Page 145 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
Arms wrap around me. Arms so real and solid that I gasp.
I turn to Lucian, and we cry.
We spend the entire night next to his tree, crying while I try to find the words to tell the stars.
Part 3:
The Shatter
Chapter 27
All of You in Me
T
he next morning, when I make it back to my suite, I lean heavily against my closed door, taking deep breaths. I try to collect myself, grappling with last night.
Azaire is dead.
He’s dead like my ma and Xander.
Death. Defined as a soul moving to a new plane of existence—a plane that I don’t know if Azaire got to or not. But could death be something worse? Something with no destination and absolutely no returns?
Could death be nothing?
How long do I have until he fades from my mind entirely? How many years before I think of him for the last time? Or will I sit on my deathbed and remember him, immortalizing him in one, final moment?
I succumb to my unanswerable questions, my back sliding down the door as I crash to the floor.
Azaire is dead. He isn’t coming back. My final moments with him were spent tearing his heart to shreds, and that’s it. There’s no reversing the decisions I’ve made.
He’s gone like Ma, gone like Xander, and I’ll live with the loss.
My eyes catch the glimpse of a brown paper bag.
The brown bag filled with the ingredients for Azaire’s soup. The cured cattle, dried rosemary, and powdered pumpkin seed.
His ma’s ingredients.
What if Azaire is the last of his family line? What if all of him is gone?
I pick up the bag, holding it to my chest. Smelling it—as if it smells like him. It doesn’t, but it’s second best. It’s a smell he would know.
It’s a smell his ma shared with him.
I clutch to the bag until it wrinkles, my tears dampening the paper. When I find the strength to stand, I tuck the bag safely in my drawer.
My plan is to keep it forever as I lie in my bed, crying into my pillow.
?
After Ma died, everyone told me they were mourning her loss with me. It used to confuse me. How could they know how much I was mourning? How were they mourningwithme?
Few people sat at her grave for a prolonged period of time. Few people mourned as I did.
With every word, I could feel the extent of their sorrow for Ma, but no one, besides my family, could feel even a fraction of my loss.
But this time, no one says anything. The emotions of those around me haven’t changed. Kids are still confused in class and horny for their classmates. No one knows Azaire is dead.
