Writing Prompt Wednesday: Perspective at a Funeral

**Disclaimer: This is a writing prompt I found off of Pinterest.  This is all original work, so please do not alter or copy any of the details included.  Thanks!

I never thought I’d be dead at the age of 23.  I guess that’s what texting and driving gets you.  My guess is I look pretty bad considering I’m in a closed coffin.

I looked to my left at what my hand was touching.  Someone must have seen me at some point because my older sister’s college graduation photo is beside me.  And beautiful flowers are lying to my right.  Lilies.  White lilies, my absolute favorite.  I wonder who gave me these?  It’s nice of them to put me six feet under with my favorite flowers to keep me company.

Wait, what was I texting about anyway?  What was so important that I couldn’t wait?  What was so important that it landed me here, in my very own coffin?  My eyes diverted to the top of the coffin and I realized- James.  A picture of James was taped to the top of my coffin immediately in my eyesight.  I was texting James, letting him know I was five minutes from the flower shop and- oh no!!  I was only a few months away from getting married.  No, God no…poor James!  He must have waited for me for hours before realizing that I was never showing up- I can’t believe I did this to him.

I heard a sniffle immediately outside my coffin as a voice drenched in sadness whispered into the dark walnut, “I will always love you.”  It was James.

“I love you too, James, and I’m so sorry!  Please forgive me!”  No matter how much I yelled or screamed, he was never going to hear me.  I wanted nothing more than to hold him, but no matter how much I wanted that to be true, I was never going to be able to hold him again.

It was then that I looked down at my clothing and saw they (James, my parents, Hallie?) had buried me in my wedding dress…the one that I wasn’t supposed to wear for another two months.

“Casey,” a gentle voice outside my coffin said.  “Why did you have to do this?  James needed you, your father needed you, I needed you?  Why couldn’t you just wait five more minutes?”  My heart shattered- well, figuratively, because I’m not even sure I have a heart anymore, and if I do, it sure as hell isn’t working.

It was my mom’s voice I was hearing now.  Her small, disappointed and heartbroken speech was interrupted by hysterical crying.  It’s my assumption that my dad came and got her and took her to her seat.

My assumption was confirmed as only a few minutes (were they minutes? hours?) later, I heard a rough, deep voice talking to me.

“Casey, what were you thinking?  Why couldn’t you just wait?  Your mom- well she’s drinking again and your sister won’t even return our calls.  She’s too upset to even-.  You were only-well, James is a mess.  I’ve never seen him look more thin.  I don’t think he’ll ever love- well, I love you, Case…Heaven better be good to you.”

Heaven.  Wait.  Why wasn’t I in heaven?  Did I do something wrong?  Did I sin too often and not ask for forgiveness enough?  Why am I still here?

Minutes passed as I heard voices I could barely recognize, voices of my best friends, and those of people I had fallings out with, talking to me about how they’ll miss me, how I impacted their lives, how sorry they were that we had fallen apart.

Now the preacher was going on how it was my time, how God had a plan for me, and that no one should worry as I was in God’s kingdom now.  Little do they know that I’m here, trapped in this box, listening to every word they say.

After an hour (or was it minutes?) of the preacher talking, the crowd singing hymnals and speeches of those individuals closest to me (except James who I can only assume is so heartbroken he couldn’t bear to talk to me), I felt the coffin lift up.  I must be getting carried to the neighboring cemetery.  I guess it’s time for them to lower me into the ground.

James decided to speak at the cemetery.  He went on about how I was his better half and how I truly cared about the people in my life and how I always made him laugh and how I was his soulmate….and lastly, how broken-hearted he was because I will never share his last name.  A dream cut short by merely two months.

It was truly beautiful.  I wish I could cry.

I guess the speeches are over because an obnoxious hum filled my ears, one that could only be the machine that the church has to lower the deceased six feet under.

Suddenly, I heard a feint “Wait!  Wait!  Don’t lower her yet!” off in the distance, somehow over the loud machine that had begun lowering me into my final physical resting place.

The yells got louder and finally the machine turned off.  My sister’s voice was clear to me now.  Hallie- she came!  After everything- our constant bickering, her silent treatment of mom and dad, her never having the chance to stand next to me on my wedding day as my Maid of Honor.

And it was then that I realized I was waiting for closure from her- my best friend and oldest confidant, Hallie- before I could make way to Heaven.  She was the person who had been missing, since I heard from everyone else.

She said a few words on her journey to even get to the cemetery (losing her keys, missing the turn, traffic- ironically caused by a car accident)  but also how she couldn’t let me go before saying goodbye.

“Goodbye, Casey,” she said as I heard dirt fall onto my coffin.

“Goodbye, Hallie,” I wanted to whisper but nothing came out.  Instead, the coffin disappeared and everything went silent.  Finally, I saw a light in front of me with hundreds of individuals ushering me towards them.

I walked into the white light and was greeted and embraced by deceased grandparents and those family members I never had a chance to meet.

I was home.

Starting a New Chapter

The trouble is, you think you have time.” – Buddha

A few weeks ago on a lonely Friday night I spent by myself in mine and my fiance’s apartment (readers-we have a lot of catching up to do!), I was suddenly inspired to start writing on this blog again and telling the story of what happened to my grandma.  Only a few days ago did I realize that it’s not necessarily what happened to her that matters with regard to my lack of writing (nor is it anything that you necessarily want to hear- there were some pretty gruesome aspects); it’s what she meant to me and how that turned into inspiration for writing.

