Chapter 2: Before
What normal girl would really want to remember being fourteen! I was a child barely in my teens. Petty, jealous, insufferable, all the faults of early youth ran through my veins. So selfish and stubborn that it was unthinkable for me to change for any reason, let alone for anyone.
When I think about it, everything was so futile and artificial before him. So paltry and why not admit it...empty. And after him, everything made sense.
My sister Fiona had just brought home the first boy she thought was finally worthy. It was the first change that happened in my life. I watched them as if by doing so, I would understand the depth of their bond. Then, as it was obviously not the case, I decided to leave them alone and go out for a walk to think. Fiona looked so happy, that it made me constantly wonder what it was really like! This love that the world talks about and asks for despite all the misery it brought. Was it similar to maternal love, or friendship. When I lost the affection of a friend I suffered more than I would have liked. It would come back as a heavy frequency in my mind over time until it was nothing.
Then, a second terrible event occurred in our simple lives, my uncle Didier died. He was Mom's brother. Our grandfather had come to inform us personally. It was a Thursday, it was already past 8pm, and the evening was looking sweet. He looked so tired, so resigned with his grey coat, his moustache hanging pitifully on his already wrinkled face, that when he announced the terrible news, I didn't feel the shock anymore. It was as if the news should flow naturally from his state of mind.
He told my older sister Fiona who promised to tell mother. Fiona, whom I had believed for a long time to be the only daughter of an acquaintance of my mother's, and who one day disappeared without reason, leaving her four-year-old daughter as a farewell gift a few tender words and empty tears, whereas before I was born, she only liked to spend a lot of time at this friend's house before the latter moved to the coast because of her husband's work. And when the couple came to visit us, this subject would inevitably come up, much to the delight of friends and to my embarrassment. But since their daughter, who was real this time, was one of my best friends, I was happy to let these minor teases slide.
And now we were both at home, alone, waiting impatiently for Mom.
I had tried to forget the grief of this tragedy, I refused to think about it, to believe it. It hadn't happened yet, and also to be honest, my grief was unfounded, because I didn't know exactly what death was. Did it hurt that much to lose someone or to die? For anyone? Why did ignorance hurt so much? Did it hurt more than consciousness itself?
- Oh Mom...
I had lost the march of time, I found myself in a state of apathy. And it was with unbearable fatigue that I heard her footsteps, the footsteps of a wonderful woman, the footsteps of a woman who raised two little girls by herself, a woman who knew how to love, and who gave birth to me in a bed of happiness.
We were both in the kitchen, it was the place where everyone gathered in the evening. She came in, smiling, with packages in her hands, necessarily, and I also guessed that there were presents in them. Fiona looked at me and I returned her gaze with tears.
"It's so cruel to tell her Fiona. But it was your duty. With this, you will break the heart of this incredible woman, who we believe with faith, deserves no pain. Alas, we have no power to spare her or protect her from this.
We all know that."
Never has an evening caused me more bitterness than today.
- So, my little darlings, how are you? Mom asked.
What tenderness in her voice. My tears were invisible but they were all the more painful.
- Mom! Have you been waiting for the news?
She looked at us, already sensing that something bad was going to happen.
¬- No! Not yet.
- Uncle Didier has just passed away.
I felt more than I heard the "no" that she articulated, she immediately went to pour a large glass of water and drank it in one gulp. She did not cry, she was unable to. She went to put the packages back, and began to call everyone.
She acted as usual, with her usual denim pants and that T-shirt, but my girlish eyes would never betray me. I could see her falling into a sadness greater than my heart could imagine.
The burials were organized. And as tradition demanded, the wake lasted three days. Three long days during which speeches of condolences and thanks would be exchanged. I was still a child despite my age, so it was impossible for me to mingle. I did nothing but stand in my corner and observe the rite. It didn't matter to me as long as Mom got over her grief. As long as my mother came back as she was before all this. If only that were possible, I would have given up everything for that.
Finally the day of the funeral came. The moment of the shroud, then the mass, the black and mournful procession, the muffled cries, the image of a being who has left our world, all this grey and dark picture that I could only see through a transparent curtain of ignorance. My sister had stayed with me the whole time the event had lasted. And like her, no smile or understanding had managed to come out of our vague hearts.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone