The Shifting

Prologue

Everyone's eyes were on her. The pity and constant feigning of remorse over her felt like an anvil on her shoulders. They knew of the loss of losing her Aunt Asta. They had empathy and compassion. She knew this so her anger wasn't rational. She understood this clearly. That didn't change how she felt and the desire to scream at each of the members of the funeral procession to stop staring at her like she was so helpless. The only person whose eyes she could meet were similar to her one of her own. Her father’s sorrowful brown eyes were on her while she read the eulogy she wrote for Asta. “One of my aunt’s favorite writers David E. Harkins said:

‘Your heart can be empty because you can’t see her,

Or you can be full of the love you shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,

Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.’

Thalia closed her eyes and took a breath to calm herself and keep the tears and wrenching sobs at bay. She may still be a child, at fourteen years old but without Asta, without the woman who was like a mother, she felt like she was nothing. The people from the library and hospital, Asta’s coworkers and friends couldn’t see the debilitating pain she left behind in her brother and niece. They’d never understand how instrumental she was to them. They couldn’t.

Continuing in a shaky breath, Thalia began again, “ As we lay her to her final resting, we need to remember to keep her alive in our hearts with her love and lessons. I may not have a mother, but I have known the love of a mother through a woman who never had children of her own. My father had a sister of a woman who was born an only child. And she was a friend to all. She fed those when hungry and gave jackets to cold and shivering men on the streets. She would never turn away an injured animal from a bird in a box with a broken wing to a snarling bobcat just after a tahoe ran it down. Asta Tallgrass touched so many lives. Goodbye Nokummes. Until we meet once more.”

She wiped her clammy hands on the black trousers she wore, as she retraced her steps back to stand beside her father’s side while Pastor Jonston and his companions passed around yellow and pink roses to each of the gathered to lay on the casket's closed lid. When Thalia received a yellow rose with tips fading to white, she brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply. The smell was sweet and strong, bringing to memory Asta’s lemon covered kitchen back at their house they shared as a family of three. She hesitated to do something Asta herself would have done instantly upon handling the rose, wondering if it would be disrespectful to her beloved Aunt. Asta would often dry herbs and petals from her bouquets and have them pressed between wax paper and frame them around the house. It was always a conversational piece for her and her friends.

As the last two people lay their roses, Renard, her father, and Thalia watched as the crowd started walking back to their cars. They were far from going home. The expected gathering post funeral still had yet to commence. Thalia wished they could just go to their quiet home and avoid the stares and condolences, but the church ladies would have none of that. They had several casseroles dishes already lining the Tallgrass’ fridge for the duo to reheat and their cars were bringing over several more dishes for the repast guests to gorge themselves on.

Renard placed the pink flower on his older sister’s grave and walked some paces away, leaving Thalia to have a few moments with the quiet and perhaps, maybe Asta, herself. Thalia deliberately tore the petals from the flower and layed the naked stem and leaves down among the rest and whispered, “I love you. I’ll never forget you and will always be your cubbie.” She clutched the petals as she joined her father and they drove to face the unknown awaiting them without their beloved Asta.