Alpine Crescent Academy

I feel my throat constrict and I cough to try and breathe properly as my focus settles on the large photo displayed on the stage to my left. It is a photo of my mother, father and me posing in our home garden. We are all wearing genuine smiles while my mother is placing a stem of blue flowers behind my ear. Ridiculously, the flowers are called forget-me-nots.

My heart constricts in overwhelming pain and a bead of sweat trickles down my neck in nervousness. My hands tightly grip each side of the podium as I look at the audience. Scattered throughout the pews of the church, they are all wearing black. On the end of each row sits a small pot with sunflowers, which contrasts with the dark clothes and mood of the audience.

"My father…" I swallowed heavily. "My father, well, he taught me how to live life to its fullest and to not take life so seriously all the time. In any situation, he could make me laugh and brighten my world. Without him and his light, my life would have been much darker." A tear tracks down my cheek, so I take a deep, shattered inhale of breath before letting it out slowly.

"My mother was one who loved life, and to her, there was beauty in all things. In her own way, she wanted to add to the beauty of this world. One of the common ways she did so was through working on her garden every day and sharing its charm with others," my gaze flicks back over some of the faces of the crowd. "I am sure many of you here today, had received a plant from her, whether you had asked for it or not."

I saw a few smiles briefly, before sadness took over once more on their faces. In the first row, Mrs. Jacobs' eyes are rimmed in red and she is dabbing her tears with a tissue.

"Many of my memories are of the three of us kneeling on the ground with our hands in the soil. We had a preference of planting native flowers to help enhance the unique flora found here in Northern California". I feel something splintering inside of me, breaking into such small, miniscule pieces that it feels like I have no hope of putting it back together. All at once, my breathing stops, and I feel prickles of awareness creep from my forehead to my toes. My soul feels shattered.

A movement towards the ceiling in the back of the church catches my attention. When I look towards it, I see what looks like a blur. It reminds me of a mirage that is created under extreme heat, something you might see in a desert or on a hot summer day, when the heat radiates off the ground.

It confuses me, so much that I forget where I am and slowly let out the breath that was caught in my throat without realizing it.

I am not sure what the blur is that I am seeing, and I have never been one to believe in ghosts, but this feels like a presence. I get the sense that it is watching me, and whether it is my parents or not, that thought gives me comfort and the strength to continue. I inhale, and begin again.

"But my mom had a weakness for sunflowers, which were her favorite. She had a patch of sunflowers in her garden, but she kept it small in favor of growing native plants. She placed a small bench in front of it, and you could find her drinking her coffee at this bench early in the mornings while looking out over those few sunflowers". I can still picture her clearly. Mornings were always cold, so she would be bundled in a thick sweater and long pants while sitting on the bench with a small smile on her lips that also reached her eyes.

"She wanted more, though, and she deserved more than the few sunflowers that thrived in her garden. Beauty is also found in happiness, and sunflowers were happiness for my mother. So, even though it is not a typical flower for a funeral - I wanted to share her happiness with all of you today. The small sunflowers in pots are for you to take so they can flourish in your home. Every time you look at your sunflower, I hope you will remember that there is beauty in life, in happiness, and to remember to be the light for others. Thank you."

I turn off the mic, so they can't hear the rattling of my breath. I just need another moment before I can face them. I'm not ready for their sorries, or their condolences. I'm not ready to see their faces full of pity when they realize that I'm barely holding it together. I'm not ready.

I'm not ready for a life without them.

I take a few more seconds to feel my pain and sadness before bottling it up and putting a lid on it. With focus, I can hold off the hurt long enough to get through the rest of the funeral process. It would be easier with my boyfriend, Javier, here. He is at work, and his jerk of a boss wouldn't let him have time off to come to my parent's funeral.

He needs his job, and although I wish he could have been here, I know that he relies on his paycheck and I wouldn't want him to risk losing that.

I rub my sweaty palms down the sides of my black dress and put on a mask to hide how shattered my soul feels in this moment. Then I head off the stage and into the crowd.

I've spent the last good portion of an hour shaking hands and swapping pleasantries with those that were able to come to my parent's funeral. At this moment, I'm neck deep in listening to Mr. Kreg recite a story about my dad in his youth. I'm drowning, and as I catch Mrs. Jacobs' eye from across the room, she must notice the pleading in my gaze. She walks over and slowly places an arm around my shoulders.

"There you are, Layla." Mrs. Jacobs looks towards my captor, Mr. Kreg. "It is nice to see you, Tony, but I am afraid that Layla is needed." She pulls me away and holds my shoulders to lead me to a side room. When we enter the room, she closes the door behind us.

"Are you okay, honey?" She asks me with sincerity.

The lid I placed on my emotions is tenuous, at best. And I think if I talk about how I am feeling right now, that lid is going to come flying off and it will be an uncontrollable flood.

I glance to the side so she can't pry into my lie. "I'm just really tired, Mrs. Jacobs. Do you think it's okay if I head home?"

Her gaze softens, and her shoulders drop in sadness. "Yes, honey," she says as she reaches out and rubs my shoulder. "I'll finish up here, so you can head home and rest. You did well today. I am sure your parents heard every moment of it, and they would be so, so proud of you."

I swallow heavily.

"I think they were here," I whisper softly. I clear my throat and say, "Thank you, Mrs. Jacobs. I appreciate your help."

"Anytime, darling. Are you okay to drive home?" I nod my head and we say goodbye.

I leave the room and head towards the back lot where my car is parked. On my way there, an arm reaches out and grabs my forearm. At the sudden contact, a shiver races down the back of my neck and heat licks at my spine.