Mark watched as they lowered the body into the ground.
“Dust to dust, ashes to ashes…”
The words of the minister drowned as he remembered all his mother represented.
They were no tears this time, just a dull throbbing pain that spreads like disease through his whole body.
His heart felt like they would break in pieces.
Why do good people die? Why do we have to live with their absence?
Mark shut his eyes as though he would still the pain but nothing worked.
He opened his eyes and looked at the people who were at the funeral. Some had a somber look, others were neither happy or sad.
Black didn’t do Mama justice. White would have been perfect, she was an angel. Mark’s personal angel.
He shifted from foot to foot, suddenly it was as though he couldn’t breathe. He turned and walked as fast as he could.
“Mark?” His father called.
Mark turned to his father. He could see the hollow look mirrored in his father’s eyes.
“Later Papa,” Mark pushed his hands into his pockets.
At first he walked, then he began to run. He had no idea where he was going to but he needed to get out of the torture in his soul.
Mark wept. Mama was dead and she wasn’t coming back.
©Booky Glover, 2020