SAM STOOD...

Sam stood by the casket, knees weak and fist clenched, ready to pound on her grandmother’s casket to beg for forgiveness for ever leaving. Ready to fight if she had to. The funeral home smelled of impending depression and peace lilies this hot, suffocating June day. The fake sympathy curdled in her chest, turning hot and sharp. Her Aunt Cathrine always said the guiltiest cry the loudest.

She glanced across the room at a woman wailing, beating on her chest like a primal animal screaming over her mother. Her teeth clicked in disgust; her eyes filled with pearls of tears. The bright white room full of flowers was nauseating and familiar. Once again, she was back before she was 30.

The funeral attendants opened the casket, readying for the wake. Sam looked down at Grandmomma, frail and small as a child, almost skeletal. SHE never asked about Grandmomma’s favorite foods, music, or shows, the new season had come and gone while Sam was away. She hadn’t been there to learn any of it. Always gone on a drug or beer run. No time for her own mother unless it was to misuse Grandmomma’s debit card.

Before stepping aside for others, Sam leaned over and pressed her lips to Grandmomma’s forehead one more time.

“I love you, Grandmomma, and I’m so sorry I left you,” she choked as tears poured from her swollen eyes, streaking the woman’s face and smudging her makeup.

Suddenly, Sam was pulled back. Aunt Cathrine’s hand steadied her. Sam adjusted her headscarf from the jolt, jaw tightening as she stared at the casket.

The wailing continued across the room, raw and loud. Sam’s lip curled. Aunt Cathrine’s words echoed; the guiltiest cry the loudest. Heat rose in her chest, shoulders lifting, then falling just as fast. Grandmomma had never tolerated scenes like this. Not here. Not now. Hell, probably not ever.

Sam carried her father’s temper and her mother’s patience. Each flare left a weight behind, a promise to change, to grow. Grandmomma was a pastor’s wife. Sam’s change in religion never fit her right, but she loved what it did to Sam’s character.

Sam glanced back at the deep oak casket. “If love were enough, you’d live,” she whispered.

Outside, she dropped onto a scratchy grey concrete bench beside the white funeral home. Change scraped at her, raw and relentless, like losing over and over.

Aunt Cathrine joined her beneath a South Carolina magnolia tree, its white blooms heavy and fragrant.

“She is a piece of work, I know. But that hasn’t got anything to do with you. She must live with what she has done.”

“I know, Auntie, but it’s the way she treated her! Did you see how tiny Grandmomma was? Did she even think to feed her? She can’t cook to save her life, but still, she’d rather drink beer like a fish!” Sam snarled.

Aunt Cathrine peacefully reached into her tote and pulled out a pink Stieff Elton John bear with tiny sunglasses. Elton John songs had always filled their home, echoing through rooms they once shared.

Tears welled. Sam’s throat closed; no words came. She pulled her aunt into a tight hug, shoulders shaking. When she finally got the strength to pull back, she took the bear carefully, fingers tracing each stitch, pausing at every seam. Their favorite songs danced in her mind once again like a front row seat to a concert.

Love may not be enough, but memories are forever.