Now, Life Can Begin
Emma stands at the edge of the grave, watching as the coffin is lowered into the earth.
Its cold. A biting November wind ruffles the mourning ribbon on the wreath, sneaks under her coat, and makes her shiver.
Beside her, Aunt Margaretsome distant relative Emma’s only met a handful of timesweeps softly.
Her mother keeps herself composed, though her fingers clutching Emmas hand are ice-cold.
Father
Emma stares at the coffin, trying to work out what she feels.
Nothing.
An absolute, echoing emptiness inside, like a house chilled to the bone after the heatings been turned off for months.
He was a good man, someone murmurs behind her. God rest his soul.
Emma almost laughs out loud.
A good man?
How would they know?
They saw him on family occasions: sober, smiling, playing the piano. Gifted hands, life of the party, cheerful fellow.
And thats all.
They didnt know what he was like at home.
Emma shuts her eyes, and memory helpfully conjures up an image: shes about seven, waking up in the middle of the night to a crash. Dad stumbles through the hallway, missing the doorway, reeking of alcohol and something sour. Mum pulls him toward the bedroom, but he breaks away, flailing his arms and yelling, You dont respect me! Emma squeezes her eyes shut and pulls the duvet up to her nose, wishing she didnt see or hear a thing.
The next morning, Dad sits at the kitchen table looking guilty, nursing a glass of pickle juice, saying, Sorry, love. I slipped up. Wont happen again.
It did.
It always did.
Emma opens her eyes. The coffin is already covered; wreaths now lie atop the mound. People start making their way toward the cemetery gates. Mum gently touches her arm:
Come on, darling. We need to head to the wake
At the wake, Emma sits as if shes a stranger. She eats, nods, answers condolences. But inside, one thought crashes over her, making her want to scream:
Why dont I feel anything? Why doesnt it hurt?
That evening, after everyone has gone, Emma sits in the kitchen with her mother. They drink tea in silence. At last, Mum says,
You know, I had an odd thought just now
Emma looks up.
I realised theres nothing to be afraid of now. He wont collapse somewhere, he wont freeze, he wont disappear. We can just live.
Emma searches her mothers eyes and recognises the same horror she herself feels. The horror that, inside, theres not grief, but relief.
Am I terrible? Mum asks quietly.
Emma moves to sit beside her, wrapping her arm around her shoulders.
No, Mum. We arent terrible people. Were simply exhausted.
They sit like that, through the night, remembering. Not how he drank, but something else: how he built Emma her dolls house, how he taught her to ride a bike, how he once brought home a huge watermelon from the market, and the three of them ate it sitting on the kitchen floor, because there wasnt room at the table.
He was many things. And thats true, too.
Later, Mum heads to bed, leaving Emma alone. She grabs her phone, sends a message to her husband: Im alright. Ill be home tomorrow.
Suddenly, she realises for the first time in days, shes breathing calmly. No anxiety. No expectation of a dreadful phone call. No relentless, draining background worry.
Her fathers gone. And life, finally, is peaceful.
She knows this thought will return. That, at night, the guilt will wake her again. That Aunt Margaret and the others will whisper for years: So cold, not a single tear shed.
But tonight, in this quiet flat, where the air no longer reeks of spirits and midnight fights no longer echo, Emma allows herself a moment of honesty.
Im sorry, Dad, she says into the silence. I loved you. Truly. But I was so tired of hating you.
In the morning, she leaves.
On the train, she gazes out at the bleak November landscape for hours, before taking out her notebook. She writes down the answer thats come to her:
Children of alcoholics dont cry at funerals. Theyve already cried during years of living with the illness. They arent cold-hearted. They simply survived.
Emma shuts her notebook and, for the first time in ages, smiles.
The train carries her toward a new life. One where she no longer has to look back.
