Remembering Lily

The Bodiless Grave

The place is clean. It's a studio apartment for one with enough space I need. I get to decorate the kitchen, although it's smaller compared to the one I used to have. Definitely needs renovating. I am not a big fan of the black cupboards and plain white tiles on the walls. It's too modern for my taste and does not really look homey. The area is a lot smaller than all the places I've lived before, including the house I lived in during college I shared with three friends, one of whom is Blake. Speaking of, she'd rage if she saw this place. It's nice, but it's just small and in the end, the only thing I could afford with the money I borrowed from her.

I can see the bedroom, even if it is not a room, from the kitchen where I'm standing. I'd like to change the bed to a smaller one. The bed in Blake's guest room, which is as big as this only reminded me of how empty the other side of the bed is. I was so used to making room for my husband.

There's a clean white sofa in the living area, unused as said by the owner. Definitely need more things too. I don't plan to stay here for a long time, but I at least want to be comfortable no matter how short that stay is.

I was recently contacted and informed that I got the job. Not to sound too confident but I kind of knew I'd get it. I know exactly what the Principal likes and what she doesn't. I tried showing her a person likable for her taste, an imperfect person with the right answers, and would definitely show her respect. She hates high and mighty people so I acted as humble as I can be, someone who could almost not break a glass with my stock of patience.

I tried to be as honest as possible, all was true except for the basic information which was my name, age, place of birth, and such. It would make a funny joke except it wasn't.

I can move here at the weekend, just in time for the start of my work which would start on Monday.

I had to borrow more money from Blake for the apartment's deposit. I didn't want to since I know how much I owe her but I need this space and I need to be alone. I want to have a real start in this new life. Besides, I still have a plan to plot.

When the owner handed me the keys, I felt the freedom of having to own or even rent my own place. Something I've never done before since I lived with friends in college and got married right after I graduated. I have never tried living alone.

I sat on the edge of the bed and scanned the half-empty place, visualizing how I could make it mine. It's exciting thinking about what appliances to buy, how I would rearrange the furniture, and the decorations on the wall. It would all have to be my preference since my opinion is the only one that matters now that I am on my own.

Such a liberating feeling.

For the very first time after a while, I am looking forward to the future with hopes and dreams of a brighter tomorrow. It's too cheesy to be said by someone like me, a woman in her late-20s who basically owns nothing and is still adjusting to this newfound freedom, new face, and new life but after what has happened to me, I realized how life can be taken in an instant.

I gave myself time to grieve, space to cry and just a moment to adjust. Rain is good but too much is damaging, just like my sadness. My head is now clear and I have my goals set. I can start being me again. And I know just where to begin.

I'm going to walk down the road of memory lane. Starting at the end, my grave.

A body was never found. It has been almost a year and the rest of my family and everyone who cared had already given up trying and completely accepted the fact that my poor dead body lays somewhere in the deep river of Tukma, never to be found again. Sounds like the perfect ending to tragedy. It's sad how you sometimes forget to plan your funeral. I never thought of it, but now I realize I want it to be sad as visitors recall happy memories of me and of course, flowers that Blake promised were present at the service.

Perfect. I thought. There were tears, there was family, the eulogy (which I'd love to hear), and flowers. Sadly, there's just no coffin or a body.

A half-hour drive covered the travel to my mother's home. My poor Mama. I was her only daughter and she would often say is her pride and joy. Surely, there were instances when I become a disappointment, but I was all she had, and my staying beside her, living somewhere close even after an early marriage outweighed whatever was on the negative side.

No car was parked outside which was what I was exactly hoping for. I am ready to see the bodiless resting place my mother had made for me. I parked Blake's car outside. The quiet was a sign of the weekday afternoon before the kids go home from school and the adults go home from work.

In my hand is a basket full of white lilies and three pieces of the white vanilla-scented candle. A small chapel-like place was beside the house, with ceilings painted with clouds. I opened the gate and entered the empty grave, with only a cross on the wall and a gravestone on the wall.

For the loving memory of Lily Alcantara.

A loving daughter, wife, and friend.

Born: November 30, 1987

Died: April 8, 2015.

I was drawn into the gray marble where it was engraved. Fascinated, I let my hands touch the letters of my name. Surprisingly, this didn't make me cry. Anything else was a reminder of what I've lost but seeing this place in person is a reminder of what I have gained after what I've lost.

I placed the basket full of flowers beside some of the dried ones. No one probably visits this place anymore except for Mama. The floor and the walls are green, with not a single cobweb in sight. For some reason, this left a weight on my heart. Knowing how she'd think of her dead daughter as she spends time in this awfully quiet shrine.

I wonder if Yohan still comes here too; if he brought flowers, if he ever prayed for me and if he lit a candle for me? Did he even shed a tear for me? If yes, now that he's married again, does he still do any of this?

A bench was on the side and I stared at the lighted candle as it becomes smaller and smaller while it melts. I'll wait for the wick to be burned completely before I leave in peace since I obviously couldn't rest in peace. Just making up traditions for the dead because there's no one who can tell me what should I actually be doing. I have not heard of any book instructing how the living should pray for their past life.

When the candle has lost its fire, I stood up ready to say goodbye. My reason for coming here is not sure, even for me but that's probably it. I never got to say goodbye and I'm still not ready to but I'm saying goodbye to that chapter of my life.

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

Mama.

I closed my eyes as I heard her voice. In my memory, it was still recent since I last heard it but still, I long to hear her voice. I inhaled deeply, convincing myself not to cry before I smiled at her. "Hi, Ma'am. I'm... I'm Ellie, a friend of Lily's."

I quickly shook her hands, scared that I wouldn't let it go. Seeing my mother's face age in just a year is starting to make me feel emotional. More of her grey hair is visible and her eyes look tired and sad. I wonder if it's still because of me. I know I said the thought of someone still remembering me gave me comfort but Mama is an exception. I wished her time thinking of me is shorter. That with my death, her life would no longer revolve so much around me. Hopefully, she would let go of me so she can find a piece of her she lost a long time ago before she had me before her father left us, and even before she got married.

"Oh, hi. I can't remember seeing you at the funeral."

I want to stay here and talk to her and give her a piece of peace, that I'm alive and still breathing, that I can still make her dreams for her happen but saying all that is not an option.

"Yes, I couldn't make it." I avoided her intense gaze, scared that she'll figure out I'm me. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. Really. I'm sorry for your loss." I said and meant it.

She nodded, looks like she was used to hearing such words. Are people looking at her with pity? Now that she lost the daughter she has always been proud of. She would always tell me that she was happy to see me settled down. That I have someone by my side. "It's okay. She lived a short but happy life."

Her ignorance was bliss for both of us. She was assured that I lived a happy life. I am assured that this is what she believes despite knowing the truth. I wanted to tell her, 'No Mama. She didn't. She died remembering the happy memories but she lived a miserable life. Awfully lot like yours.'