On the day of your funeral, all I could think about was how rarely I had ever seen your eyes closed before. We lined up near your coffin, ready to stand and smile and shake hands with the visitors who would soon come to pay their respects, and somehow that was the only thing on my mind: how weird it was to see you lying there with your eyes closed.
I don’t know why that – of all things – was what I decided to fixate on. Your eyes being closed wasn’t exactly the main thing that looked weird about you. You were waxy, pale, somehow shrunken in the face. It’s amazing how different a person can look when the blood is no longer flowing. When the skin cells stop dividing, shedding, renewing themselves … when everything begins to set and harden, and the eyes – if they were closed at the time of death – will never open again.
The rest of the family ushered me in to see you when they could tell you were about to pass. It was time to say goodbye, I was told. Sara was holding your hand, Dad was stroking your forehead and whispering, it’s okay Mum, you can go now, you can go, and Margaret was weeping loudly in the corner of the room. The three siblings, united in grief. I felt almost rude, barging in on them like this. My mom nudged me forward – say goodbye to your grandmother, Jess – your chest was only just rising and falling, your mouth making a low rattle sound… and I was horrified. Transfixed. I wanted to run away – leave the room – but I couldn’t, could I?
I know that makes me sound heartless, like I didn’t love you … but I did. I do. It’s just that I’m fifteen. I’m not equipped for this kind of stuff. Even now, with well-wishers pouring in, I have no idea what I should do or say. How I should stand. What my face should look like. Should I be crying, or would that be too much? I hardly know most of these people.
And it’s so weird to me that your corpse is right behind us and your eyes will never open again.
A response to the writing prompt, fresh corpse.
Fabulous, as always! Fiction?
You got the teenage mind on this one, with her worries about what she should do. The kinds of thoughts one has looking at a corpse.
Love the artwork. Fits the story really well. You're so talented!
What she said - how well you capture the teen angst, and the strange, small details one might fixate on, because the big picture is too hard to handle. This teenager takes it all in, and we feel her pain, yet you capture a certain detachment (survival mode) that seems to be part of the resilience of the young.
What a brave topic - the dead body in the casket, the mourners gathered around. I don't know that I could "go there."
I hope it's pure fiction....
Thank you, @carolkean. ❤️ The teenage character truly came through very powerfully when I wrote this.
It was partly fiction, partly inspired by the passing of my own grandmother. ❤️ Thank you, @owasco!