It was a Sunday. The dark ominous clouds hung low to the ground expressing the feeling of anguish and disbelief; they were gray and full of moisture, threatening a storm. The crowd of black moved through the dreary, rain-soaked garden. No one smiled. No one talked. No one laughed; even the flowers hung their heads low and close to the ground, afraid to make eye-contact with the other mourners. There was a spine-chilling cold and creepiness in the air; an irritable feeling that made people anxious to leave. The misty air was hard to breathe and there was an awkward silence in the garden. The cold air left a feeling of another presence, which shot a chill up through the mourner’s backs. There were many people in the garden. Some were crying, others were tearing, and others were sitting, shocked. The parents were in hysterics. But with all the different emotions, still no one talked. The death of a child is always taken more seriously.
Everyone in the town was there: friends, neighbors, students, teachers, parents, other children, town officials, town members, and the mayor. The family members were in hysterics, especially the mom, and people kept going up to her, comforting her, and sharing their deepest thoughts and sympathizing for the family’s loss. Sympathetic words were still not enough to stop the mother’s obsessive crying; any onlooker could feel her pain. Her daughter was taken from her; she wasn’t old, she didn’t opt to go, she didn’t have an illness. The life of a strong, beautiful, smart, talented, loving child was ripped from her hands and her heart, and she was lost. Besides for her crying, her facial expressions also showed the pain she felt. Her eyes were black, and sunken. They looked as if they were pulled back, and she made little eye contact. She had worry lines running across her face: three longs wrinkles striped across her forehead. Her eyes, lips, and cheeks were bloody red. Her husband was next to her. His hand was placed on her shoulder; he was whiter than paper, and his face was emotionless and blank. His eyes became a hazy, ghostly light blue and his hair seemed to shift two tones gray. The siblings were by the parents. Laura was crying and kept blowing her nose in a handkerchief, and Anthony was holding his mother’s hand; his face was emotionless, but he was tearing excessively. Every time a tear fell, he wiped it quickly, trying to be strong, for his mother’s benefit.
The priest walked over to the parents, whispering it was ready to begin. He seemed calm, and was fine compared to the others. A person could tell by the way he walked; he was taking normal steps, his shoulders up, and his head held high. Unlike the others, who stooped down low to the ground as they walked, taking small, pacing steps. The mother got up from the bench, and dragged herself behind the priest. The father and the two children trudged behind her, yet keeping close to her body, to make sure she didn’t collapse out of anguish, depression, or of sleep deficiency. When they got to the burial grounds, the priest said a small pray and shared his condolences, and then he started the ceremony. “We gather here today to send our prayers for the deceased. Aubrey was a beautiful girl, full of life. But we are not here to feel distressed about the tragic accident; we should look forward to her future, in love and in happiness with the Lord, our God. Her soul will live on, and we will always remember her in our hearts…” The prayers continued and after a while, the black, menacing casket was lowered into the pit in the ground. At that point, the mother had lost it. There was no point in reasoning with her anymore; her mind had left this world as soon as her daughter had.