48. Cl（AIM）
JAE
48
Auntie died on a Tuesday morning.
The news came quietly, a soft knock on the door of my consciousness, but its impact was seismic. Grief is a wild, untamed thing, and it swept through my life with the force of a hurricane. There was no preparing for it, no way to brace myself against the wave that would follow.
Her final days were spent in Jennifer’s house, a place filled with the clutter of a life well-lived. I learned how to cook. How to care. How to be still.
Photographs lined the walls, bookshelves overflowed with stories, and every corner held a memory. Jennifer’s warmth filled the house with comfort, an anchor in the storm of sorrow. My back ached from the air mattress that deflated every night, a minor inconvenience in the face of the profound loss I was experiencing.
Auntie passed in her sleep, her battle fought with grace, and in the end, she embraced death like an old friend. I found her that morning, her features serene, as if she had merely drifted off to a place free of pain. I sat beside her, numb, my hand still clutching hers. Jennifer found us like that, her face crumpling in sorrow as she gently closed Auntie’s eyes.
“She loved you so much, Jae,” Jennifer said, her voice thick with emotion. “You were her world.”
The funeral was a testament to Auntie’s vibrant spirit.
I hadn’t invited anyone.
It felt too personal, too sacred to share with those who wouldn’t understand. Instead, I focused on making it a celebration of her life. I used the wedding centerpieces she had loved so much, repurposing them into a fitting tribute. The irony wasn’t lost on me, but it felt right, as if Auntie would have appreciated the twist.
A jazz band played sultry tunes as they lowered her casket, the mournful notes weaving through the air, telling stories of love and loss. She wore a bright red dress, the ink of her tattoo still fresh, a symbol of her defiant spirit even in death. The casket was adorned with flowers, each petal a silent farewell.
Jennifer stood beside me, her hand resting gently on my arm. “She would have loved this,” she said quietly.
I nodded, my eyes fixed on the casket. “I hope so.”
The band played on, their music a bittersweet symphony that mirrored the emotions swirling inside me. Tears streamed down my cheeks, the dam of my grief finally breaking. I cried for Auntie, for the life she had lived and the life she had lost. I cried for the emptiness her absence left behind, a void that seemed too vast to fill.
Jennifer pulled me into a hug, her embrace warm and solid. “Let it out, Jae. She wouldn’t want you to hold it all in.”
I clung to her, the tears flowing freely. For Auntie, for the time we had lost, for the future that felt so uncertain. I cried for the love that had been taken too soon, and for the woman who had been my anchor in a stormy sea.
As the funeral came to a close, I stayed behind, unable to leave her side. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the cemetery. Jennifer stayed with me, her presence a comfort in the gathering darkness.
“She told me once,” Jennifer said, breaking the silence, “that she wanted to be remembered for her spirit, not her suffering. I think you gave her that today.”
I looked at the casket, the final resting place of the woman who had been like a mother to me. “I hope so,” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.
Jennifer squeezed my arm. “You did, Jae. You did.”
I thought about calling Verena again, but the words still wouldn’t come. I wasn’t ready to face her, to explain the mess of emotions tangled inside me. Instead, I focused on the promise I had made to Auntie—to live my life, to find a way to move forward.
The drive back to Jennifer’s house was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and the soft jazz playing on the radio. Jennifer didn’t say much, sensing my need for silence. When we arrived, she wrapped me in another hug, her strength a balm to my wounded heart.
“Jennifer?”
“Yes?”
I looked at the woman who stepped up to care for us these last two months. “Can…can I stay here a little longer?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Take your time, Jae,” she said. “Grief isn’t something you rush through. It’s a journey.”
I nodded, knowing she was right. Grief was wild, alive, and untamed. It’s a testament to the love we have for those we lost.
Back in my room, I lay on the air mattress, staring at the ceiling. The pain was still there, a dull ache that would never fully go away. But there was also a flicker of hope, a glimmer of light in the darkness.
Auntie had taught me to embrace life, to cherish the moments, the memories, the love. As I drifted off to sleep, her words echoed in my mind, a comforting reminder of the promise I had made.
“Live your life, Jae. Promise me you will.”
And I would. For her, for me, for the future that awaited. Grief was sacred, but so was life. And eventually, it would be time to start living again.
I realized then that, while Auntie had stolen my todays with her passing, she had left my tomorrows untouched. Those tomorrows were mine to reclaim, one by one. And I would. For her, for me, and for the promise of new beginnings.