CAOIMHE CATHERINE YOUNG
LOVING DAUGHTER, SISTER & FRIEND
April 30, 1981–April 24, 2000
FOREVER EIGHTEEN
IGNORING THE LADY STANDING AT MY SISTER’S GRAVESIDE, PLAYINGFLEETWOODMac’s “Landslide” on her guitar, I strained to hear the sound of scratching, so I could tell the men to stop lowering her coffin into the hole and bring her back up instead.
So I could tell the priest that my sister was in a deep sleep, one that had lasted seven days, but she was awake now, and they needed to let her out of the box.
Come on, Caoimhe, we’re running out of time.
Hurry up and scream, cry, shout…
Anything!
Numb to the bone, I watched as someone produced a chair for my mother to sit on, while my father dropped to his knees at her graveside, crying and begging a God that couldn’t hear us to bring his daughter back to him.
Meanwhile, I stood alone and watched the men in black suits lower my sister’s coffin into the ground.
Caoimhe was in there.
Inside that wooden box.
Clasping my hands together tightly, I willed my sister to make a noise to prove to all these people in black clothes that they were mistaken.
Her voice.
Her eyes.
Her smile.
Her last moments.
No, thiscouldn’tbe it.
She didn’t belong in here.
My big sister.
My only sibling.
She was never coming back.
No.
No.
No!
Someone reached for my hands and gently peeled them apart before entwining their fingers with mine.
I didn’t need to look to know whose hand was holding mine.
I couldfeelhis presence: strong, dependable, and safe.
He was theonlything I could feel nowadays.