My grandma passed away on April 4, 2015.  If you look at when my last post was published, it was only a week or so prior to that date, and in short that explains my lack of writing, and I do apologize for my absence since that time.

At that time, I was temporarily staying with my fiance’s (at this time he was still my boyfriend) Aunt and his grandma (which is a long story in itself of how we got to living there), and it was so nice because it felt like even if I wasn’t around my grandma as much as I would like, I still had Grandma Vera to help me along, although she wasn’t in the best of conditions, either.  It was so nice to have a grandma figure around, who could give wise advice and tell stories of when she was young.

We had been living there for less than two months when I got the phone call late Saturday night that awoke me from my place on the couch.  The world was suddenly less beautiful when I realized my Grandma was no longer around.  If I had been by myself at that time that I got the call, I don’t know what I would have done, and I am so so thankful that Daria and Grandma Vera were in the house (and shortly thereafter, Kyle).  My grandma was my world, and it kills me that she might not have known that.  Not only was she my world, but she was my inspiration.

I remember visiting her in the hospital with my aunt and uncle and even my Sunday School teacher from when I went to church with my grandparents twice a week during my summers growing up.  I had woken up early that Friday morning and drove three and a half hours just to see her, and even if I didn’t want to admit it at that time, I knew it would be the last time I’d see her in her body on this Earth.  After spending a few hours there, my aunt and uncle left the room so I could say everything that I wanted and needed to at that moment- just between the two of us.

I remember seeing her with a breathing tube from her mouth and her muscles twitching, but I knew she wasn’t there, and I knew she hadn’t been in her body for a few days.  I remember holding her hand and wishing she would just open her eyes, just like she did the Sunday prior when I woke her up from her nap on her notorious recliner.  But I knew this time she wasn’t going to open her eyes, no matter how much I wished for that to happen.

I remember saying how much I loved her, how much I needed her here, and how much everyone else needed her, especially my mom who was still heartbroken after losing both my uncle and my grandpa so close together.

People have often told me that I was her favorite, even out of her own children.  I spent every summer with her and my grandpa and she and I would always go to bingo, get our hair done together, go to the mall, go to the park, etc.  You name it, we probably did it.  With us being so close, everyone secretly hoped that once I came into the room and said hello and told her I missed her and loved her and needed her, she would open her eyes.  A part of me feels like I let them down when that didn’t happen.  But I think the reason she didn’t open her eyes again was because of what I had to tell her- the one thing she needed to hear, and how she needed to hear it from me.  At first I joked with her and told her she couldn’t leave until I started working for a newspaper in Pittsburgh so I could get her inside the Steelers locker room.  That had always been the joke between us- but I had every intention on making it happen.

But then I did the bravest thing I think I’ve ever done thus far in my lifetime.  While I stood there beside her, holding her clammy hand with one hand and pushing her matted hair back with my other, I said the one thing that needed to be said; the one thing that I think she needed to hear.  I told her I was selfish for wanting her to stay, because she wasn’t really living.  I told her that she was in so much pain, and she would continue to be for as long as she held on.  Then I told her that my Pappy, her sweetheart who she had been married to for sixty wonderful years, needed her too, probably more than we needed her here.  And that my uncle Rick, one of the sweetest and kindest men to walk this Earth, the youngest of her children, needed his mom.

The truth is, my grandma started going downhill when she lost her baby- my uncle was only 50 when he passed.  My grandpa passed in October of 2013, about a year and half after my uncle, and my grandma continuously started getting worse.  I never really knew how bad she had gotten until a few days ago when I looked back at my Facebook messages between my mom, my siblings and me and I saw that she was in and out of the hospital an outrageous amount over the last year she was alive.  It was clear to me then that she hadn’t really been living for quite some time- simply going through life day by day, always in pain and her heart always aching.  I know now that she is in the best place she can be.

The past few months that I’ve been silent, I’ve been grieving.  After she passed (and a week after, sweet Grandma Vera passed as well), I just couldn’t find the words to write.  Everything was so overwhelming and it felt like I had no time to process it.  In those two weeks, I lost all of my inspiration, because one of the few people who kept me inspired had left this Earth.

I may still be sad that my best friend isn’t here anymore, but I knew she would want me to stop being so sad and work toward fulfilling my dreams.  I hope to do that with her help even though she isn’t here anymore.  My Grandma was always my number one fan when it came to writing (and being a journalist in general), and even though I know she was proud of me, I hope to make her even more proud by following my dreams.  Not only am I going to use this inspiration to write random thoughts about every day life on this blog (and hopefully create a career out of blogging/writing); I’m also going to use her inspiration to create a story in her, Grandma Vera’s, and my Grandma King’s memory.  Whether it takes me five, ten or twenty years to finish, I promise there will be a novel in bookstores across the country that on the very first page leaves a dedication to my Grandma Haase, Grandma Vera, and my sweet sweet Grandma King who passed years ago but that I don’t go a day without thinking about, either.

So here’s to starting a new chapter, here’s to doing what I love most without holding myself back any longer, and here’s to the women who have been/will be my biggest inspirations.