Maggie's Five ...the first in a LOVE story by Sandra Fitzgerald Read Free Book Online Page A

process
praying for the service to end, and yet for it to go on
forever.
    I’m not ready to
say my goodbyes. I’m not ready to let them go.
    I’m not ready to
be on my own.
    My breaths start
to shallow and become difficult to hold in for the full three
seconds. Blood is pounding through my heart, creating unbearable
pressure behind my eyes as they strain to hold unshed tears at bay.
Luke presses a kiss to my temple and Dad takes my free hand into
his. Jon’s on his other side, holding hands with his
mother.
    A sob betrays me
and fills the silence when Father Bernard places his hands on my
girls, wishing them a safe passage into their next life. Dad
presses further into my side and Luke wraps his other arm firmly
around me and rests his chin on my head. The sermon continues. My
vision’s so blurred, I can barely see past the unrestrained tears
seeping free to run off my chin and soak my black blouse. Father
Bernard walks the short distance to pray for Brendan.
    Soon there isn’t
much left to say. Father’s coming to the end of his service; my
husband, my children are reaching their final end and I’m not ready
to say goodbye. I don’t want to say goodbye. I don’t want any of
this.
    I’m shattered to
my core and have had all that I can take, so I let it all go. I’m
sorry for my open display of heartache adding to everyone’s grief,
but I can’t help it, it’s all just too much. My chest heaves, my
throat tightens, squeezing painfully as my anguish breaks
free.
    I’m desperate to
leap off the hard wooden bench and tear my children out of their
confinements just so I can hold them one more time, tell them how
much I love them one more time. Tell my husband that I love him
more than air and I’ll never be able to exhale again, make sure he
knows that he is my life, my whole. My everything.
    I’m selfishly
not prepared and I don’t know what to do.
    “ Daddy,” I choke. “Don’t let them take my life from me please,
I’m not ready to be alone. I don’t know how to do this. Please
Daddy…” My words are garbled, jumbling with my sobs. Luke’s
muscular build tightens next to me and I can’t help gravitating
towards his strength, burrowing deeper against his chest and no
doubt soaking another of his shirts.
    “ Oh
Chicken, no, you’ll never be on your own,” Dad sniffs, his words
breaking, his fingers tightening around my hand.
    He’s wrong. I am
already alone in a room full of people - the way I will be for the
rest of my life.
    Music begins and
heavy maroon drapes creep from the edges of the altar to close the
cask- coff- encasements off from the congregation. I push to my
feet, drop my father’s hands and pull Luke along with me. Not by
choice - he’s holding fast, grounding me to this earth the way he’s
done relentlessly for the last four days.
    My head and
heart are screaming, pleading for me to fight him, break free and
go to my deceased family, stop the curtains from sealing them away.
I jerk my shoulders only to feel Luke clamp down and know it’s
useless. No matter how hard I’ll fight, he’ll keep me
here.
    The heavy drapes
overlap to ensure a complete seal and the music trails off. People
being to stand, some I know, others I don’t; they approach and
offer their condolences. They gather around us kissing cheeks,
patting shoulders and cupping jaws before they leave for the
‘Celebration of Life’.
    ‘ Celebration of life’.
    Sounds like a
sugary name for a wake to me.
     
    THE SKY’S
FLAWLESSLY clear, the perfect summer blue scattered with the odd
fluffy white cloud and the softest of breezes kissing my lightly
tanned skin to keep me comfortable.
    If a day could
be described as happy, this would be the day.
    Betraying
bastard.
    The so-called ‘Celebration of Life’ is in full swing, so I’m hiding with a
bottle of white wine, which I hate but can no longer taste so it
doesn’t matter. I’m sick of hearing all the wonderful stories about my wonderful family in past tense.