• “Mommy, where is Daddy?” a little voice asked me. Like elastic my mind snapped back to reality and I looked around to gather my bearings. I was surrounded by a crowd in black; family, friends, acquaintances. Everyone was standing around in the cool spring air, and the stench of mourning was stagnant, made even more unbearable by the sounds of weeping in the atmosphere. I looked over my shoulder and was almost startled to see my sister standing behind me, clothed in a simple black dress with a solemn look in her eyes, arm in arm with her wife who was also giving off a tense, somber impression. I wanted to turn around and hug them, to tell them everything was going to be ok, but I couldn’t lie to them. It wasn’t going to be ok.

    I turned to face forward again when the droning sound of an old man’s voice reached my ears. A priest was standing over a polished casket and an open grave reading from a Bible. Instinctually I snorted in disgust. How dare someone allow a Christian priest in my presence. My pride as a priestess swelled within me and morphed quickly into the will to attack. In spite of the gathering around me, I wanted to throw something at him, to make a scene, but I stopped when I felt movement at my side.

    My two children, Seraphim Rose and Nero Constantine, stood beside me, one on each arm. Seraphim was my eldest, and a fine young woman who had barely even reached ten years. She was standing tall and firmly in attention between me and my cousin while my precious six year old Nero nervously twitched and glanced about impatiently. My daughter stood silently like a proud, dark sculpture blankly staring into space. In place of the sadness that I expected to cover her face, I saw a burning anger. I was troubled to see this sort of behavior from my daughter who was always the sensitive, emotional one. I put a hand on her shoulder as I normally did when my children got upset while her younger brother tugged relentlessly at the sleeve my dress.

    “Mommy, where’s Daddy? Huh, Mommy? Isn‘t he supposed to be here? Where‘d he go?” My son’s bright chocolate eyes were filled with confusion as he scanned the crowd apprehensively. I wanted to tell him the truth, but the words wouldn’t come. How could I do such a thing to my son? How could I stand there and tell my little boy that his best friend, his confidant, his loving father was never going to come back? Nero kept fidgeting and from the crowd behind me I could feel a flood of negative energies. Someone, most likely members of my family, were silently cursing me, ordering me to silence my son and show respect. Seraphim could feel it as well. She put her defenses up as soon as I did. It didn’t matter if I’d promised my husband I wouldn’t do magic in his presence. I wasn’t going to endure their arrogance and hatefulness today of all days.

    I stared at the open grave, not daring to cry, not daring to tremble, almost not daring to believe this was real. I had been just as blank and unresponsive at the eulogy. It was an event that was more a dream the way I watched it waver in front of me. I could only recall three people who spoke at that event.

    First was a large man who came to the front to speak. I recognized his face and a smile vaguely graced my lips. The man who stood there didn’t even closely resemble the troublesome boy I knew in my younger years. As he spoke in a gruff voice, Nero had held my hand tightly, keeping his face hidden in my dress, and Seraphim stood on my other side, rigid and inert.

    The man spoke of my love and his mischievous, unruly past. He recalled my love’s school years, tormenting the teachers, rebelling at every turn and I couldn’t help but crack a smile. I remembered him from that time in our lives, how we met by chance, stumbled into a relationship, and were so blinded by the illusion of love. I would never give up that moment in my history for anything else. After years of solitude and desecration I found him- a handsome boy who dared to look at me twice. He could have had many other girls who were far smarter and prettier than I was, yet he chose me. I would have had no future if not for that single moment. It made my heart leap at the memories, and then quiver at the ones that followed.

    Images of how he broke my heart paraded past my mind’s eye, and of how I had crumbled worse than I ever thought possible. While he and my best friend snickered behind my back, I was left behind to look like a fool. I was a fool. I was a gullible, horrible, no-good fool to fall for his trickery. Yet in my loving heart, in my ignorant, forgiving youth, I could never bring myself to hate him. I smiled to myself as I remembered the dilemma I faced. I pined for him, I longed to hold him and forgive for his transgressions, yet those around me who had less companionate hearts held me back.

    “He’s just going to use you.”

