Tasi Ana Sanchez WoB Short Story Contest Submission 9/11/24
What Do You Bury with a Dead Child? “The father of the deceased would now like to address the crowd,” the minister announces before offering a generous smile in my direction. Grief and sorrow weigh heavy on my heart, making the task of rising from my chair onerous. For a moment I consider waving the minister on, passing up the opportunity to speak, but I would never forgive myself. The option still taunts me, seeming more and more desirable as the room fills with silence and tension. I helplessly turn to the man stepping down from the podium, briefly catching the glare of my child's mother. The fire in her eyes ignites a spark within me I didn't know I had, and I rise with adrenaline suddenly coursing through every vein in my body. I feel my presence gather the attention of more and more people, each who have made the tragedy of my child's death their own. They have tears in their eyes, on their faces and hands, running down their cheeks, and catching on wrinkles that didn't have the chance to form on the face of my child. No, the youth of the child will remain forever on his body, never getting the chance to fade or wilt. Never in my life did I think I could find beauty in aging. I make my way to the podium slowly but deliberately, climb the stairs towards the casket, and turn sharply, orienting myself to face the crowd. "I am Jabez, and Ajal-" my throat catches. "Ajal was my son."