Author's Note: These characters are actually my own...but the rest of the characters that you recognise are from the brilliant J.K. Rowling!
It was the final goodbye. Gloom held the group of siblings close as they walked over the soggy grass to lay flowers at the newly dug grave. It was quiet and they stood respectfully around the slate gray tombstone. A butterfly carved on top clung to the stone, its dainty wings outstretched to gather what little sunlight that could escape the clouds damper.
The youngest child, a girl not yet past her tenth birthday, bit her lip to keep the tears from spilling from her ocean blue eyes, down her pale cheeks. Her black mourning dress was too big for her and the shoes were too small. The stupid fabric itched and she wanted so much to kick off the black Mary Jane’s, rip off the dress and run home. Only the strong hand on her left shoulder kept her from running.
She glanced up at her brother, the oldest of the flock of children. His eyes studied the tombstone, as if trying to memorize every mark and every curve of it. The black jacket was a gift from their father, as a sixteenth birthday gift. The bulk dragged on his slender form, a family trait. He glanced down and gave his sister’s shoulder a gentle squeeze for comfort. She glanced up again, just as a gigantic tear welled out of her eye and slid slowly down her cheek. That proved the breaking point and more tears followed in quick succession.
“Why’d…Mummy…have…to…die?” she wailed, in between hiccuping breaths. He knelt, careful not to kneel in the wet dirt. Grasping her gently, he hugged her, biting back his own tears.
“God was tired of waiting for her. She had to go, Keren.” His voice cracked, which was something it had not done in years.
“Evan, why…why couldn’t God have waited just a little bit longer?” She pulled back out of his hug, “Why didn’t he care about us?” Evan furrowed his brow, trying to think up and answer to her questions. Her hand gently tugged at his chest, pressing a necklace chain slightly into his skin.
“Keren.” Evan quickly reached to his neck and pulled a small gold chain necklace from under his shirt. A tiny tarnished gold heart fell gently into his palm. Her eyes grew wide and she reached a tiny finger out to touch it.
“I need you to be strong,” he began quietly and her gaze went from the gold heart to his face. “Mum is gone but she would want you to remember all the times you had fun. Do you remember when we went on the picnic in the garden? Mum forgot to pack napkins so we just used some of the plant leaves. Also, do you remember when it was so rainy one day that Mum created a game of chess using furniture? You were a castle, Grandma was the queen, and Mum was the king. Do you remember? Mum would not want you to cry. She would want you to be strong and remember the time she spent hours reading from books while you were sick with Dragon Pox.” Evan ran his thumb over the gold heart before lifting the chain over Keren’s head. She picked it up between her thumb and forefinger, studying the faded inscriptions on it.
“Mummy wants us all to be strong. However, especially, she wants you to be strong. You will have to be strong as the gold in the heart. Can you do that for Mama?” He looked expectantly at her. She paused for a moment than nodded furiously.
“I can.” Her tears had stopped, replaced by a firm resolve. The gold heart fit perfectly in the hollow of her hand and after a swift hug for her brother; she turned back to the grave.
Silence presided over the group, almost all five heads bowed in prayer or self-deliberation. Keren studied the butterfly carved on top of the headstone. Its thin wings outstretched as if it could flap them and take off, poised and graceful.
Mummy had loved butterflies; she had used much of the shelf space in the library for books on the tiny creatures. Every year in the spring, they had a picnic in the full bloom garden. Sitting on the checkered blanket the butterflies had flown around them, overjoyed in the spring. They seemed to be jewels from the vibrant wing colors. It was befitting that there was a butterfly on Mum’s gravestone. Perhaps they would fly her soul up to heaven…
Evan stepped forward and placed a sprig of flowers from the Butterfly Bush onto the wet earth. With a shaky hand, he passed the basket of flowers to the sister next to him. She reached in and placed a daffodil on the grave. A daffodil followed and than a small iris flower. The deep purple of the petals of the iris seemed a tenth fold darker after the bright yellow of the daffodil.
Keren paused a moment before reaching into the offered basket. Closing her eyes, a strong stem met her fingertips.
You have to be strong for mother.
She grasped it and pulled it up. A velvety red rose met her eyes as she opened them. Beautiful, Keren sighed, it was almost as beautiful as Mum had been before she got sick. A light touch of pink graced the tips of the petals and the color sunk to a deep red near the base. The rose was almost all open and a petal dropped as Keren gently set it on the grave.
Evan sighed and picked the petal up. It was like silk to his fingers and for a moment, he was content to hold it there.
Your brother and sisters need you.
He looked up, meeting Keren’s appraising gaze. For the youngest child, she seemed to have grown up the fastest. Evan was suddenly very tired and wanted just to go home.
“Let’s go home,” he said quietly and their heads jerked up from where they had been studying the grave, or holding back tears to face him. There were lines on Elizabeth’s face that he’d not noticed before and Aaron held himself differently, as if he was afraid of letting his grief show. Yes, it was time to go home.
“Everything will be better. I promise; I’ll make everything better,” Evan whispered, more to himself than to the others.
Gloom held the siblings together still as they trudged back toward the waiting black car. The gray clouds cried as the cars left the cemetery, large tears that splashed over the stone and coated the already wet grass with more water. Droplets clung to the butterfly carving on top of a new gravestone. Collecting on the carved ridges, they dripped slowly on the pile of flowers left in front of the grave. Through the rivets of water dripping down the gravestone, the words were still sharp and the ridges collected small puddles of their own.
Beloved wife, daughter and mother
You will be missed forever