    “You don’t deserve him, and he doesn’t deserve you.”

    “He’s just a heartless p***k who’s only out for himself.” And I let them talk. In my ignorance, I had no choice but to believe them. So I turned away from him; I turned my back on that poor boy who was determined to chase me to the ends of the earth and beyond. Just as meeting him was one point I cherished all these years, abandoning him was a moment I longed to erase and destroy.

    The man up in front had finished speaking at this point, and with a nod in my direction he dove back into the crowd. I lowered my eyes and sent him a white wave of gratitude which I prayed he accepted. Then the crowd waited for the next to come up and offer a last word for my love. Not a whisper disturbed the silence.

    “My turn, I guess.” a rough voice whispered in my ear. Nero looked up and smiled brightly at his favorite uncle. Uncle B had been a friend to my love for years, and a close friend to our family since Seraphim was born. A tall man with a neat beard stepped forward after kissing my cheek. I stared at him as he situated himself before the crowd. He looked so strange in his formal wear and dark, stolid eyes. I hadn’t seen him so dressed up since the wedding, but never had I seen him so unresponsive.

    Uncle B kept his eyes lowered as he began to speak. He spoke of my love with such reverence that it alarmed me to a minor degree. He praised him for the lessons he learned as he grew older, just as I had learned. I learned that I cared for him, that he was something precious to me, and that I wanted him in my life, no matter what everyone told me. He discovered what it meant to be a man and a worthy lover. He learned to stand firm through times of stress, confusion and struggles. With time he even learned to reach out to me and help me along where I fumbled and fell. I also did my best to help him carry on. If things were troubling him, I’d do all in my power to help, to tell him I loved him and that I wanted him around. I even regrettably recalled the moment he dared to look at me and tell me “So what if I died? It’s not like anyone would miss me”. “Yes,” I told him, “I would miss you”. And I prayed, now more than ever, that he believed me.

    Uncle B carried on with a smile on his face and he rattled on about our history as if it had just transpired yesterday. He spoke of how I cried with joy at our marriage, and how my husband had fun making a mess of the wedding cake at the reception. He mentioned the postcards we sent from our honeymoon destination overseas, and then he recalled the day my daughter was born. Uncle B drove my husband to the hospital from work that day. He remembered as clearly as I could my love staring at me with those handsome ghostly blue eyes and whispering to me in disbelief, “Dad? I’m a Dad?” as he held our daughter in his arms for the first time. Despite his fears of fatherhood, he grew. He resolved to make a better life for us, for our baby, and I was beyond proud of him. He was a wonderful father, to both our children.

    “Mommy, Uncle B’s crying.” I blinked when I noticed Nero was about ready to rip my sleeve off with his vigorous yanking. “Why’s he crying, Mommy?” I choked on a response as I gazed straight on at Uncle B. Never had I expected to see such a strong man shed tears of any sort, yet there he was, crying for my love, for me, and for my two children.

    “I’m sorry.” he apologized when he came up to me and hugged me tightly. I could feel him tremble in my arms. “I’m so sorry.” I rubbed his back soothingly and gently shushed him. In my own quiet way I told him I was alright, and he took his place beside his wife amid the crowd. Again the gathering stood soundless and I knew what would be coming next.

    “Honey, would you like to say a few words?” A man standing beside me in a soldier’s uniform asked, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder. My cousin, whom my children called Big Brother, had just returned to the family from the war. He was with me and my love from the beginning. I turned my head to glance at my cousin over my shoulder, contemplating whether or not to come forward. This was a gathering for my husband, and here I was, his widow. But what would I say to these people? What would I say to my babies? No words could do my love justice. Then I heard a soft voice whisper in my mind.

    Anna was the name given to my split personality, the only one I had left out of eight accumulated persons. She was the part of me who dared to stand up for herself, the brave one who wasn’t afraid to be brash or rude. My husband never liked her, and never did they understand how to see eye to eye. But she was there, letting go of her pride and allowing herself to mourn with me. Whispering encouragement in my ear, Anna nudged me forward, and so I approached the front with my children loyally following close behind.

