Short Story / In Loving Memory (Analysis)
You always smelled like cinnamon and your skin was softer than silk. Moments spent with you were like being in Paradise. You would wrap me tightly in your arms and tell me that everything was going to be okay. I believed you without giving it a second thought. I trusted you with my mind, body, soul, and heart. You said that you would never leave me. I was so devastated when you did.
I was watching a movie when I got the call. I was laughing and smiling and munching on popcorn when you had already been dead for hours. I never knew. If I had, I probably would have locked myself up in my room sooner to replay our song over and over. I didn’t want to believe it was true – after all, I had just seen you and spoken with you two days ago. How could you be gone?
I answer the phone with a smile on my face and when he tells me, “TC is dead.” I nearly laugh. I ask him to repeat what he’s said because I know I didn’t just hear what I think that I heard. “Thomas. He’s dead.”
My heart stops for what seems like an eternity and then it starts pounding. I can feel my body shaking and my father has paused the movie we’re watching to go make a fresh batch of popcorn. I can smell the buttery popcorn in the microwave. Usually the smell makes me giddy, but now it only makes me nauseous. I feel my grip tighten on the phone as I listen to him explain what happened. I catch only every other word. Car wreck. Tree. Seatbelts. 110 mph. I’m so sorry. I ask him to call your house, make sure that it’s true. When he calls back his voice is graver than before. Even now I do not cry because there is no evidence. I haven’t seen anything on the news, I haven’t received a visit from a friendly ghost, and I have not seen your name in stone. I refuse to believe it and as long as I don’t you are not really gone.
I only go to school the next day to make sure it’s true. To be absolutely certain that I won’t see you in the halls, laughing and flashing me your mischievous smile, giving me a peace sign as we walk past each other in the hall, throwing your arm around my shoulders as we walk to lunch. When the announcement comes over the intercom during my first class my heart feels like it’s being put through a paper shredder. No, no, no, no. I pull out the picture that I brought with me and stare at it until the class is over. I can barely make it through the day because I keep having breakdowns in class. I try my hardest to just cry silently so that I won’t attract a lot of attention. People come up to me all day long and hug me, tell me it’ll all be okay, remind me how much you loved me, that it isn’t my fault. I can only nod and force a smile. What else can you do?
I skip out on school the next day. I lie in bed and cry, remember, sleep, have nightmares that make me wake up in a cold sweat and wanting to vomit. I play our song over and over and try to remember the way it felt to be in your arms, your smile, your laugh. I watch movie clips on my laptop over and over again so that I can be sure I won’t forget your voice. I have never felt anything like this before. The only other loved one I’ve lost and been old enough to understand what it meant was a pet cat – all of these feelings are so new to me and it hurts so much more than anything I have ever experienced.
When the day of the viewing arrives my heart is in my throat. I scribble a note on a spare piece of paper to you and slip it into the pocket of my jacket. Whether you are alive or not, I want you to get this letter. As my father drives me to the church I keep thinking about all the things that went unsaid. Things I never had the chance to say because we grew up so fast and time was gone before I even knew it had come. When we arrive at the church the parking lot is full. As are the other two close by. We park in a fourth parking lot that is half full and walk to the church in the cold. It feels like needles are stabbing into my arms and the wind is blowing my skirt as I try to keep up with my father’s longer strides.
When we walk in it’s packed. A nurse hands me Kleenex as I come inside. I hadn’t realized that I was already crying. My father has his hand on my shoulder and says something to me, but I barely hear him. I feel him trying to push me forward. My brain says move but my feet stay rooted to the spot. Slowly, one foot lifts up from the ground and I walk up the aisle towards the open casket.
I recognize your mother, standing beside the coffin with the large American flag draped over it, her body shaking and tears pouring down her face. She looks so fragile and I want to reach out to her and tell her it isn’t real, it’s only a cruel joke. When I finally reach her she has turned and is being helped into a seat on the front row by her ex-husband. I slowly turn my gaze away from her and focus instead on my beautiful boy who now looks as if he is sleeping.
I notice instantly that your face is slightly swollen. I recognize your lips, the long eyelashes, the soft skin. I want so badly to reach out and touch your cheek, but I don’t think that I can bear to have my last memory of you being cold and dry, looking like a figure in a wax museum. I focus on your eyes and try to remember their warmth. I have almost convinced myself that they will fly open at any moment and you will sit up in the coffin and smile at me. I fooled you, didn’t I? Your eyes do not open and I feel dizzy. I hold on to the edge of the casket to steady myself and I have to struggle to hold back a sob. I have to fight to tear my eyes away from you to meet your mother’s gaze. I kneel in front of her and hold on tightly to her hands. I feel her eyes watching me and I hear her whispering to me. I look up at her so that I can hear her better. She gives me a weak smile and kisses me all over my face and whispers, “Hey, baby girl. It’s going to be okay. I know you loved him, and you miss him, but it’ll be okay.”
