Miriam sighed while a hand rubbed against her chest, “Oh my, oh my, my, my. I can’t wait until this is all over. I just…I feel sick. Very, very sick to my stomach.” She stated out loud.
Margaret wet her lips, “No matter what, we are a family and we will get through this.”
Miriam nodded before she leaned over and plucked another tissue from the tray, “Yes, yes. I just don’t know how to.” She whispered.
Margaret squeezed her husband’s hand before she turned her gaze to him. Her nose and eyes were beet red. Biting on her lip, she forced a smile only too glance back at Simon, “Together. Simon, we will help you, alright? You and Cherish, we will help go through Emily’s things. Take care of the babies. Whatever you need, do not hesitate to ask. Jack and Miriam will be staying with your father and I. Alright?”
Simon didn’t have a word to say and his father noticed. The only thing he could muster was a tense, tight-lipped line across his mouth, “Alright, thank you.” He said. His face, voice, and body were alike to being on auto pilot.
The director returned not too long after, gave them their cards back, and finished the session, “Everything is paid, and the arrangements are underway. I think I should inform you though, that Emily arrived this morning. So, if you could bring an outfit soon that would be much appreciated.” He said.
Simon quickly lifted his head and, for the first time all afternoon, looked fully present. The desperation to see his wife again spurred him, “Let me see her.” He stated.
Miriam blinked several times and her hand clenched her stomach. This did nothing for her nerves and now to know that her daughter was under the same roof, in a place like this, caused her to shake her head. Jack once again took his wife into his arms before she lost it, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He said. Though he wanted to see his daughter again, he didn’t want it to be like that.
Miriam was far too gone to give an appropriate response and the director cleared his throat, “I have to agree Mr. Gabot, sometimes it’s best not to see your loved one in such a lifeless state before the funeral.” He replied somewhat concerned.
The news had stressed everyone except Simon. He needed to know because he didn’t believe they had her. That the body they held was hers. He had difficulties accepting that she wasn’t coming back. He was determined to make it real. Without listening to their reasoning, he asserted, “I don’t care. I need to see my wife.” He was livelier than he’d been earlier by a large margin, “They don’t have to come, but I need to see her with my own eyes.” He persisted.
The director sighed and rubbed the back of his head. There wasn’t any protocol for a family member not to see their loved one, they just advised against the notion when trauma was involved. With a sigh, he nodded and waved for Simon to follow, “Come along then.” He stated.
Margaret watched her son for a long moment before she quickly stood and wrung her hands together, “I want to go too. I need to be there for him.” She stated.
The director looked to everyone else and bowed out of the room, “This way.” He said.
Leading them out of the office and down a long hallway, they passed by the viewing halls towards a lone, white door at the end. Simon could barely feel his legs. The director opened the door and held it for them to enter the small room. There were large, metal doors directly across on the furthest wall from the entrance. An examination table rested between. The cupboards were white, and the space was immaculate.
When they stepped into the room, Simon’s stomach dropped at the tell-tale scene because he knew what was to come. Allowing the door to shut behind them, the director wandered over towards the metal hatch with the number three. Waiting, he looked at the two of them before he lowered the latch, pulled the door open, and reached inside.
Cool wisps of air drifted from within and Margaret held her breath. She saw Emily’s small foot with a tag around the big toe; branded with her name. Instantly tears welled into Margaret’s eyes before she took a firm hold of Simon’s hand and laced their fingers together. The rack rolled out and there she was, revealed to them in slow motion with a lone sheet over her body. Her hair was fanned around her head, her lips were pasty, and her body had lost the healthy glow. Her stomach, which held his son less than a week earlier, was still on deflated display. His wife, Emily, laid there without knowledge, without love, and without life. The director calmly stared down at her before he silently took a leave towards the corner of the room.
Simon didn’t want to be convinced of the proof before his eyes. He stared at her and got a good, unfortunate look. She didn’t look at herself, just a shell of the woman he knew. The feeling of weightlessness took a hold of his body. The moment was surreal. Only, he didn’t know how to feel.
Margaret couldn’t feel any grip in her son’s hand which only made her hold onto him tighter. Even though Emily was without makeup, without life, and without her vivaciousness, she was the same beautiful woman she remembered. The last words Emily said to them the night before Jr. was born echoed through her mind. “I can’t wait until he’s here.” Margaret’s expression twisted, and large tears streaked down her cheeks.
Her daughter was gone.
Reaching out, Simon’s fingers brushed against her chin and jaw. He held her face in his hand, but she was
