The funeral

I remember this one day I was rolling my cigarette when I saw all those cars coming. It was everyone. My sons and daughters, and their sons and daughters that were starting to have sons and daughters of their own.

I felt incredibly heavy for being responsible for all these people existence. And then I felt her hand. Warm hands that turned my fear into comfort, that hand by only a single touch would say “Here comes everything we have accomplished. You should be proud of us”. And I was.

The kids would jump out of the car singing and smiling at me and I wondered who they were. They didn’t seem anything like me or even one single part of me. It was just like they were strangers in my house and, as usual, I ran into the woods.

He was always scared of them, the family members. I believe it was because he felt underappreciated because no one would ever ask about our story. How we met, how we got married, how our first child came to the world, how was it that we managed to survive the terrible times when we had nothing, not even food.

But most importantly, I think it really bothered him the way our family would never ask about how was it that we built our love. But I guess it’s different for them. For us, there was nobody else but ourselves. And luckily enough, that was exactly what we needed.

As I looked at him, the more I identified emptiness, the more I wanted to understand. And the more I felt I needed to be able to feel like that one day. It’s not that I hate myself, but it was just as if his soul was gone with her. He stroked her hair and kept on looking at her closed eyes. People all around him would ask him to sit, eat, get some sleep and he would say only one thing: I’m staying here until the end. What kind of love is that? Does it even exist nowadays? A love that was so strong that I could see it. I couldn’t feel more sad than I already was. And all I could do was look at him

-          Go talk to him.

-          What should I say?

-          I don’t know, you figure something out.

-          I can’t

-          You have to

While I walked towards him I thought about everything I could possibly say:

-          How are you?

-          Are you hungry? Sleepy?

All of those questions seemed so stupid. What I wanted to say was:

-          I am so sorry you lost the love of your life. I wish you could die now to, so you could be with her, because there seems to be no more life for you here.

That was the truth. But here’s what came out:

-          Hi Grandpa… I know everyone has asked this, but can I get you anything?

-          No… I’m ok – How could he say something like that? Even with those empty eyes he would say he was fine and that felt so brave and so stubborn.

-          Ok. If you need anything I will be right here. And I’m sorry for your loss.

All the ones that lost their loved ones.  All of the joy and pain that companionship brings. I didn’t know where it came from and I thought I never would.

Life was good like this. I took care of the animals, she took care of the plants. I could see her talk to one of our great grand sons. Leo. He was a nice kid, I could see it. He looked so innocent starring at the tomatoes and lettuce as if he wondered how was it that we made them grow like that. He was amazed by the simplicity of nature and that was the first time I saw myself in one of my family members. But I think he was scared of me. He would say hello and keep on starring at me from time to time but never actually talk. But it was ok, because he was talking to her and that made her really happy.

And that was why we started our family. To have these moments when we can teach our children. We can show them the world through our eyes and luckily they would learn something from it. It was clear that Leo did. And here, smoking my cigarette, I felt glad for being his great grandfather.

Everyone is here, but him. He stayed in the farm. I wish he could see how happy everyone is and  how I feel happy for being around all these people that will remain once we’re gone. Which I don’t think will take long. At least for me. And I never smoked one single cigarette in my entire life, that bastard. I wish he was here.

I think I will never have something like they did. I don’t what was it that kept them together. If it was isolation or the fact that they were happy the way they were. Their lives were enough. And nowadays, enough is not a word we know. Now, there’s only “more”. Enough has become an enemy and love is just too hard sometimes. I feel people lost track of it all. And I keep thinking about my great grandmother’s funeral. The way grandpa looked sad, the way we were all product of that love and we didn’t even realise it. I wish I could let it all go because I felt everything was right in the middle of my throat stopping my breathe. I wondered why God made me so sensitive, and if there were other people that understood love the way I did. Because if there was, God should start to put a plan to make them come into my life soon. Because I feel so hopeless.