And As She Opens Her Eyes...

My full story so far.


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It was my funeral, of that I am sure, because I was the one in the coffin.

The overly large and high room was full of stale air and an extreme, profound pressure caused by the silence they all held. There were rows upon rows of benches, the kinds you find in parks, not churches. They were not all full but more than half were, the back rows were empty except for a few people that felt they shouldn’t have been there or didn’t want to be seen.

My immediate family were in front, a different look on each face; Longing, indifference, curiosity, boredom, concentration and anger. Behind them were rows of the rest of my family, more cousins than uncles and aunts. The benches to the sides held my friends, long lost and people I had seen only last week.

For them having to see me like this, I am sorry. I never wanted to be buried. I never wanted an open casket. What I wanted was to be burned, cremated, put into a box and placed under a white tree next to her tree, and for her to carve out names onto the trees. Our trees.

I suspect she was pissed. She would have fought with them. Tried to tell them my song preferences. Where and how I wanted to be laid to rest. I suspect she brought forth our letters as proof, my silly handwriting scrawled between the lines, claiming my wishes and commenting on hers.

She lost. She must have.


It was her face I searched for. Her face I felt. She came up to me, placed lilies and her last letter on my chest and left a kiss on my cheek. I am sorry. I never wanted to hurt her, she is the last person I would ever hurt and even then, not intentionally.

I choked. I gasped, coughed and choked again. My back arched as my lungs tried desperately to take the energy my heart was giving them, to fill with the needed air. The air that had been missing since the day they found me in that river. My legs kick, my back arches further, picking up off the oddly comfortable casket floor.

I hear nothing, see nothing, and taste chemicals. Another attempted breath. It’s like being smothered in reverse. There is a huge weight on my chest, making it agonising to move, to think. The weight gets lighter but still pushes ever downwards. It all hurts, everything, my heart most.

And then my chest gives. The air is filling all spaces inside me, from my god given mouth to my toes somewhere in the bottom of the casket. My brain is dull, sluggish and my ears are ringing. With my eyes closed, I feel something holding my knees down and something pressing into the bottom of my ribs. Something starts to run down my face in dull throbs.

The first thing I hear is screaming. It’s a horrible sound; painful. I take another breath and the screaming stops for a brief moment, only to start up again. It’s me. I’m screaming. I open my eyes, wince at the sudden light and hastily close them again. I’m still screaming, the wetness of my face is due to me crying. I’m crying through the blindness, through the deafening screaming.

I open my eyes again, blinking rapidly to keep my eyes moist. The tears help. There is one figure to the side of my vision. I can’t look. And I’m out of breath.
“Breathe damn it! Breathe!” I yell at myself.
The shout rings through my head as I remember how to inhale. The screaming melts into violent sobs.

There are arms around me and below me. One set warmer than theirs. I’m breathing. I don’t belong there. Her hair falls across my face as they all try to lift me clear of that dreaded box. She is here. I strangle out a sound which is drowned out almost instantly by more screaming, but from the isles this time. I should be dead. I should be getting carried out in my tomb right now to be placed in the cold, dead dirt. And yet, here I am, getting pulled from that box, clearly alive.

Some hands leave me. Others clasp and hold on as if I’m leaving again. Her arms encircle me completely. The weight of my body suddenly hits me and I collapse, softly as there are still hands holding me up. Her arms never leave me, we fall together. Sitting on that numbing wooden floor she holds me. She pulls me into her, into her own skin, her heart. It seems she will never let me go. Never. Never again.

They tell me that they love me, but it’s only hers I hear. She has said it so many times before but this is different. I can feel it in her arms, her body and her voice that she means it. I cry. She cries. We cry; more from shock and pain than anything. I should not be sitting here. What is going on? What is happening to me?

As we quiet down, I look around me. From what I can see through the legs and bodies of people around me there are still people sitting and standing well away from me. They don’t know if they should run or come over and see me. I wouldn’t blame them if they did run. This is not something that people prepare themselves for when coming to a funeral. They may hope for it, but they do not prepare for it.

People are on their phones. Calling friends, family, the authorities, I am not sure. The priest himself has moved slowly back towards us. He starts talking to my father and a few of my uncles. I am picked up and moved to one of the front seats. She’s still right next to me. She will not leave me; I’ll make sure of it. Looking up, I see the coffin again. From here it looks frightening; down right terrifying. I cry harder. She stands me up, leads me to the big wooden doors and out into the warm, clean afternoon air.

We sit on the pavers lining the garden bed of the great Oak outside the entrance of the church. She watches me, watches my face.
“I can’t..” She stutters. “I can’t believe.. You’re really here.. Are you really here?”
I cannot find my voice, despite the screaming and sobbing I’ve been doing. So I nod; a single frightened nod. She looks at me, really looks at me, and hugs me yet again.

Her smell wafts around me comfortingly. She smells of acorns, summer breezes, of her purple lip gloss, the watermelon kind we like so much. She smells of new books, of chocolate, of her body spray I always find myself searching for when we meet. She smells of sought after happiness, of company, of love.

I know this is wrong of me. I feel like I am stealing this air I am breathing. This is not what is meant to happen. It was all meant to end then. I slipped into that river, fought for this; the chance to breathe this air again. I did not succeed; in that instant at least. I’ve never been one to give up easily, but to fight like this; does it not seem wonderful in a horrible way? Does it not seem too vigorous an action? It is not something one hears of.

The death certificate, the birth certificate, the paperwork that needs to be changed back or burned; so much commotion for a life. There will be tears. Many more tears, some for me, some for others that should have woken up like me. There will be fights. There will be screaming. There will be love. Over all that, there will be happiness; enough to drown out the sadness, from me, from them, from us, and why shouldn’t they be?

They have their daughter, their sister, their neighbour and their friend back. I have my father, my mother, my siblings, my neighbours, my friends and my love back.

I breathe her in again, deeper and deeper. This is what I waited for every day, every week, what I got up for in the morning, what I craved for, what I breathed for. This is why I lived, so why not again?



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