The Weeping

The storm clouds gathered overhead, spilling heavy rain onto the world below like sorrow from the sky.

The woman in black didn’t seem to notice. She stood still, her eyes fixed on the fresh pile of dirt, now smothered in wilted flowers and stems. There was no headstone yet. Only those who had watched the casket lowered into the earth knew who rested beneath.

But she knew. She would never forget, no matter how hard she might try. She resisted the urge to lie down, to dig a hole and crawl in beside her. Only six feet of dirt separated her from the person she had loved her entire life. Not that what lay below was really her mother anymore. It hadn’t been for two weeks.

Raindrops slid down her cheeks, merging with the tears already clinging there. Memories flooded her mind of moments shared, words unspoken, and the final, haunting plea that echoed in her head: “Don’t go.”

With trembling fingers, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone. Out of habit more than hope, she opened her mother’s contact and pressed “call.”

The line clicked once, then died.

Number disconnected.

She just wanted to hear her voice again. She thought of all the voicemails her mother had once left, of all those messages she’d so easily deleted without a second thought. Now, she would give anything to have them back. Her mother’s voice was already fading from memory. A soft lullaby drifted through her mind like a ghost: “You are my sunshine…” She used to sing it to her and her sister when they were little. Then later, to her grandchildren.

Time blurred. She sat motionless as her thoughts circled, frozen in a waking nightmare while the world moved on without her. Cars passed beyond the cemetery fence, oblivious to the weight pressing against her chest as if there were not storm at all. She hated them for it. She envied their normalcy and their light-hearted day. She missed the feeling they had now. For two weeks, she had been bogged down by this weight, her heart was tired. She was tired.

The rain grew colder. She sank to her knees, hands muddy, and dug a small hole in the earth. From her pocket, she pulled a folded note and gently placed it inside before covering it again. She had written it the night before. It was a quiet, trembling apology. The last few years had been hard with anger, silence, and choices she hadn’t understood. Now, all that remained was guilt and love.

She couldn’t bring herself to stand. Instead, she sat on the wet ground, letting the rain soak through her clothes. Once, she would have worried about getting her car seat wet. Now, nothing trivial seemed to matter. She closed her eyes and whispered into the wind, “Please… let this be a dream. Someone wake me up. Please…” Her voice broke. The ache in her stomach twisted as the storm swallowed her cries. She wept. And the sky wept with her.

A memory returned—her last birthday. They had talked about birthdays past, dinners with the whole family, laughter around a cake. Her mother had said, “Next birthday, I’ll be walking again. I’ll take you out to dinner myself.”

The woman smiled, dared to believe it. For a moment, it felt like life before the illness. Now, eleven months later, her own birthday was approaching again without the fulfilled promise. Her birthday was always made special by her mother. And now she would spend it alone.

Her head dropped as lightning struck nearby. The raindrops grew fatter. Thunder clapped overhead loud and final, like a slamming door. She remembered that sound.

She was twelve, slamming her bedroom door after being grounded. Screaming through it, “I never want to talk to you again!”

I will never talk to her again, she thought now, and let out a loud, broken sob.

She remembered the night before her mother died. She thought her mom looked better. She had cut the visit short with an excuse about homework needing to get finished. As they hugged goodbye, her mother whispered, “Don’t go.” She held onto her tight, but she let go of her mother too soon.

If only she had stayed. She would never get the chance again.

She fell back onto the muddy ground, letting the rain hit her face. She remembered walking into her mother’s room the next day. The chair was empty. She is truly gone, she thought. She felt as empty as that chair.

The raindrops slowed. The clouds thinned. A sliver of blue sky peeked through, just a little at first. Then the sun broke through, golden and warm, kissing her cold, damp skin. She closed her eyes. It felt like a kiss from her mother, and she soaked it in. Shey lay there a few minutes, letting the warmth in, imagining it was her mother’s embrace. Finally, she sat up, soaked through but knowing the weight she carried from the storm would eventually dry and become a memory that she would carry with her, always.

She looked at her mother’s final resting place. The warmth on her cheek felt like her mother saying, “I’m okay.” She tilted her face to the sun, letting it dry her tears.

“You’re no longer in pain. You’re happy,” she whispered to the dirt. "You’re happier than you’ve ever been.”

And in her heart, she heard the reply: “It’s going to be okay, my love. You’re going to be okay.”

She stood slowly. “I love you, Mother. I’ll make you proud.”

She turned toward her car. She knew now, she would be okay. She would miss her mother every single day. But she would learn to live with the missing. She would grow, live her life to the fullest and love everyone like they wouldn't be there tomorrow, and use every breath to make her mother proud. Her mother had given her so much. She would not waste it.