The box feels too damn light. My heart is heavier at this rate. A somber paradox I refuse to investigate.
We start moving down the aisle, now lined with servicemen and -women in salute. Bag pipe song bursts through the air between the trees, tangling around the cemetery as folks stand in their seats, and we walk on.
Gaze burning into Hammond’s back, I watch as his shoulders move. We may as well be miles apart, and I did that. I push down the overwhelming hurt and set my focus on the end of the aisle. Our strides are spaced and stilted. Much like the despondent, broken timing of each beat of my heart.
Folks stand as we carry Davey down the aisle toward a freshly dug hole in the ground bordered by makeshift chrome railing. The American flag is draped over his casket. A wreath of white flowers sits in the center.
We pass the front row of seats, and his grandmother cries, a long wailing sound that could shatter every hurting heart here. Tears roll over my cheeks despite my efforts to tamp them back, and I ignore them when I fail.
Lowering the casket to the straps suspended over the grave, we take a step back in unison, saluting Davey for the last time. I can’t drag my gaze from the casket. Can’t separate myself from the happy, sweet guy the polished wood now contains.
A hand closes around my elbow, and I turn back to find Heidi, her face wrecked as she nods toward the front row of seats on the opposite side to the family. I sink into the seat by her side, Sandy on my other, as the preacher starts his piece. The words are a far echo, muddled together, as my body vibrates on the chair, breaths chugging past my lips.
My gloved hands wring in my lap.
Captain stands and walks to the head of the casket. We all rise. “We bid a final farewell to a friend. Firefighter James Davies has completed his tour of duty in this life. Be safe until we meet again.” Captain salutes one last time and we all repeat the motion.
Somewhere behind me, bells ring out.
53’s bells.
Three rings sound out.
The echoes of them tangle through the sobs and steely silence that are like opposites warring.
Three rings. Second set . . .
Every muscle is rigid as I try to inhale and exhale in a calm, regular fashion. It doesn’t take, and I’m all but convulsing from the effort to hold in the hurt.
Dong.
A ragged breath leaves my chest.
Dong.
I pull in a shallow, burning breath.
Dong.
I choke on the parcel of air.
The preacher says something I can’t make out, and the casket lowers into the ground. Sobbing wails through the air, and sniffles drown out the sound of the small winch lowering Davey to rest.
Davey’s grandma steps forward, tossing flowers and the first handful of dirt onto the casket now deep in the ground, and Captain breaks the salute. We all do the same.
My arm trembling from holding the salute for so long, I hug it to my side as I choke out, “Bye, bud.”
Kel wraps his arm over my shoulders in a warm hug. A Cavoodle pup sits at our feet as we soak up the last ray of the day’s milky, lukewarm sunshine. One of the newest residents at the shelter, she needs long walks and lots of love.
Something I can relate to lately.
The breeze shifts, tussling my hair around my neck and shoulders. Autumn is so close I can smell it. The air has changed, it’s cooler, that hint of winter’s hue riding on summer’s coattails... it’s my favorite time of year.
It’s been six weeks since we said goodbye to Davey and work has been—autopilot is the only way to describe it.
I’ve been on autopilot.
“How about you and I take some vacay time?” Kel squeezes my arm. “Or not, if you’re not up to it.”
