Dictated Moans

Goodbye mother

Morning broke with a cool hush, as though the world itself had slowed to pay its respects.

Cassie stood in front of her mirror, smoothing the hem of her black dress. Her hands trembled slightly, but she stilled them with a breath. Outside, she could hear muffled footsteps and soft voices; Emily and Sarah moving about, Asher speaking quietly to Ken, the driver.

The urn sat on her dresser, purple and etched with delicate leaves. Cassie touched the lid once, reverently, then picked it up and cradled it in both hands.

She was ready. Or at least, as ready as she’d ever be.

The drive to River Wak was silent.

Cassie sat between Emily and Sarah, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery. Asher rode in the front seat, his shoulders tense. The now full urn rested on her lap, wrapped in a linen cloth.

River Wak curved through the outskirts of town like a ribbon of silver. Wide and calm, its waters shimmered under the rising sun. Waiting at the dock was a beautiful white boat, polished, bobbing gently in the water. Its deck was decorated with purple roses; simple, elegant, just as their mother would have liked.

Marla had handled the floral arrangements. Cassie made a mental note to thank her later.

They boarded quietly.

Cassie and Asher took seats at the bow, with the urn between them. Emily and Sarah stayed nearby but respectfully gave them space.

The boat pulled away from the dock with a soft groan and the hum of the motor. Morning mist drifted over the water, catching the light like threads of silk. It was beautiful, in a heartbreaking kind of way. As they reached the center of the river, the captain slowed the boat to a gentle glide. Asher stood up, cleared his throat, and looked out over the water.

“She loved this place,” he said, voice steady but low. “River Wak was her favorite. So today, we let her go; not with sorrow, but with gratitude. With the hope that she will be at peace here.” Then, almost in a whisper, he added, “Rest well, Mom. We’ll carry you with us.”

"Go well mom," Cassie whispered before reaching for the urn, her fingers trembling. She turned to Emily and Sarah, who both nodded encouragingly. Asher helped her unscrew the lid, and together they tilted the urn over the side of the boat.

The ashes fell like silver snow, swirling and dissolving into the ripples of the river. Cassie watched them disappear, her eyes stinging. A soft breeze lifted her hair, and for a moment, she swore she could smell lavender—her mother’s favorite.

They stood there in silence, letting the river take what remained.

Letting go.

Back at Asher’s house, the quiet was replaced by warmth.

Family and friends had already begun to gather by the time they returned. Aunt Rose was at the door, arms wide, pulling Cassie into a tight embrace the moment she stepped inside.

“You did good, sweetheart,” Rose whispered. “She would’ve been proud.”

Cassie nodded, throat tight.

The living room had been rearranged for the small memorial. White candles flickered on the mantel. A framed picture of her mother smiled down from the coffee table—young and radiant in a sundress, hair wild in the wind.

There was no podium. No long speeches. Just people. Kind faces. Soft murmurs. A few tears, yes, but more smiles than expected.

Mrs. Peterson, their neighbor from two doors down, arrived with two casserole dishes and a basket of homemade bread.

“Always said your mother made the best lemon chicken,” she told Asher, wiping her eyes. “I tried my best.”

The food was set out buffet-style in the dining room. People helped themselves and drifted between conversations. Emily and Sarah stayed close to Cassie, occasionally steering her away from someone who looked like they might want to talk for too long, asking questions like where she had been and why she had not been with her mother in her final moments.

Cassie appreciated it more than she could say.

There was something soothing about the normalcy of it; passing napkins, pouring iced tea, exchanging quiet condolences. The day had weight, but it also had peace. No grand gestures, no theatrics.

Exactly how her mother would have wanted it. Even her death had been smooth, unlike the demons that troubled her. She had slipped, softly into the embrace of death; no fuss, no fight.

Later, as the sun began to dip once more toward the horizon, Asher stood up from the table and gently clinked a fork against his glass.

“Thank you all for being here,” he said as he moved towards the fireplace. “I don’t have much to say that hasn’t already been said with hugs and casseroles. Just, thank you. You made today a little easier.”

Cassie stepped up beside him, her palms damp but her smile steady.

“I second that,” she said. “And thank you for letting us do this our way. It meant everything to us.”

A few murmured affirmations followed. Then people began to slowly rise, collecting bags and saying their goodbyes.

Aunt Rose kissed Cassie’s cheek. “I know we had bad blood with your mom but you are family. Call me if you need anything, even just to yell into the phone.”

Cassie smiled. “I might take you up on that.”

One by one, the guests departed, leaving behind traces of perfume and empty dessert trays. Mrs. Peterson slipped her bread basket into Marla’s hands with a nod. “You’ll return it when you’re ready,” she said.

When the last car pulled out of the driveway, Cassie collapsed onto the couch with a soft sigh.

“Done,” she whispered. “We did it.” She was exhausted. She could not remember her father's memorial being this tiring; maybe because she had been young and hadn't taken part in planning anything.

Asher sat beside her, elbows on his knees. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Exhausted. But yeah.”

Emily and Sarah emerged from the kitchen, carrying mugs of tea. They handed one to Cassie before sitting nearby.

Sarah yawned. “Emotionally wiped. But that was… nice. Really nice.”

Emily nodded. “It was perfect. Honestly.”

Cassie looked around the quiet house, now dimly lit by the warm glow of lamps and candlelight. The urn was nestled on the mantle now, beneath her mother’s photo.

“It feels like she’s here,” Cassie said quietly.

“She is,” Asher affirmed.

And in the silence that followed, they sat together, tired, grieving, but together.