The morning of Margaret’s funeral dawned gray and heavy with the promise of rain....the kind of weather that felt almost deliberate, as though the sky itself was acknowledging the loss.
Eve stood at the bedroom window, already dressed in the black dress that Maya and Elena had helped her choose three days ago. Simple, elegant, appropriate. The kind of dress Margaret would have approved of....respectful without being theatrical.
Behind her, she could feel her mates moving through their own preparations. Damian adjusting his tie. Damon checking his phone one final ti before putting it away....pack business could wait today. Silas simply present, his steady energy a constant anchor through the bond.
"It’s ti," Silas said quietly, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder.
Eve nodded, not trusting her voice yet. She’d cried herself empty over the past three days....monts of overwhelming grief interspersed with the necessary practical tasks of funeral planning. Maya and Elena had handled most of the preparation, but there were decisions only Eve could make. Music choices. Eulogy content. Whether to have a viewing.
She’d chosen a closed casket. Wanted people to rember Margaret as she’d been...vibrant and sharp and fully herself rather than the diminished version illness had created at the end.
They made their way downstairs where the rest of their group was assembling. Raphael in a dark suit, his expression somber and respectful. Elena and Maya, both in black dresses, standing close together in that way they’d developed over the past weeks...friends who’d bonded through extraordinary circumstances.
The pack had asked permission to attend...not all of them, that would have been overwhelming, but senior mbers who’d t Margaret during hospital visits, who’d understood what she ant to their Luna. Catherine, Marcus, Elder Markov, and about twenty others who had dressed formally and waited respectfully in the main hall.
"Thank you," Eve said to them, her voice rough but steady. "For wanting to honor her. It ans....it ans everything."
"She was pack by extension," Marcus said gruffly. "She raised our Luna. That makes her worthy of pack respect."
The service was being held at a small funeral ho that Margaret had actually pre-selected years ago, practical even in planning her own death. Nothing ostentatious, nothing ant to impress. Just a quiet, dignified space where people who loved her could say goodbye.
They traveled in a convoy of vehicles....Eve in the lead SUV with her mates, the pack following in additional vehicles, creating a procession that was both protective and respectful.
The funeral ho was already populated when they arrived, friends of Margaret’s from her various communities. Neighbors from the building where she and Eve had lived. Colleagues from the library where she’d worked before her illness had made that impossible. The manager and several dancers from the Eclipse, all dressed in their most respectable clothes, looking uncomfortable but determined.
Eve felt her throat tighten seeing them...the different pieces of Margaret’s life assembled in one space, all these people who had known different versions of the woman who’d raised her.
Rick, the Eclipse manager, approached her with uncharacteristic solemnity. "Eve. I’m so sorry. Margaret was...she was always kind to . Even when I didn’t deserve it."
"Thank you for coming," Eve said.
"Wouldn’t miss it," Rick said. Then, quieter: "You look good. Different. Stronger than when you left. Margaret would be proud."
Eve nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.
The service began at eleven.
It was small, intimate, exactly what Margaret would have wanted. The funeral director, a kind-faced woman who’d been endlessly patient with all of Eve’s questions, welcod everyone and spoke briefly about celebrating life rather than mourning death.
Then it was ti for the eulogy.
Eve had written it over three days, crying through multiple drafts, trying to capture what Margaret had ant without falling apart. She walked to the front of the room on unsteady legs, the folded paper in her hands, and looked out at the assembled people.
Maya gave her an encouraging nod from the front row.
Eve took a breath and began.
"Margaret Chen was not my biological mother," she said, her voice carrying in the quiet room. "But she was my mother in every way that mattered. She chose , a stranger’s baby left on her doorstep with nothing but a note and a pendant, and she chose to love . Not because she had to. Because she wanted to."
She paused, gathering herself. "She was practical. Almost aggressively practical. She believed in making lists, in planning ahead, in being prepared for whatever life threw at you. She balanced her checkbook to the penny. She never left dishes in the sink overnight. She kept ergency supplies in the hall closet that could have sustained us through a minor apocalypse."
Quiet laughter rippled through the room...people recognizing the truth of it.
"But she was also....she had this capacity for joy that was remarkable," Eve continued. "She loved terrible reality TV shows and would yell at the contestants like they could hear her. She made the world’s best chocolate chip cookies and refused to share the recipe with anyone, including . She read romance novels and mystery novels and occasionally mixed them up because she read so many she forgot which plot belonged to which book."
More laughter, warr now.
"She worked so hard," Eve said, and her voice cracked slightly. "She worked multiple jobs to keep us afloat, and she never once complained about it. Never made feel like I was a burden. She just....she showed up. Every day. She showed up and she did what needed to be done and she made sure I knew I was loved."
Eve looked down at her notes, then back up, deciding to speak from the heart rather than the script.
"The last ti I saw her conscious, she told she was proud of . She told to be strong and smart and compassionate. She told ...." Eve’s voice broke completely, tears streaming down her face now. "...she told that every day with had been a gift. But she was wrong about that. She was the gift. She was my gift. And I will spend the rest of my life trying to live up to what she taught ."
She wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself. "My mom believed in being prepared for everything. But I don’t think either of us were prepared for how much losing her would hurt. I don’t think there’s a preparation for that kind of loss. You just....you carry it. You honor the person by continuing. By being the person they believed you could be."
She looked around the room at all the faces.....so she knew, so she didn’t, all of them here because Margaret had touched their lives in so way.
"Thank you," Eve said quietly. "All of you. For being part of her life. For letting her be part of yours. For showing up today to say goodbye to soone who deserved....who deserved so much more ti than she got."
She returned to her seat, and Silas’s arm imdiately ca around her, holding her together while she fell apart.
User Comments
0 comments from readers