Page 47 of Tough Love
Distant family members, and a few faces I remember from high school, offer their condolences as we make our way through the chapel to the open casket. I smile politely, leaving Mum to answer them as I make my way up to the front of the room with Briar.
He wriggles in my weary arms, so I let him down as we reach the coffin. His face only just makes it to the edge, not enough to see Kath laid out in her favourite colour, yellow. I do a quick scan of the room and notice a storage box tucked behind a podium to the right. It’s heavy, yet solid enough as I drag it across the carpet to where Briar waits. I help him onto the plastic lid, and he sucks in a deep shuddering breath as his gaze lands on his mum.
I should feel the same; some sort of shock at the sight of her exactly as I remember, yet also nothing like the woman she was. This … shell … it’s not her. It’s her vessel. The parts that made herherhave left: her humour, her drive, her soul.
Yet to Briar, she’s still Mum.
He mumbles something as he pushes up on tippy-toes to lean in and tuck the bear in the crook of her arm. His fingers brush her flesh, and he jerks back.
“She’s cold.”
“Yeah, she is, buddy.”
“Why?”
How do I explain this? “When your heart stops,” I say, “your blood doesn’t move around your body anymore.”
He cocks his head to the side, confused.
Damn it.
“You know how when you run around you get hot?”
He nods.
“Your blood does the same thing when it moves around your body; it’s warm, and so it makes you warm too.”
“So, her blood needs her to play?”
“Something like that.” I’m not going to win with this one.
He seems satisfied though, turning back to Kath and telling her goodbye, how he loves her, and that he’ll put a drawing on the fridge each week for her like they always do …did.
I help him down, and push the storage box away before letting him run to Mum and taking my turn.
I should have something poignant to say to the woman I shared my childhood with. Something meaningful, some declaration of remorse for how wide the gap between us grew as adults. But as I stand beside her coffin, I can’t even bring myself to rest my hand on the side, let alone say a single word to her.
She betrayed me. Worse than that, she chosehimover me and destroyed my character. My own flesh and blood turned against me and alienated me from everything and everyone we knew.
My only sibling showed the ugly side of her heart, and what hurt the most, was that she won.
She got to keep her life in our hometown. She kept her friends. She kept our family, staying close to Mum and Dad even after they moved overseas.
I was hurt. I was abused. And yet, everyone painted her the victim.
A sigh escapes my lips as I let my shoulders drop. There’s no point faking it for the sake of an audience. The people here didn’t know us, know what went on behind closed doors. They only saw what they were given, fed the pieces that were most palatable.
“Sleep tight, sis.” I close my eyes and drop my head, inhaling the sweet scent of the roses that fill her casket arrangement.
Such beauty, and yet all she did for me was cause such pain.
Mum steps up beside me as I turn to take my place, her hand resting gently on my arm. I shake my head, a silent “Don’t,” and walk toward the front row where Briar waits with Dad, his short legs swinging under the pew.
The moment I sit down, he’s on my lap, resting his back against my front, his head beside mine. I loop both arms around his middle and watch as Dad joins Mum, and together they weep for the child they lost too soon.
My ears burn, the whispers creeping over me in a sticky coat of shame.
“She seems so strong.”