Death Doesn't Become You

“We meet here today to pay tribute to the life of Thomas. To give thanks for his life and the experiences that we shared - and to wish him well now that our time together is over.

"All the faiths of the World speak of another life after death. We do not know what it is, but we can hold on to the hope, the belief, or the knowledge of peace, rest, fulfillment, and people being reunited in love.

"For Thomas, the journey is beginning, but there is loss, grief, and pain for us. Every one of us here has had our life touched - perhaps in the tiniest way, or perhaps totally transformed - by Thomas' existence. We would not be here otherwise. His life mattered…”

Angie couldn’t listen anymore to the funeral speaker. She recognized Bill, Thomas’s best friend, but the words did not register very well.

She sat down at her seat in the front row of the Park Funeral Chapels at Jericho Tpke, New Hyde Park, fiddling with her black skirt.

It had been raining. She was wet, frozen, and depressed.

Oh, Thomas, where are you? Why don’t you take me home? I am cold without you, so cold.

She shivered.

The pain was deep and dark. Her head hurt, her body stiff as if she had been sitting for hours in the cold rainy weather. Her joints and muscles were tied as strings—the breathing shallow.

Black. Spiraling black. Down. Down. If only she hadn't been at her parents, then he wouldn't have been on the road to pick her up. If only...!

Why had she insisted on visiting her parents that day? She must have been mad; she obviously was selfish. It should have been such a lovely day, if only...!

She wasn't thinking straight. It must have been someone else in that hospital, in that coffin. They obviously were mistaken. It happens sometimes. She heard the stories of identity theft. Thomas must have lent someone else his car. That was it, he was okay, of course, he was. Or he could have been carjacked. Perhaps they blindfolded him, took his car, and left him helpless somewhere where he couldn't contact her.

He must have been so helpless. Was he thinking of her? Did he want to call her, but did he lose his phone? He must have been taken to another city, perhaps even another country.

Oh, Thomas! THOMAS!! Uncontrolable tears ran out on her cheeks.

After the service, Bill brought her back to the Alwyn House and accompanied her to the bedroom. “Just lay down and get some rest. We will be in the living room if you need us. We won’t go anywhere.”

Angie nodded, unable to speak.

So tired.

She staggered to the middle of the room. Just stood there.

Bill closed the door.

Dear God, It’s been years since I spoke to you. But please, please help me? Bring Thomas back to me. He can’t be dead; he just can’t. It must be a mistake. Let it be a mistake, dear God. I will do anything, give anything. But let Thomas come back to me. I love him so much, dear God, I love him so.

Pleading, she fell onto the bed, bundled into a knot, and fell in a shallow sleep.

When she opened her eyes, squinting in the dark faint glowing room, she watched the figure of Thomas approaching.

His hair all messy, his smile awkward, just as she remembered him at their first meet in Paris three years ago.

He had a deep hole where his heart had been. She could look right through him to the other side of the room.

Her view like a pair of binoculars, changing vision in the soft fog of her bedroom.

“THOMAS,” she cried out loud, gasping, trembling all over. “I’ve been waiting for you; where have you been? It’s so cold without you.”

Thomas approached her, bending over to her face and kissing her so softly on the lips, she almost didn’t feel his touch.

He took her into his arms and caressed her with slow, meticulous strokes.

“Thank you, dear God,” she sobbed.

The gentle embrace was long and loving.



WC: 704

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