Content warning: This post deals with the emotions of death and grief (fictional).
I wrote this story in December 2018, 17 months to the day after my mom passed away. Her passing had a huge impact on my life, and brought me to one of the lowest points in my life. Back then thoughts of losing my husband frightened me as much as they do today. It was my mom’s death that prompted the thoughts then; today it’s the stroke he recently had, and the consequent diagnosis he received. Our life is a rollercoaster, and my thoughts go to dark places. If there is one things that frightens me deeply, it’s losing Master T.
When I wrote the story below, I was still filled with grief for my mom. As I reread it today, I am filled with fear.
From Living Thing to Pachelbel
She stared at a spot on the floor. Not the stain kind of spot. Just a spot. Anything was better than looking at the coffin, showered with flowers, and his photo on a pedestal next to it.
Her daughter moved next to her; reached for her hand. Celia shrugged, smiled weakly at her daughter, and returned her gaze to the spot. She wanted to be left alone. Not one tear had escaped her eyes from the moment…
A shiver ran down her spine and she forced her thoughts to happier times… his hand in the small of her back, steadily dropping to the curve of her bottom… his naked body pressed against hers, his erection telling her what he wanted… his fingers circling around her nipples just before a hard pinch… his lips on hers, soft, demanding, pulling her into him, making her arch her back, wetting her cunt…
It’s only when the music started to play that she became aware of the present again.
And you, and your sweet desire
You took me higher and higher, baby
It’s a livin’ thing
It’s a terrible thing to lose
She almost hissed in disgust. Not for the song, because it was one of his favorites. No, the words…
Living thing… living thing…
Not much ‘living’ about him now, is there? Celia’s eyes flashed to the coffin; to his picture but she quickly returned to staring at the spot.
Celia heard someone speaking again — another speech — but her own thoughts were louder than the voice droning through the room. She was proud of herself, keeping her emotions intact the way she did. He would’ve proud of her, as he always had his emotions under control.
The music started again…
For some reason I can’t explain
I know St. Peter won’t call my name
But he called your name, didn’t he? Is that where you are now? With Saint Peter? Asking permission to pass the pearly gates?
She would have snarled, if she could. Instead, her eyes stayed fixed on that one spot while tuning out the music. She forced her mind back to those sexy thoughts… his delicious cock in her mouth.. his fingers deep inside her… his mouth on her clit.
Next to her, her daughter sniffed and blew her nose. She knew the kids were sad, but they were adults, and they had to deal with it. They can’t expect her to console them. She had enough to think of. Her defensive thoughts kept her emotions intact, and were now interrupted as the one song seamlessly moved on to the next.
I turn to stone when you are gone
I turn to stone
Something stirred in her.
Turn to stone? Yes, that was it. She had to. Celia had no other choice than encapsulating her heart in stone. She didn’t want to feel. She needed him to be proud of her; to see she remembered his lesson that life and death goes hand in hand. That death is death and no tears need to be shed, because one day we all would die. She had never wanted to think or speak of death… their death, and she had always deeply hoped that she would go before him. Fate decided otherwise.
Yes, her heart had turned to stone, because that was the only way she would get through this. This, and life.
The music stopped.
She had asked for this.
Moments of silence.
Moments in which people started shifting in their seats. Celia knew everyone waited for her to deliver a speech. She knew she couldn’t, not the way she had done it when her mother-in-law passed away, and not the way she did at her mom’s funeral service.
This was different.
How could she say goodbye to the love of her life? She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t. It would have been so much better had she gone before him. Or better still, had they gone together. They were not made to live without each other. Soulmates. Such a cliché word, but it was true. They were soulmates. They were silly together, serious together. His pain was hers; her pain his. They were together, always.
And now? Here she was. Left behind. How could he? He knew she couldn’t handle this… life without him.
Her heart of stone ached.
No, she had to be strong.
No emotions… the way he never showed emotion. She wanted him to be proud of her.
The first chords of the final piece of music broke the silence in the room. The stone cracked some more.
Celia straightened her back, and held her head down. She did her best to find her spot on the floor, but it was gone.
No! Don’t listen.
She wanted to cover her ears to cut out the sound. Celia wanted to run, but she couldn’t. Paralyzed, she listened. With every chord another crack appeared in the cold, hard stone around her heart.
The stone crumbled. The protection was gone. Her heart lay bare. Emotions overwhelmed her. The pain of loss teared through her chest. Celia’s shoulders shook as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Her head raised; her eyes fixed on his coffin.
Her buddy was gone. Her mate. Her lover. Her friend. Her soulmate. Her husband. So many images flashed through her mind. Talks. Dinners. Trips. Kisses. Fucks.
The music pulled from her every emotion Celia had tried to keep hidden.
Somewhere in the room someone wailed.
Couldn’t they just grieve in silence?
Her body shook and shivered and her daughter pulled her closer. She allowed it this time, leaning against her daughter, tears streaming down her eyes, and vaguely she realized the wailing sound came from her own mouth.
His hands. His humor. His eyes. His face. HIM!
Everything of him played in her mind like a movie.
Celia broke down. For the first time since he died, she allowed her grief…
Pachelbel’s Canon in D, the only song he had ever told her he wanted to ‘hear’ at his funeral. The one song she had hoped to never play for him, because she had known his seat next to her would be empty. But she had to… it was his choice.
Personal note from December 2018: Ever since my mom died I have been thinking of death far too much. This piece was incredibly difficult to write, because as I wrote it, I felt the sadness enveloping me like a heavy blanket. It made me cry, but it wouldn’t let go of me until it was written. Pachelbel’s Canon in D is a favorite piece of music of Master T and me.
Personal note from July 2021: While editing this story, the tears came once more. Only two weeks ago, Master T and I talked about funerals, simply because the diagnosis of cancer makes you think of things like this. We talked about music, about his preferences, and the emotions during and after that conversation left me with nightmares for several nights after. I can’t bear the thought of losing him.
© Rebel’s Notes
Image from Pixabay