The Broken Tree

“It’s time to say goodbye.”

The words of my mother drifted over me reminding me of the ugly truth of the day. The words she said standing over him at the hospital. I didn't want to say goodbye then and today, well, today would be the final goodbye. I just was not ready.

That morning I got out of bed as usual, but it was much different. The skies seemed greyer and the world less lively. I pulled on a pure, black dress adorned with black heels. Then, I slowly made my way to the Pentecostal Church where my grandfather was located. Every ounce of my being was screaming at me to run away because somehow by going to the funeral it made it real. My heart was telling me to stay as far away as possible, but my brain was forcing me to toughen up and stick with my grieving family.

Walking into the church, I noticed that everyone appeared as morose as what I felt. I, slowly, ventured into the sanctuary where my, transformed, grandfather lie in his splendid casket at the end of the aisle. The walk to see him seemed never ending, not because I was wearing heels, but because every step that I got closer, another piece of my heart chipped away. His hair was combed just the way my grandfather use to brush it. The skin color seemed almost back to normal. Eyes and mouth were shut, unlike on that Saturday morning. Weeks later, the face of a defeated body with nothing else to give still haunts my memories. His gaping mouth would never again expel another breath. His eyes stared openly into space, not really seeing all who loved him. The skin went pale, almost matching his grayed hair. His mouth lie partially opened, revealing a yellowed set of dentures. Instead of a white and blue speckled hospital gown, he was clad in a crisp, white shirt, black suit and a red tie. His glasses and hearing aids were both present, overall leaving anyone who saw him saying that he looked as if he were alive.

Cousins, friends, coworkers, nieces, nephews, children, grandchildren, and many more piled into that dimly lit room. A slideshow of old pictures played on rotation on the two projector screens located above the casket. With each photo that emerged onto the screen, my heart sank deeper into my stomach. My head was spinning and there was nothing I could do to resolve the situation.

Grandpa Gill was gone, gone forever.

A stray tear became a river down my face. I started to recall the tiny, bustling hospital room encompassing me. I latched on for dear life to anyone that was in grasping range. Trying not to collapse on the floor in hysterical desperation, I clutched to my dad and soaked his clean shirt with my waterworks, ultimately leaving a trace of watery mascara behind. “It happened again, why did it have to happen again…,” I managed to mutter between the sobs, in which my dad replied, “It was his time. Just like it was Grandpa Kay’s time five years ago.”

As I clung to my dad, Aunt Joyce reached over to close Grandpa’s eyes as water continued to pour out of my face and blur my vision. At this point, I had moved from person to person until I finally landed on my sister’s lap, where we embraced each other so tightly it was hard to breathe. Being within earshot, I could hear my mom telling everyone “it was a stroke. He passed away about an hour ago.” I felt so helpless. If only I had not gone to the parade with my friends, maybe we could have made it in time to say goodbye before he moved on. Why did my dad not call us sooner?

It was all so surreal. I had gone into that day happy, celebrating my first college Homecoming with friends. How did I end up in a hospital room in tears? Why did such a glorious day turn into something so somber and morose?

Once everyone was back in the sanctuary, the bishop of my grandfather’s church began to speak. To be honest, I do not remember hearing a word he said. It was all praise the lord and welcome his soul, and we will see him again one day at the feet of the Heavenly Father. Personally, I was fed up with the whole situation. He was suppose to be here with his family. I was expecting him to be sitting in his maroon recliner, reading a newspaper and drinking coffee. We were not suppose to be sitting in wooden pews listening to various people give monologues as to the will of God and my grandfather’s life. Every single time a new speaker went up to the pulpit a new set of tears streamed down my raw face. It had gotten to a point that I gave up on being presentable and coherent. I gave into my emotions. I was a blubbering wreck.

As the funeral began to conclude, various attendees came by to offer condolences and hug my grandmother and her children. Unexpectedly, two of my cousins came up behind my sisters and I and hugged us with words of comfort before they moved onto my other family members. In that moment, my tears turned into a wail and I was uncontrollable. Another cousin saw the state my sisters and I were in and came over to pray with us. At this point, my guard is completely broken off of its hinges and my emotions are freely floating outside of my body.

My vision seemed permanently skewed from all the tears. My hands were shaking. It was now the family’s final time to say goodbye before the casket was buried in the cementary. All in all, my eyes looked swollen and blood-shot. My heart was pounding, my lip was quivering and my feet did not seem to want to move forward. It took my mom’s abundant amount of strength to pull me over to the casket where my grandpa laid, lifeless.

“It’s time to say goodbye.”

I did not know what to do. My head shook “no” in unanticipated fear, and I froze. The casket stood open about ten feet away from me. It felt as if it was moving towards me, calling to me. Tears sprung up and poured out of my eyes, blurring my vision. My mom’s tender, yet strong arm pulled me up to the casket. Through the sobs, I choked out, “I don’t want this to be goodbye. This isn’t real.”

All of a sudden, my throbbing mind and pulsating heart caught up and realized that this was it. This was the last moment I would ever have. I could not say anything, though. I was speechless, just like I was that awful Saturday morning where another leaf of our family tree crumpled and fell forever.