    I glided forward on softly treading feet. Anna kept me going, pushing me on with tender, soothing words. In that moment, I could remember moving this softly for my husband. I would move about the house on silent feet so as not to disturb him in his sleep. Such a memory fueled my nerve as I moved over to the polished casket and placed my trembling hand on the rim.

    Never would I have thought that moment would come so soon, when I would be so close to my love, my mate, my God, and yet we’d be so absolutely separated. There he slept eternally, dressed in the suit he wore at our wedding. I could not recall when I had seen him look so peaceful, with his lips slightly curled in a contented smile. We had always been inseparable while he lived, now the astral veil of death stood between us like the walls of a fortress. Words could not flow from me, but my tears did. In a fierce surge they came, choking me, burning my eyes and searing my pride. They fell from my face, splashed soundlessly on the glossy wood, and trickled down in smooth silver streams.

    The whole time they flowed, I bit my tongue to hide my overwhelming desire to sob, and I turned my face to hide my agony from our children. I refused to weep if I could not do so on his shoulders, and I refused to let our children see their mother consumed by grief. Slowly, as my tears continued to spring forth, the reality of it all started to leer over my subconscious. I realized that after a beautiful, happy life, full of trials and suffering, memories and triumphs, that my love was gone forever, and there was not a force on all this good earth that could take the empty rift in my being and make me whole again. There was nothing and no one who could ever ease the burden on my heart, or fill the void he left behind. I could feel eyes throwing daggers at me again, and I forced myself to say my last few words of goodbye to my husband.

    “I…I love you, honey.” I managed to say, forcing a smile through tears. “God, I love you so much. And your kids love you.” I paused and let out a half laugh. “Please behave in the Afterlife, and please…be at peace.” I pressed two of my fingers to my lips, kissed them and then pressed the two digits to his nose gently. A kiss on the nose was a mutual symbol of affection between the two of us and it pained me to think I would never feel such tenderness again. I backed away, waving for my children to come offer their last farewells. Seraphim stepped forward with Nero at her side and touched the casket. Nero did the same, mimicking his sister dutifully.

    “We’ll pray for you, Dad.” She whispered. “Visit us on Halloween or else.” I smiled at my little baby’s demanding tone. Each day made her so much more like her father…Nero nodded in agreement with his sister, not understanding quite what she meant by her words, but going with her anyway for the sake of obedience and respect. When I couldn’t bear to stand there any longer I turned away, encouraging my offspring to follow, which they did without resistance. I walked back to my cousin, my sister and Uncle B feeling sick to my stomach and more powerless than I had felt since I was a child.

    Several hours later, I stood amid the same crowd beside my husband’s grave. Here I was, standing with my family again as my husband was being laid to rest. My cousin still stood beside me and he held me close as the casket was lowered into the dark, moist earth. He squeezed me like he used to do when I was a child as they covered the box with loose soil. Seraphim allowed Nero to cling to her rather than me so I could let my sorrow flow. I closed my eyes and encompassed myself in my own thought. I was surrounded by mourners, yet here I was, alone. For so long I had him by my side, and now I had no one. In that moment I felt truly, utterly, infinitely alone, and there was no consolation for me. Not from my cousin, nor my sister, nor my daughter, who took my quivering hand in her own steady one and kissed it. I became a child again, watching him walk away from me while I was left to pine in the dust.

    The passing moments dragged on and the mourners gradually departed. His few family members left first, then mine followed shortly. Uncle B and his wife left without saying a word of goodbye which I was mildly thankful for. I didn’t know what I could say to him anyhow. Eventually my sister and her wife left, and by the time twilight approached, my cousin had left as well while I remained behind to stare at the headstone of my love. I stood in the graveyard with Seraphim and Nero wishing as hard as I could for my love to come back to me. It was the silly, desperate wishing of the child in me. She was the child who was still so much in love with him. She was the child who would not let him go.

    Seraphim stirred first of the three of us, slowly approaching her father’s grave. For the first time in many years, I saw tears well up in her ghostly blue eyes, her father’s eyes. Seraphim Rose had never been a girl to let her lip quiver, but neither had she ever had a better, closer friend than her father. With him gone, she was as desperately lost as I was, trapped within this freeze-framed moment in our lives and unable to move forward.

