and walk away solemnly.