Standing here in the grass. Alone. Isolated. Cold. Without her. The rows of chairs filled up with people. Some are crying and holding each other. Acting like they can comfort each other. Others sit there with half smiles telling stories about her. Her good days and the good memories. They act like she’s sitting there with them…helping them tell the story. Looking through the rows of people all that is visible is black. Black shirts, dresses, hats. They dress so darkly for talking so highly of her. Children running around carefree and happy. They clearly don’t know what is going on.

The minister is standing at the podium with white robes and a hat that clearly makes his head look ten times bigger. His head hangs low as he reads from his pamphlet and the small bible he has. The people in the chairs wiped their tears while listening to the minister speak. He speaks highly of her. Like he knew her from when she was a child. He didn’t. The air is cold and at the same time comforting. The back rows hold friends or just people who knew her. The front filled with her family. The minister’s words touched many people’s hearts…not mine. When the minister reaches to hold her the jar clacks at his touch. Making my stomach drop. She doesn’t sound like that…she’s happy, bubbly, and crazy.

The room goes as silent as she is in the urn. He holds her in both his hands and someone breaks out into an uncontrollable sob. Many people follow. Her words echo in my mind as he puts her back down with a thud on the oak table. “ Let me go, Grace...Let me go… you can’t do anything to help me. I’m too sick”. The minister talks about her passing like she’s in a better place…the only thing I could think is how?..if she's not here how is she in a better place. Her song is playing in the background. My heart shatters into a million pieces when the first note plays.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks…she’s actually gone. Forever. The one I shared everything with. My ride or die. Taken. The minister grabs her again and places the jar in a box with her name carved on it. The sound of the box closing made my stomach drop once again. Everyone with their heads down. They whisper goodbyes to her. The minister signals for a woman to read something. She steps up and the paper crinkles as she holds it with shaking hands. The woman begins to read the paper with a quiver in her voice. “ I have a few things to read to you today. Death leaves a heartache no one can heal…yet love leaves a memory no one can steal. Ella….we all love you and are sad you left us but your memory will never leave us. Ever.” The song stops as the woman stops reading as the minister seals the box Ella is in. She’s gone. Forever.