A week passed, and the afternoon was hot. The phone rang and Uncle James picked up .
The voice on the other end said.
"Hello, I'm calling from Safe journey funeral home We've completed the cremation of Mrs. Ama, and her remains are ready for delivery."
"What? You cremated my mother's body without notifying me first?" Uncle James's voice cracked, filled with shock.
The voice on the other end tried to explain. "There seems to have been a misunderstanding, sir. But yes, we cremated Mrs. Ama's body this morning. We can discuss everything in person if you come by."
Uncle James sat down in the small office at the funeral home, his hands shaking as he absorbed the news. The funeral home owner spoke softly, almost apologetically, though his words did little to comfort Uncle James.
"I'm deeply sorry for not contacting you before proceeding with the cremation. But there's more to it. Despite all the medicine, despite everything we did, her body simply didn't respond. It was as though she was... fading away. So, we made the decision to cremate her, hoping to preserve something of her. Again, I'm very sorry."
Uncle James didn't respond immediately. He just nodded slowly, his expression unreadable, as he took the small urn they offered him. The weight of it seemed unbearable as he held it tightly, his face pale and eyes distant.
When he returned home, the house felt suffocatingly quiet, as though the air had thickened with grief. Uncle James stood in the hallway and called out.
"Anaya, Ruth! Put on black clothes and meet me downstairs."
I could sense the heaviness in the air. I rushed out of the kitchen and went upstairs to quickly changed into something dark. Ruth did the same. When we came back down, Uncle James had already changed. His face was grim, and there was something in his eyes that I couldn't quite read. I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me.
"Uncle James, is everything alright? Where are we going?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, but he didn't answer. He just turned and walked toward the door. Ruth and I followed him, my heart pounding harder with every step.
We drove in silence, the air in the car was thick with unspoken words. When we arrived at the cemetery, I had a sinking feeling in my chest. I started to understand why we were here, but I still couldn't bring myself to believe it.
Then I saw it. Uncle James was holding a small box, so small and delicate. My breath caught in my throat.
The ground had already been dug.
With trembling hands, Uncle James lowered the box into the earth, and my heart twisted as I watched him. Tears slid down his face, but he didn't say a word. He just began shoveling the dirt over the box, burying it carefully, as though he was trying to bury his pain too.
"The two of you should kneel and say a prayer for your grandmother," Uncle James said, his voice distant, as he looked away from us.
Ruth knelt obediently, her hands clasped together, her head bowed in quiet prayer. But I couldn't do it. I stayed rooted to the spot, unable to move. How could I kneel for Grandma Ama like this? How could I accept that she was really gone? I never got to say goodbye. I never even got to see her one last time.
With trembling legs, I finally knelt, covering my mouth with my hand to keep my sobs in check. But I couldn't find the words. I couldn't even pray. All I could do was cry. The weight of the moment was too much to bear. The finality of it all crushed me. I just knelt there, silently mourning, as the earth settled over her.
When we left the cemetery, the silence was deafening. The air felt colder, and the sorrow clung to me, refusing to let go.