I sat there on the train, with my mother and four sisters, sitting in the cramped train compartment with me. My youngest sisters Mary and Amanda sat quiet and still. It would have been a kind of miracle, with them not being loud and restless, but there was reason for it. My father together with Uncle Thomas had died, and my family and I where on the train heading to the funeral.
Mary had only just turned seven, and was now fatherless. Bridget the oldest, would not have a father to walk her down the isle, nor would any of us; but out of all of us sitting here together silently, Mother was hit the hardest with the death of father. She sat with little Amanda in her lap, as she stared blankly out the foggy window, at the raining world. My beautiful mothers face, was blank, emotionless, she looked so much more fragile, and old then I had ever seen her. More then the time when her brother, Uncle Peter, lost his arm and most of his sanity to the war; more then when the family dog Kipper died, and even more when she had had the miscarriage last winter.
Irene sat next to me, fiddling with her tear soaked handkerchief. She was older then me by two years, but she cried more then anyone I had ever seen. I had not cried a single tear, and that made me feel guilty. I was more sad of the fact that Uncle Thomas was dead, then my own father. Bridget told me I was in shock, that I would cry when I understood, and fathers death dawned on me. The thing was it had dawned on me. Father was dead, gone forever, and never coming back. All that was left behind of him was debt, five fatherless daughters, a widow, and his body, that would quickly rot in the ground, only to leave some bones.
I had spent most of the eight hour train ride thinking about it all, trying to find something that made me feel the least bit sad, something for me to grieve. All that came to mind were the times he hit my mother in a drunken rage, the time he cut of all of little Mary's long red hair, yelling that he only wanted sons, the time he whipped Irene because she was five minutes late coming home, when he killed Amanda's pet rabbit in front of her, when he locked Bridget in the barn all night because she ruined his shirt. That even without a drink in him he was a demon to his family. I remember the day her broke my arm, burned my doll in the fireplace. With all that and much more, I could not comprehend why any of my family shed tears for him. I traced 'Dolores', my name into the condensation on the window.
The train finally pulled into the station, it was late at night and there was no moon in the sky, but oh so many stars glimmering. Mother carried little sleeping Mary, as we walked to the Inn, along the muddy road. Tomorrow was the funeral. I didn't sleep, neither did Bridget, we just laid in the bed until it was morning, listening to Irene's little sleepy mumbles and Amanda's soft snores.
The sun came up, and we dressed in are black dresses and shoes. Irene, and Amanda would not stop they blubbering. Bridget and Mother put on there brave faces as they consoled the girls. We made are why to the graveyard for the service, I saw my uncles, aunts, and cousins gathered around the caskets. Everyone looked so sad and pitiful. Songs were sung, people cried as they said goodbye. Mary and Amanda placed flowers on top of the casket, mother kissed the casket leaving behind a pink kiss mark. Irene patted the top of it and burst into tears, running off towards the church, and Bridget seemed to whisper her goodbye into the cold air. I stood there, wanting to be that last person, as all of the people walked back to the church, I still stood there to say my goodbyes.
"I hated you...I loved you. You were are terrible dad, and husband...Just a horrible person altogether, but you were my father. How do I forgive you? Even though you are dead, and its all over. You were the one that did all those things to us, and it seems the have ether all forgotten, or all have somehow forgiven you. I will never forgive you, but I will forget you. I will never think about you again, not a good or bad thought...Goodbye." I said looking up at the sunny cloudless sky. I walked back to the church, to my family, as one tear slid down my cheek into the green grass. I will never know if the tear was of joy... or sorrow.
.......
'Dolores' is a short story I wrote in the summer of 2011. I found it in a note book full of a bunch of my old writing. Its rather sad, I admit, but I like it for what it is trying to say. What is your opinion or interpretation of it?
--Emma
"Forgiveness is the economy of the heart... forgiveness saves the expense of anger, the cost of hatred, the waste of spirits." - Hannah More
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