The Funeral

I sat there under the cloth awning in the warm summer air and listened to the song my mom personally requested to be sung at her funeral. This was her funeral. My eyes had gone numb from all the tears. I could still feel the knife, daggers, swords that had been ripped through me. My soul just laid still within me as it bled. I had lost the one person I loved the most. I never realized just how much I loved her until she was gone. I stared at her portrait that sat on top of her velvet coffin. The birds chirped, the butterflies flew, and the sun was still warm; but it felt as though the world was dying or should have been. In my little world, it was. In some ways I mourned the death of the little girl inside me. My happy self, the part that knew what it meant to smile and love; the part that was always shining in her presence; that little girl had died away with my mom. I could feel the anger toward God begin to fuel deep within my broken heart.

The song was sung by my cousin. She sang beautifully. The lyrics were perfect; my mom must have known they would be. I looked down the row of chairs at my five older siblings. I could see the pain in there faces; the pain that followed down to the very core of who they were. Would our lives change now? This tragedy had already begun to make changes in mine. I felt as though my siblings saw and heard me for the first time. When before I would always go unheard and now when I spoke, one of them responded. It was my mom who responded to me before. She was the one who heard me best. I had lost her but I had also gained more of a connection with my family, even though the time we would spend together would be reduced. I suddenly realized exactly how much I loved them all and even more now. It was our mother that died, not just mine. She was the glue that kept us together. She was the glowing sun that shined onto all that she loved.

My Christmas’s would not be the same. My siblings had families of their own except for me. I was nineteen. I was utterly alone. I was disconnected. I was lost. I felt dead but yet my eyes were still open. I squeezed the wet tissues in my angry fists. I didn’t want to accept the fact that I was extremely angry at God. He took my dad when I was only fourteen and now he had taken my mother.

It would be two years and three months until I would finally let go. Let her go and finally find the little girl that once lived inside me. I am now the free, passionate, loving girl that my mom taught me to be. I let go of the anger I held against God and finally accepted him and his love; that he actually does love me. Even though there may be pain, there may be death, but there is also love. And every moment is a new one. The purpose of life is to learn and to simply live. I am thankful for the time I had with my parents; the time I had to learn from them. I learned that life is how you make it to be. That life is about love and inspiration.

Through being a free, passionate, forgiving, divine woman of light, my purpose is to inspire love, truth, and authenticity. Creating a world that is peaceful, worthy, and brave. And so it is. And so I AM.