    “So, this is it, huh, old man?” I heard her whisper coarsely. “You’re just gone…” Seraphim shoved her hands in her pockets and stiffened her body out entirely. I watched as a thick cloud of energy surrounded my child in a dense sphere. Seraphim was desperate to escape the hurt, so she had up every defense she could possibly muster. It was usually frowned upon for her to unleash so much energy and magic, but I let it go, just this once. She needed this for herself. However, it scared little Nero to see his sister so defensive. He put his thumb in his mouth and grabbed onto my leg as if holding on for dear life.

    “Mommy, where is Daddy?” he asked. “Is he still sick? He’s been gone a real long time. Isn’t Daddy coming back soon?” Now it was my turn to wish for a defense. I wanted to escape and run so I wouldn’t have to tell my son the truth. His eyes implored me to tell him where his father was. He was so beautiful, just as my husband was and just like my husband, I couldn’t deny my child any longer. I stiffened my lip and squatted down to my son’s eye level.

    “No, baby, Daddy isn’t coming back.” I answered as softly as I could manage, not believing the words that were coming from my mouth. “He’s gone, darling, like Grandma. He can’t come back.” Nero blinked in confusion and shook his head.

    “Nuh-uh. Daddy’s in the hospital, isn’t he?” Nero asked me. “He’s supposed to come home soon. He promised, Mommy. He promised me he’d come home. You were there Mommy. You saw.” Nero puffed out his chest and nodded with certainty. “He’s not gone. He’s coming home soon, ‘cause he promised, and he promised he’d never break a promise.” I didn’t know what else to say. I was going to tell my son that the last words he heard from his father were lies? No mother should have to undergo such a trial. I touched my son’s face, a gesture he knew all too well as meaning that his mother was serious and every word she said was final and the harsh, honest truth.

    “Nero, baby, Daddy is gone.” I said, cursing every syllable I dared to speak. “Daddy can’t keep his promise. It was time for him to go, so he had to go.” Nero’s chest was falling and all determination in his eyes was fading. “He’s gone, and he can’t come back.” I could tell that my son was trying to tell himself that I was lying. He shook his head at me ever so slightly and turned his eyes to his sister.

    “Sera, is she telling the truth? Is Daddy gone, Sera?” he timidly asked in the quietest, softest voice I’d ever heard. “Sissy?” Seraphim turned abruptly to her brother, and smiled kindly.

    “Come on, Nero. Come here.” Seraphim coaxed, holding out her hand for her baby brother. My eyes smiled at my daughter when my face could not manage, and I gave my son a gentle nudge forward.

    “Go see your Daddy, baby.” I said as Nero joined his sister.

    Nero’s eyes were blank for the longest time as he stared at his father’s headstone. I could hardly stand to imagine what was going on in his mind as he stood there, rigid like his sister, and then he began to tremble. He quivered lightly at first, around his shoulders, but eventually his entire body was shaking, and the nastiest feeling gripped my stomach when I realized that for once in my life, I could not offer solace for my child.

    “Daddy!” Nero sobbed, covering his face with his arm in shame. “Why did you go Daddy? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be bad. Please don’t be mad at me. ” Seraphim put an arm over her brother’s shoulder. Nero kept sobbing, and his air of sadness quickly changed to anger. I bit my lip and braced myself. “Why did you lie to me, Daddy? Why? You promised me you’d come home. You promised me you’d come see me at my concert. You liar! You lied, Daddy! I hate you.” Seraphim poured what energy she could into her brother to help him calm down, but she didn’t need to. Nero dropped to his knees and curled up against his father’s headstone. “Come back, Daddy! Please! Please come back!” Seraphim knelt down beside her brother and held him close while I could only watch helplessly. For several moments, both of my children sat together, curled up against their father’s headstone. Finally, Seraphim sat up and brushed her chocolate hair out of her red, puffy eyes.

