Heaven Mourns With Her

The sky draped itself in a somber blanket of dusky grey clouds, heavy with sorrowful tears, as she sat beside her aunt's grave. Her cheeks were moist with the relentless cascade of salty tears, never ceasing. Regrettably, we arrived too late for the funeral rites; everything was concluded, and her aunt had departed before our arrival. Blame fell upon the relentless downpour and the ensuing tempest that disrupted our journey, prolonging our delay and amplifying her grief.



"You understand, Arthur," she whispered between sobs, her face buried against my shoulder. "She was my only blood relative, and now she's gone too."



I stood steadfast beside her, offering what solace I could muster. I wished fervently that my words alone could resurrect her aunt or turn back time to grant her one final moment before the burial, to gaze upon her beloved relative's face.



But wishes were futile. Time's arrow only moves forward, relentless and unyielding. In the present, all we had was each other, and I was determined to be her unwavering support. I refused to let her feel abandoned in her hour of need.



Above us, the clouds rumbled ominously, as if echoing her grief, and the heavens wept alongside her. Rain soaked our clothes, clinging to our bodies as if in solidarity with our sorrow.



crouched down beside her, gently grasping her shoulders in an attempt to lift her from the earthy mound that held her aunt's remains.



"We should leave now. The rain is getting heavier," I urged softly, but she resisted, her reluctance to depart evident. With firm resolve, I had to guide her forcefully away from the gravesite. Her cousin awaited us in the car, a slender figure with olive-green eyes brimming with tears. As I shook his hand, his features—sharp nose, pointed chin, and rustic brown hair—etched themselves in my memory. He stood surrounded by a few close friends, dressed somberly in a black suit, preparing to depart the graveyard.



She vaguely recalled meeting him years ago when he was merely a child of four, a distant memory now that she, at twenty-one, was younger than him. Memories flooded back during the train journey, raindrops pelting the windowpanes like sharp bullets amidst the raging storm. Lightning streaked the sky as she nestled into my embrace, her head finding solace against my chest.



In the intimate cocoon of the train compartment, she shared tales of her childhood—the playful skirmishes with her cousin, the enchanting bedtime stories spun by her aunt until sleep claimed her.



As her cousin recognized her, he pulled her into a tight embrace, both of them overcome with tears and sorrow. While I empathized with their pain, I knew that no one could truly comprehend their grief like they could. Giving them space, I stepped aside, allowing them to share their moment of raw emotion.



As the other guests dispersed from the graveyard, she expressed a desire to spend some solitary moments at her aunt's grave. Though her cousin offered to wait for us in the car, I insisted on accompanying her, unwilling to leave her side.



After ushering her into the back seat of the car, I settled into the front passenger seat. Her cousin, despite his own grief, displayed kindness by driving us to a restaurant where we shared a meal. Engrossed in my food, I listened as they reminisced about her aunt, discussing her final days and whether she missed her.



As they conversed, I ordered coffee for all of us, the warmth of the beverage a comfort in the midst of darkness. Returning to her aunt's home, a single-story house with two bedrooms, we found it cloaked in darkness. Pausing outside, I remained by her side, a silent presence offering support in her time of need.



As her eyes welled up, gazing at the familiar house, she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "Arthur, memories are flooding back."



Drawing her close, I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, offering reassurance. "I'm here with you," I whispered back, my voice a steady anchor in the midst of her turmoil.



Together, we entered the warmly lit house, the soft glow of yellow lights casting a nostalgic aura. Her gaze drifted to a rocking chair near the window, and she approached it with tentative fingers, as though expecting her aunt's presence. Her cousin gestured for me to take a seat on the worn sofa, its edges frayed in a pattern reminiscent of claw marks.



Noticing the damage, I inquired about a cat, to which her cousin sadly explained its recent passing during their mother's illness. She joined me on the couch, and I listened intently as her cousin shared memories of their shared past.



"We haven't been in touch all these years," she murmured, her words tinged with regret. "But I always had an image of you in my mind."



He nodded, his finger tracing idle circles on the sofa's arm. "Mum often showed me your pictures. You resemble her so much. I recognized you the moment I saw you."



Their conversation turned to family albums, and her cousin confirmed they had one. "Yes," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia.



She sat up eagerly, anticipation gleaming in her eyes. "I want to see it, could you show me?"



Her cousin nodded, disappearing into another room. After a few moments, he returned, cradling a large album against his chest. With a casual toss, he placed it on the table before her. She leaned in, inhaling deeply as if trying to imbibe the essence of memories trapped within its pages. Gently, she opened it, her fingers delicately tracing the edge of the first page.



A black and white portrait greeted her, depicting a young woman beneath a tree, a bicycle by her side. Curly locks framed her face, and a radiant smile lit up her features as she clutched the bicycle's handlebar. Flowers adorned the basket, adding to the picture of youthful exuberance.



With a tender touch, she turned the page, revealing a family portrait. A young man stood beside her aunt, his posture slight, adorned with a thick mustache and a cheek mole. Miss Rosa, recognizable from the previous page, cradled a newborn baby in her arms, her gaze filled with adoration as she looked down upon the infant, her smile a reflection of pure joy.



She beamed, pointing at her cousin with a smile. "It's you!"



Turning the pages, she discovered images of the baby boy who had grown into a man over the years. Then, she encountered a portrait featuring two women. Miss Rosa stood on the left, her identity clear, but the other woman was unfamiliar to me.



"That's my Mum," she explained, gesturing to the lady beside Miss Rosa. The woman had long black hair cascading down her back, partially obscured by a hat with a net covering her eyes. It seemed to be a wedding photo, a detail she confirmed, sharing that it was taken by her grandfather at her uncle's wedding, a tidbit passed down by her late aunt.



"She was beautiful," I remarked, meeting her gaze with a warm smile.



As she continued flipping through the album, she came across a picture of her and her cousin playing in a small garden, a basket nearby, likely taken during a picnic. In one frame, her cousin wielded a playful water pipe, dousing her as she attempted to evade the spray.



She chuckled at the image, sharing it with her cousin, their laughter filling the room. Lost in their shared memories, they delved into conversations and stories of their childhood, leaving me to sit silently on the sofa, feeling a bit detached.



Sensing the need for rest, I interrupted gently, "I think I should go and sleep now."



As I interrupted their conversation, she glanced at me with understanding in her eyes. "Yeah, you should sleep. You must be tired," she remarked softly.



Her cousin kindly showed me to his room, offering it as a place to rest for the night. She would sleep in her aunt's room, and he would make do in the living room for the night, a temporary arrangement considering the circumstances.



Once inside the room, he turned on the light and handed me a blanket before bidding me goodnight and exiting the room, leaving the door slightly ajar and the light on as I had requested. The soft glow of the light provided some comfort in the unfamiliar surroundings, alleviating the darkness that usually haunted me.



However, despite the warmth and the effort to make the room more inviting, sleep eluded me. The unfamiliarity of the place and the discomfort of the new bed kept me awake, my mind restless. Eventually, I slid up from the bed, sitting with my back against the headboard. The echoes of her sobbing lingered in my ears, and the image of her tear-stained face flashed before my eyes, making it difficult to find solace in sleep.