I sat in the last pew of the old, gloomy church looking at the faces around me, their eyes swollen and their faces haggard. There was an obvious question on everybody’s lips: Why? Isn’t that what everyone asks at funerals? Why does this happen to us? Why do we have to lose the ones we love? Everyone always needs an answer to why or hope to a hopeless situation. I could answer why, but I’m sure that these wishful thinkers wouldn’t enjoy hearing my side of my sister Addy’s death story.
The creaks of the old wood were deafening when someone turned to see if there was a change in my face. Everyone was waiting for me to break down, to fall apart, but instead there was a smug look plastered on my face. I pretended to wipe my eyes with the worn and overused handkerchief I found inside the coat I was wearing, which belonged to my Mother, to satisfy the greedy watchers. I could still faintly smell her nauseating perfume lingering in the lace, reminding me of the times when she was still around.

My mother, Estelle, was a beautiful and ambitious woman though she lacked some motherly instincts. For most women, the one bond they never want to break is the one with their children, but she had other ideas. Instead of loving and caring for Addy and I, she thought of us as a hindrance to her life plan. Throughout our lives, we had known that we would always come second to her wants and needs.
“I’m never going to be able to make you happy because I’m not happy myself,” I remember her saying to us as we listened in wide-eyed innocence. We had just come home from school, eager to try patience but instead found her bags packed by the door. She knew that those words crushed us. We could tell in her eyes that this was hard for her to do, but it wasn’t hard enough to stop her from walking out the door.

“Being cooped up in this house all day and taking care of you two isn’t giving me any inspiration. I’m sorry, Rose,” Estelle admitted. She had always wanted to pursue her dream of becoming an artist. I looked down at my baby sister, her face in her hands, knowing that I had to take this into my own hands like I always did. I took care of everything and received nothing in return.
“But Mommy,” I cried in desperation, “We need you! Please don’t leave us.”


I felt a warm, familiar hand rest on my shoulder and I turned to see Harvey’s distressed eyes facing me. “Rose, what have we done?” was written in every wrinkle on his face. I reached out and brushed his face with the back of my gnarled fingers, knowing that it would comfort him. After all the years we have spent together, that comforting stroke has never ceased to relax my dear Harvey.

The priest regained his position at the front of his mostly devastated audience and cleared his throat. “We will now like to hear a few words from Adelina’s husband.” I heard a distraught sigh from beside me, followed by the creaking of the pew. Harvey slowly and unsurely made his way down the aisle and placed himself awkwardly in front of the church.
“Adelina was loved by everyone.” he began, his words shaking.
“Not everyone,” I thought to myself. I tuned out Harvey’s words, knowing they were full of lies. I looked around at all the hopeless faces, listening in awe to the words of what they thought was a heartbroken widower. Addy always knew how to obtain the attention of every person in the room, even from beyond the grave. Harvey’s deceitful speech must have been effective because everyone was again in tears as they went one by one to look at Adelina’s body. I followed the obnoxiously dreary person in front of me to my sister’s coffin, ignoring their soft whimpers and occasional glances.
As I stood over my little sister’s corpse, I couldn’t help but feel smug. She was old enough that the diagnoses of natural causes weren’t questioned, so no one will ever know the truth. I scanned over her weak and pathetic body and I realized that I liked her a lot more now that she was lifeless. Her usual rosy cheeks and plump lips were now pasty and ashen.
The dull sparkle of her withered engagement ring caught my eye, and a flame was rekindled within me. I was filled with jealousy of not only the ring, but because of what the ring means. “He is mine now! Mine. I waited fifty years for Harvey and I deserve to have the ring,” I assured myself silently. I looked around and was surprised to find that I was alone to “grieve” my loss. Without thinking twice, I clawed my self-proclaimed ring from her cold, withered finger.
I made my way back to my assumed position next to Harvey with my hand casually in my pocket. I wanted more than anything for this to be over so I could start making plans with my long-awaited partner. I sat down next to my beloved Harvey, who had his hand outstretched to meet my own. When I went to fulfill his gesture, the stolen ring caught on the lining of my ancient jacket, ripping the stitches out of a secret compartment. I reached inside and revealed an aged photograph that had been folded and refolded many times.
As I stared at the picture in my hand, I felt a tear dance down my cheek. The image was of young Addy and I in matching dresses, but a dissimilar expression on our faces. Adelina was always so happy, but I knew better. I knew that my mother didn’t care for us and I knew that we were alone even before she left. You could tell by the unsure smile on my face that I was wiser than my years. I never in my wildest dreams would’ve imagined that my mother carried around a photograph of her daughters: her distant, unimportant daughters. Did she actually care about us? For the first time in a long time, I missed her.
I wiped the lonely tear from my face and stuffed the photo back into the pocket like it was nothing. I held my hand out the meet Harvey’s and I looked up at his face. In this moment, I felt complete and had hope that things were starting to fall into place. Even though we were way past the prime of our lives, it wasn’t too late to start over. We opened up the heavy doors of the church, ready to start a new, and possibly the last, chapter in our life. I wiped my eyes one last time with my mother’s handkerchief, feeling the tattered lace on my fair and brittle skin.

To this day, Harvey still wears his wedding ring. Even though he promises he has no regrets, I know that he still loves her by the way he looks at it. We go most days without speaking ever since he has called me by her name. Addy won, just like she always does. This has reiterated the lesson that I have been learning throughout my life: no matter how much you give up for someone, it will never be enough.