    “Come on, Nero.” Seraphim whispered in his ear. “Let’s go to the car.” Without waiting for her brother to respond, Seraphim helped him up and hurried him away from their father’s grave with nary a backwards glance. Finally I stood alone, just me and my husband together.

    I took my place in front of his headstone. It was a fine piece of work. The black marble glowed delicately in the twilight, and the words etched into the stone were perfectly cut. I traced my fingers over my husband’s name and fixed my eyes on his birthday and death day. He had just turned thirty two; he hadn’t even reached his prime. Anna offered me comforting words and did all she could to ease my woe. I was thankful for her. It made standing over his grave much easier to bear. I waited there under the rising moon. What I was searching for, I don’t know. Perhaps I was waiting to hear his voice on the wind, to hear him tell me that he loved me one more time.

    The sky grew darker as the sun sank and I sighed heavily. Anna gently reminded me that my children were waiting, and so I turned to leave. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something in the grass that grew beside my husband’s headstone. It was white, cylindrical, and I had registered what it was before I could even bend down to retrieve it.

    I reached into the grass and retrieved a cigarette. It was still burning as I let it sit in the palm of my hand. The fumes rose up and brushed over my senses teasingly. For the longest time I stared at that insignificant object, watching the glowing embers. Then, like a tidal wave, my fury erupted. A black surge of hate and rage swelled around me, pulsing with curses and painful memories. I drove all my tears and screams into that little thing. I let all the energy in me spill into that damned plague that haunted my husband all his life, that damned little thing that stole my love from me. The tears on my red hot cheeks were icy, and the blood in my veins throbbed dangerously. I kept going like this until at long last my curses began to dwindle.

    As I released the last of my energy, I felt light-headed. The cigarette had burnt down to the end, and all that remained in the palm of my hand was ash. I weakly pocketed that little thing, not wanting it to litter my husbands resting place, and I stood there over his grave below the milky white moon. There I prayed, I sobbed and I waited to feel something, anything. I wanted to weep for him, to express my longing and tears in the most accurate way possible. I wanted to sing for him. It was my apology to him, my last chance to tell him how much his death was killing me. I wanted him to hear me sing him one last lullaby, one last melody. It took time and patience, but I persuaded the song to rise from my core and pour out my lips with little thought at all. I simply sang.

    His last song was eerie and hauntingly beautiful, like the lament of a phoenix. I put my anguish to floating notes and spilt out my soul to my husband in a language that never failed to cross spiritual boundaries. I knew he could hear me, so I sang for him without shame, without resistance and with total abandon and spirit. I had sung for him when we lived together for the first time, I had sung for him when we became engaged, I had sung for him at our wedding, and I had sung for him and our children when I rocked them to sleep. Now here I was, singing for him at his funeral, and I wondered if I would ever sing again. I wondered if I would have any music left in me after this last composition of a devastated widow.

    I stopped singing on a sweet, simple note which hung in the air longingly for a few moments after I had ceased. Anna washed me in tender affections and beseeched me to come away. I was exhausted, and I felt genuinely empty. Yet, in that moment of exhaustion, I thought I could feel his strong arms wrap themselves around my body. I allowed one single tear to roll down my face as I let that familiar sensation wash me in comfort. As I closed my eyes, I almost expected to feel his lips caress my neck and his voice tickle my ear pleasantly. But that was never going to happen. I opened my eyes and the weight and warmth of his arms released me. I touched the slab of black marble as I turned to leave, but before I could walk away, I still needed to say one more thing to him.

    “Baby, you’ve made so many people cry today. Your sister-in-law, Uncle B, me, your children…” I paused to steady my voice, “and you thought no one would miss you.” I felt foolish and ashamed that those were the only words I could say to him. But the words had just passed my lips when a tide of memories burst forth, like water cascading over a dam. Memories of his smile, memories of his eyes. Of the times we fought and made up, of the times we tenderly shared in one another’s company. I remembered the first time he got sick and I was finally there to take care of him. I remembered the first time we made love and how much laughter filled that sweet night. I heard us laugh together, cry together, and as I hurried to my car where our two beautiful children were waiting, I heard his voice on the breeze whisper in my ear one last time, “I love you”.