A Love Unrecognized
A woman confronts her guilt.
The ominous structure of dark clouds looms over the church as the congregation makes their way inside.
In the graveyard, already wet with rain, a woman walks with head shrouded under a black scarf, before she stops her walk to sit on a wooden bench that has a brass nameplate.
She wants to join the congregation, but how can she? How — when doing so will only confirm her worst fear?
You have to, she tells herself, you know you have to.
Breathing deeply, she stands and walks along the path, through the arched gateway, and up to the the heavy black-hinged doors where she pauses momentarily, wanting to turn away but finding the courage to push her way inside.
The heavy wooden door groans.
Soft murmurings rise from the pews as heads turn.
The coolness of the place fills her heart and makes it ache. She cannot bring herself to walk down the aisle, and rests one shoulder against the wall of a stone arch, bringing one ankle behind the other.
Her stomach hurts — not nearly as bad as her heart. Even so, she is thinking she might throw up when she feels a light tap on her shoulder and flinches.
“May I show you to a seat,” a man’s voice asks, quietly spoken, while offering her a single sheet, the order of service.
“Oh, thank you, but do you mind if I stay here? I’m fine,” she answers.
The man is elderly, an usher, wearing a black cloak, with eyebrows of a grotesque length, hands mottled, loose skinned, but kindly spoken.
The church usher doesn’t mind at all, but he is concerned. “I could bring a chair, if you wish? Perhaps a blanket for your shoulders?”
“Really, I’m just fine. Thank you,” she says, declining the pamphlet.
“Did you know him?” The usher asks.
“As much as I could,” she says
“Sad story, him dying a week after his wife,” the usher says. “The son told me, he and his wife were blissfully married, going on forty-two years,” he tells her.
She feels dead inside, empty of emotion, feelings numbed to anything, except for her own intense loss.
When the usher realizes he cannot persuade the woman to take a seat, he happily turns away and shuffles back to his chair near the door.
It will kill her, she knows, but she has to see him one last time, say goodbye.
“He was a well loved man,” the deceased’s brother tells the congregation.
The standing woman, unmoved by the brother’s obituary, finally steps forward, flowing like hot tar down the church aisle toward the coffin.
The hymn grows quiet. She can feel eyes on her, watching, knowing she alone is the only one who knows how desperately she loved him.
A tightness squeezes her chest closed as she approaches the coffin.
God, please help me do this.
Tears burn but she forces them back. A big part of her was lost when she got the news, and that loss gets bigger the closer she comes to him.
She is never going to be his alone.
Now, in her most vulnerable state, she is saying goodbye to her greatest fear, to face a loss no one will respect.
She stops a foot away, unable to go any closer. The sight of his face weakens her knees until she is sure to fall.
His lips are showing a hint of a smile, barely visible. It was his trademark of affection, and now crushes her heart.
For so long she has hungered for one kiss from those lips. A desire she has harbored for four decades but never received.
Her hands, trembling violently, reach out uncertainly before the priest catches them, gently leading her to the front pew where her late sister should be sitting.
Jack Herlocker | | James Michael Wilkinson | Karen Schwartz | Pamela Oglesby | John Hansen | Whye Waite | Ted Czukor | Adrienne | Keeley Schroder
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