“I’m supposed to be comforting you.” I’m ashamed at how shaky my voice is when I reply. She only smiles at me and holds my face in her hands. She kisses me on the forehead and I grip her hands tightly in mine – dark chocolate and eggshells. I struggle to my feet and walk on jello-legs to the back of the church. A friend from school scoots over on the pew to allow me to sit next to her. She is shaking and large tears are rolling down her cheeks. She looks paler than normal so I reach over and hug her tightly.
The rest of the night passes fairly quick. Your mother asks me to come over and visit her sometime so that we can talk about you and I tell her I will. I want to do that more than anything. I briefly think that maybe I can go into your room and it will at least still smell like you. I hug her one last time before we leave for home. I undress and crawl into bed before I remember that I forgot to give you your note.
On the day of the funeral my stomach is in knots. I cannot deny it now. You’re gone. I also cannot admit it – you’re still in my thoughts and I can still remember so many things we did together and promised each other that we’d do together. I try to remember the happy memories, but even those make me weep. My heart feels like it is being stomped on repeatedly.
Again, the church is crowded. We have to park a good distance away and walk over and it is even colder than the night of the viewing. People stand in rows holding American flags and I feel like I am somehow alone. I had always worried that you would die out of country, but you died here at home. I feel so stupid because something like this had never even occurred to me. When we enter and are seated they pass out pamphlets that have your picture on them. It proclaims that this day is a Celebration of Life and Love.
I feel like I am going to faint. I cry silently but I never really stop. Your mother looks even worse than the night of the viewing. They have to carry her back to her chair and nurses are standing by, just in case. I see your little sister and she is still and silent. My heart aches for her. She isn’t crying but you can tell by her eyes that she’s scared and confused. I remind myself why I came as I sit between my close friend and a stranger. I did not come to say goodbye – I came to say see you soon. I listen to the singing and it makes me feel a little better. I start thinking again and plummet back into this dark place in my mind. It is an internal roller coaster the whole time that I am there.
Now that it has been just over a month since the accident, I still don’t believe it’s real sometimes. It doesn’t feel real. I walk the hallways at school and I look for you. Sometimes I swear that I can smell you close by and then it’s gone. I reread old notes and look at old Christmas presents and Valentine cards and think that I must be in some kind of nightmare. I think of the promise you made me that, once you were mature enough, you would come back to me. Maybe that’s one of the many things that hurts the most.
I have to take it second by second. I carry your picture with me everywhere and I constantly am watching old movie clips so that I won’t forget your voice or your laugh. I remind myself that you would not want me to dwell on this and you would want me to be happy. I’m trying to move on, but right now I can only take baby steps. I will always love my beautiful boy and, at the very least, no one can take away my memories of you. I will have those for the rest of my life.
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I can relate to this piece.
My father past away when i was 12 and i still havent gotten over it
i know how difficult writing about such a tender subject as this can be
but
you put this on here for a critique
first off
avoid cliches
cliches are to be blunt cliche and they make a piece sound immature and elementary
one line that strcuk me was “before i see your name in stone” i like it i dont know why.
in the paragrah about you wishing he would awaken in the casket “i fooled you didnt i?”
i think it would have more of an impact if it were structured differently
i also dont like the structure of this piece
it is very choppy
link some things together to provide continuity
this is an emotional piece and it is very sad but i think that you could maybe find some stronger words to really set this piece apart from others
or more descriptive descriptions (haha)
this is a very tender and emotional piece and i enjoyed reading it
regards
-kyle-
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Your emotion comes through and you build the story well, but it’s really more of a memoir, isn’t it? I wouldn’t put it under short story as that sets up certain expectations: a character(s) will encounter something new or interact with other characters in which we find out all kinds of things about them
and their lives, That can be partially internal, but normally a narrative unfolds more dramatically than yours.
Your piece is more of a reflection on the unfolding grief a person experiences as an unexpected death.
I feel strongly that you are right to write it down—while it’s fresh. Because later, time will make it all vague and the details will disappear.
I myself wrote a long prose poem, chronicling the events in my life before I received a call like that about a dear dear friend, out of the blue. Then I tried to described the stages of disbelief and despair, the way people talked to each other and processed the information. The thing was, I decided it had to be a poem as it just didn’t flow like a story.
