Page 7 of Awestruck at Dusk
I gently broke away from Aaron’s arms. He wore black slacks and a black sweater that had been torn on the right side of his chest. I could see the black fabric of the shirt he wore underneath his torn sweater.
“Right this way, Miss Murphy,” Aaron said, leading the way to a simple wooden casket. It was closed. “Do you want to see him? Are you sure it—”
“Yes.Yes, I have to,” I replied, brushing the endless tears away. When my mother died, I wasn’t allowed to see her. It was a closed casket funeral, and I carried the pain of not being able to see her one last time for too long. I never could say goodbye to her.
“Okay,” he said, standing next to the coffin. He opened it just enough for me to see his upper body and invited me to come forward.
I took a deep breath and three steps forward.
There he was—myCaleb.
Aaron moved to the side, but I reached out for his arm and whispered, “Stay. Please.” He nodded and stood beside me as I linked my arm with his.
I looked away and closed my eyes for a few seconds as my throat closed in on me, unable and unwilling to accept Caleb’s fate. He didn’t deserve this at all. He should’ve been alive, always by my side … he promised. I needed to concentrate on taking slow and deep breaths or risk losing it on the spot. The thought of letting myself go, to feel the feelings wanting to come up to the surface was terrifying. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to pull myself together if I allowed myself to go there.
Caleb’s peaceful expression resembled that of a sleeping child. I’d do anything, give upanything, to have him wake up right now.
Please…
“Here,” Aaron said, handing me Caleb’s Statue of Liberty keychain I gave him for his birthday yesterday. “He was carrying this with him. I’m sure you’d want to have this.”
“No,” I said in between subtle pants. “It’s Caleb’s.” I grabbed the keychain and placed it inside the casket, underneath the flap of his jacket. “He said he’d keep it forever.”
“They won’t bury him with it,” Aaron said. “You should take it. I know he would want you to have it.” He offered me this broken look that almost paralyzed me. To see Aaron like this so affected, wasn’t something easy to witness.
I nodded once, took the keychain, and placed it in my pocket. Something about this felt right. It was a good idea to keep it. I smiled a nearly cracked smile because I could listen to Caleb complaining inside my head about almost leaving it behind.
But that smiledidcrack in the end when a sudden searing blaze of anger overcame me. I wanted to scream, to throw a fit, to break something. It wasn’t fair.Why him?He was so young, bright, and had such a strong and powerful body. Again … Why?
But I knew the answer, and it stung as that little voice inside my head kept reminding me:Because of you,that’s why.
There was a knock on the door. Aaron opened it just a tad and asked Mr. Waldman to give us a couple of minutes.
My hands moved to my face as I crouched on the floor. I had to leave soon, and once I did, Aaron would take Caleb away from me.
Forever.
I had mere seconds before I’d be asked to leave, so I stood up and sat in a chair beside the casket.
Waiting.
Aaron walked toward me and grabbed a pair of scissors from the small side table to my right. “It’s customary in the Jewish tradition to rip one’s clothes to express grief when losing a loved one,” Aaron explained. “We call it Kriah, which means tearing.” He pointed at his chest to his torn-out sweater and offered me the saddest smile in the world.
The thought of Aaron ripping his sweater out of pure grief contracted my heart.
“I think you should do it,” he said. “It’s um—it helps.”
I nodded. It sounded like something I definitely wanted to do—neededto do. The anger and grief had whipped up a powerful electrical current inside me that begged for an outlet. And I didn’t even know how to start handling that kind of energy on my own.
“I’ll cut a small piece of your sweater, enough for you to rip it open. It’s usually on the right side for relatives other than parents or close family members, but one can choose to rip the left side when experiencing deep feelings of grief,” he kept explaining.
“Left,” I muttered under my breath.Left.
Aaron took a step forward and said, “We stand up to show strength.” I did, instantly. “Are you wearing something underneath your sweater?”
“I am.”
He pulled my sweater gently and cut it approximately an inch. He placed the scissors on the table again and said, “I’ll recite a blessing while you do it.”
