Unwanted Homecoming

I turn the final bend of the airport corridor and quickly scan the crowd for my families faces. I spot them standing off to the left, an awkward space separates my older brother and father. Timidly I make my way over, the suitcase trailing behind like a dog forced to go to the vet.

Quickly, they envelop me in a warm huge and I instantly break down. I try to stifle the sobs as embarrassment settles in and heads turn our way. Far from successful, I start sobbing even harder and have to bury my face in my hands. In the distance, I can make out the sound of my brother sniffling.

We stand there until everyone else has gone home with their loved ones. No one else is mourning the death of their mom in an airport in Portland International Jetport in Maine.

Eventually we gather ourselves together and without saying a single word exit the airport together. The car is silent for the first few minutes as we all muddle over everything that has happened since I left for college a few months ago.

I never got to hug her goodbye.

With that invasive thought tears once again start cascading down my cheeks. This time, I manage to keep them silent and hide my face in between my arm and the side of the car.

"Have you decided if you would like to speak at the funeral?" My father asks in a quiet voice.

"Is it okay if I read a poem I wrote?" I answer timidly trying to keep my voice from shaking.

"Yes, that sounds lovely," He replies softly.

The car pulls into the dim garage which quickly brightens up as the motion detectors recognize the vehicle. I grab my suitcase and head quickly inside.

I mumble something along the lines of, "very tired see you tomorrow," and race upstairs before anyone can try to speak to me again. On my bed sits my fluffy brown cat, Cinnamon. I snatch her up in my arms and bury my face into her silky fur. Soon enough tears are leaking down my face again.

She still smells like mom.

I pull my face away from Cinnamon, the smell is too overpowering. Instead I resort to slowly petting her back and scratching next to her ears. Soon enough Cinnamon is purring and curled up on my lap.

I stare at a painting on my wall of a fallen angel bleeding on the ground. The painting never seemed to hold much meaning until now. I can relate to the look of uttermost anguish frozen on the angels face.

I wake up in the morning in last night's clothes with my shoes still on. My father is peering into my room.

"We are leaving in twenty minutes," He gives my outfit a worried look. I nod in understanding and get up to close the door. I pull on a black dress my dad purchased for me, then mechanically brush my teeth and hair. Lastly, I pull the crumpled piece of paper from my backpack. I wrote the poem on the flight from California to Maine, plenty of time to dwell on all my melancholy thoughts.

As we enter the church doors I try not to shake from nerves. The room is packed and every person turns to study the family members. Sympathy, curiosity, judgement, many emotions are scattered over all the faces. I try to avoid eye-contact and instead focus on the stained glass in the back of the church. Finally, we are seated in the front and I can only feel all the eyes on me instead of see them.

I zone out most of the funeral service and instead focus on pinching my thigh as hard as possible to stop myself from breaking down into a puddle of tears on the stone floor.

"Now a brief poem from the beloved daughter," Immediately I spring to attention and stare up at the officiant. Slowly I peel myself from the wooden bench and make my way up to the stand. The crumpled poem is even more worn as I had been folding it the entire service in between pinching myself. I clear my throat slowly and keep my eyes glued to the paper.

"This poem is dedicated to my mom, you were taken from this world... sorry... you were taken from this world way too fast," I take a deep breath and try to keep the voice tremors under control.

"Tiny pink hand grasps a single slender finger/My little miracle, you murmur/Reading books about ducklings/Always so patient even as I fumble/Driving to a dance class/Stopping for a treat after/Rewatching our favorite movie/While eating your famous lasagna/Now just memories/Ones that I'll cherish forever/I love you more than life/And I wish I could tell you that a million times"

I quickly head back to my seat.

"That was beautiful," my father whispers. I can only give a strained smile back. I try to hold myself together but reading the poem was too much and soon enough I'm crying and shaking. My brother wraps his arm around me as he begins to tremor a bit as well.

"How do we get through this?" I choke out.

"Keep smiling until we're no longer faking it," He says back.

I spend the rest of my homecoming at well, home. A few hometown friends reach out with their condolences but no one asks to hang out. I don't think they know how to act around me not that I blame them. Every day is a rollercoaster of emotions. I usually go on long walks and listen to music. I don't spend much time with my father or brother. I think we just depress each other further. Anyone who says it will get easier is bullshitting you, let's just be clear. This cloud of pain will always encircle your heart, like a literal feeling of someone squeezing your heart until you can't pump oxygen to your body anymore and everything goes hazy. But the pain lessens and sometimes goes forgotten when given the right distraction. I've accepted that my life will never be the same, I'm a different person. Now I mourn not only my mother but the life I used to live as a carefree individual. I'll keep smiling though, and maybe one day I'll find myself again.