Also, try to describe each emotion in a new way, not “my stomach is in knots” or “my heart is in my throat” because everybody has said that! But here is something fresh: “It feels like needles are stabbing into my arms and the wind is blowing my skirt as I try to keep up with my father’s longer strides.”
Keep it up—it’s hard but worth it!
Well, this is a very powerful piece. I especially enjoyed the first person narrative route you went. I think it makes it that much more touching. The only qualms I have are concerning the narrator. I couldn’t quite tell if she was a high school student or college student. I’m guessing high school, and if that is the case she had an exquisite approach to telling a story.
Thanks so much for the read!
You did an extraordinary job on this. I would guess this is publishable if you find the right place to submit it. This would probably be a magazine. I have been researching publication and see that publishers and agents rarely buy short stories, except by known authors who have a reputation. To publish a fiction book, you need to have it completed first. You certainly write well. I see only a couple of things I would change:
full. As are the other two close by. Make this one sentence. Slowly, one foot lifts up from the ground and I walk up the aisle towards the open casket. Either make this I lift one foot, or one foot and then the other lifts and walks me up the aisle….
Hello, I know that it much have been really hard to write this, but I also know that it’s part of the healing. My daughter lost her boyfriend one month earlier than you did. He was just seventeen years old in a car wreck also.
I gave you perfect tens for this story, even though I know it was a hard subject for you to tackle, you did it with flying colors.
I loved this lovely tribute about your life with someone you shouldn’t have lost.
Take care.
I’m so sorry for your loss. It’s good that you can write about it and share what you’re feeling. You have told a heartbreaking story in a tasteful, thoughtful, and beautiful way.
As far as the technical goes, I think you have a very strong writing style. I think your voice and descriptive devices are very well constructed and used. You made me cry when i read this. I really was able to connect with what you wrote and see myself in your place. See a different face than the one you described.
But this isn’t a finished work. It lacks…something…I’m not really even sure what. Maybe come back to this in another year or so and see if in the fullness of your mourning you don’t have something more to add. I wish I could be more helpful, but aside from the rather vague assertion that something here is missing, I don’t have any other constructive criticism for you.
Maybe the thing that’s missing is the wisdom and closure that only time can bring following a tragedy like this. Once again, I feel for you, and I’ll pray for both you and your boy.
This is just a very sad a somber story. You explain it very well and it is hard to keep going on but we all have to. I know this was probably difficult to write but in time when things are bad we need to remember that our strength comes from within and we are stronger by the bonds we create with the people around us and in our lives. Good but sad piece.
First let me say that I am sorry for your loss.
I like that you opened this with a reference to a scent.
“You always smelled like cinnamon and your skin was softer than silk.” you could tighten this up with “Your silky smooth skin always smelled like cinnamon.” When my nana died I couldn’t smell dill without crying so this resonates with me.
And yes, I fought off tears when I read about the viewing and funeral. How does one comfort a grieving mother? What do you say to anyone who loses someone they love?
As for the pure writing I think you should re-read and look for the word “so”. People tend to use so and very as a way to add impact to the sentence and it doesn’t work. You could change the word you are trying to emphasize to have a bigger punch, or remove the ‘so’ and you’ll notice that the sentence is stronger for it.
On another note try to not use too many ratings criteria. ”I would like to have this published” and “publishable” are the same and more than a few criteria can be off putting.
Dying
people dying
death
not living any more
mourning
these topics
are ones that i love
yeah I’d read it again
good job
but think about a rewrite before publishing
I’m sorry for your lost, I can’t imagine the feeling of loosing someone you truly loved in a way that was so sudden and unexpected. I know that it hurts and it will continue to hurt. Nothing will ever take that pain away, but life doesn’t stop there. It honestly feel like it does, but it doesnt. We all must move on and find a way to live a life without them. Move on but never let go. Memories of the past will help you to always remember of the love you both shared. It’s also going to be nice to look back at those memories but remember to always live in the present instead of the past. It’s hard but if he truly loved you, he would want you to be happy.
A very sad story but I believe it was well written. Like many people say, Cherish what you have now and appreciate every min because in life and in love it can be taken away in a blink of an eye. When you learn to love someone again, in the future, you now know how to really show your love because you know that it can be taken away.
Cry until you can’t cry anymore. Let it out and never hold it in, trust me it helps. The sun goes down at night but it always comes back up in the morning.
I want to hear a story from you again but this time a story of how to find love again, instead of the pain and sadness…. Always remember you’re never alone even though it feels like you are. Good Luck!
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