Farewell

• Keersten Fitzgerald, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2009

I closed my eyes, tight. I tried desperately not to think about what had happened. I couldn’t bare it. He was gone. I froze. The coffin was just metres in front of me. The open lid seemed to be sucking me in. Deep breaths, I kept telling myself. My brain kept telling me to move closer. Step, breathe, step, breathe. I felt so far away, yet I was so close. All I had to do was lean over and peer in. It could be all over in seconds. I couldn’t. I ran.

* * * * *
She seemed to be getting further away but I could feel her. Her suffering, her pain, it was all my fault. I lay unable to move, breathe, speak. I was useless. The walls of the coffin seemed to be closing in. I knew I wouldn’t have much longer.

* * * * *
Tears streamed down my face. I knew I needed to go back. If I didn’t I would regret it… forever. I stood up, slowly. I flattened my dress and pushed my hair back behind my ears. I needed to stay in control. I walked back, to try again. I slipped in and out the people trying to remain unnoticed. I kneeled down next to him and let my eyes glide over to see his peaceful face.

* * * * *
She was looking at me. If only I could reach up and touch her soft, pale skin. I felt her squeeze my hand. It was excruciating knowing, I would never be with her again. The only comfort I could take was that she was mine, my granddaughter.

* * * * *
I ran my finger up his arm; I shivered and took out my hand. I felt stupid; I could feel eyes of the guests glaring at the back of my head. I didn’t care.
“Hey grandpa,” I sniffled, “it’s me… Summer.”

* * * * *
I knew she couldn’t hear me but that wouldn’t stop me so I answered her. My lips couldn’t move, but the words still had the power of a frothing wave.
“Hello, I can hear you and I just wish you could because…”

* * * * *
“I…”

* * * * *
“love…”

* * * * *
“you,”

* * * * *
I could see the light. It surrounded me, engulfed me and took me away. It was time.

* * * * *
“Goodbye grandpa, I will miss you forever,”