“I'm not ready,” I whispered, staring at our reflections in the mirror.

There were only a few minutes until we needed to leave, and it still hadn't sunk in. Like my brain couldn't quite comprehend the truth, no matter the evidence.

“That's the awful thing about funerals,” Mum said, squeezing my arm. A gesture meant to comfort, but instead drawing my eye to the stark difference between my pale skin and the black dress I never wanted to wear. “No one is ever ready for them.” 

Tears filled my eyes, and I blinked hard to clear them as she ran the hairbrush through my hair one final time, smoothing it with her hand. 

“Perfect.” She murmured, meeting my eye in the mirror and offering a small smile before making her way towards the front door.

Reluctantly, I followed her down the cluttered hallway. It had been years since I had been back, but nothing had changed. Not really.

Surrounded by all Grandma's things, in a home that still smelt like her, it was hard to believe she wasn’t in the next room. That she wouldn't poke her head round the doorframe any minute and offer me a homemade biscuit. Or a cup of tea. She always said there was no day so terrible a cuppa couldn't fix it.

Having had my fair share of bad days, I disagreed somewhat, but right now, there was nothing I wouldn't give to share tea with her again.

Mum had stopped by the door, tugging the skirt of her dress in her only outward sign of the anxiety she was feeling.

She had always been better at holding it together than most people. Only a select few people knew the real her, and I was one of them. Despite her attempts to meddle in my life and her obsession with getting me to settle down, I loved her fiercely. If it weren't for her, I would never have forced myself back to the town that held so many bad memories.

“You look fine, Mum.” I reassured with a smile. 

She took a deep breath before returning my smile, “I'm glad you came back Emmy Bear.”

I swallowed hard. Leaving had been one of the biggest mistakes of my life, but coming back after everything that had happened, didn't feel much better.

Goldsford was a small, sleepy village, but that was very much part of the problem. Here, everyone knew everyone, and they didn't forget a thing. If I could get through this weekend without being cornered by someone asking me about him, or trying to set me up with someone - despite the depressing reason for my return - I would consider it a miracle. 

Straightening her spine, my mother's anxiety seemed to melt away, and she became the poised, calm lady that everyone would expect.

The crisp cold February air bit into my exposed skin as we stepped out, making our way to the car. Gravel shifting underfoot made the short walk a more treacherous experience than antipated in the small heel I had selected.

I had offered to drive, but mum was insistent that she needed to. Looking at her fingers as they curled around the steering wheel, gripping it so tightly her knuckles turned white, I saw the reason for it. It was her attempt to cling to control despite how completely out of control the day felt. 

The car ride to the church was filled with a heavy silence. Both of us so lost in our own thoughts, we didn't have the energy to fill it.

As Mum parked in front of the familiar church, my heart pounded hard in my chest. Not only did I dread the inevitable interactions with well meaning neighbours and family friends, but this was once a building I had dreamed I would one day share a special day with him. 

But that was before. Before I really knew him. Before I broke.

“Try not to take things to heart. They all mean well.” Mum reminded me as I straightened my spine and prepared to go in.

“I know. I just really wish this wasn't happening.” I shook my head, “I wish I could wake up, and this all be some awful nightmare.” 

“I know, my love.” She shook her head, “She would be so happy to see you home.”

I nodded. She was right, and a part of me regretted that I didn't visit more often. But there was no room for those regrets, not today. Today was about remembering and laying her to rest.

We both slipped out of the car and headed in through the open church gates. A light mist hung over the graveyard in a way that should have perhaps felt creepy, but instead was oddly comforting.

As mum stopped to speak to the vicar, I paused for a moment, taking her in. The light wrinkles in her face and streaks of silvery white through sleek hair reminded me that she was ageing too and I couldn't afford to stay away so long again.

The mound of earth just beyond them and an easel displaying Grandma's photo had my breath catching in my throat. 

She was really gone.

A sharp wind blew the chill of the February air right through the thin fabric of my dress as I lined her graveside with the other mourners.

As far as services went, it was lovely, really. Mum read a passage from her favourite book, others shared favourite memories, and the vicars voice droned on 

Shifting my weight from one uncomfortable heel to the other, I studiously avoided eye contact with anyone.

"Emma, dear, it's been ages!" Miss Porter from next door reached out, her gloved hand grasping my arm with surprising strength for a woman so frail looking, she appeared like a stiff breeze could take her out. 

"Yes, Miss Porter.” I replied, looking subtly for an escape.

Mourners were making their way towards the church hall now the service had finished but no-one seemed to notice me.

"Your mother tells me you're still single. Such a shame for a girl your age." 

I forced a smile as she tutted sadly. "Well, you know, busy with work and all." I said through gritted teeth.

She shook her head and I could already imagine the next part of the conversation with her reminding me that spreadsheets couldn't hold me through the long, cold nights.

Before she could dig any deeper into my personal life, I gestured over her shoulder, “I should go and help Mum. Excuse me.”

She opened her mouth, but I was already on the move. Weaving between the people until I caught up to Mum just inside the doors of the church hall. She was busy thanking someone I didn't recognise for coming as I joined her.

It wasn't long before my cheeks ached from the forced smile I gave each person as they muttered their sympathies. 

“I'm going to get some air.” I whispered as the last group cleared the doorway. 

Mum nodded her understanding before disappearing into the sea of black clad mourners.

For a moment, I hesitated. Wondering if I should follow her and push through a bit longer.

Movement in the corner of my eye quickly changed my mind as Mrs Woodrup began to make a beeline towards me. I didn't know which of her three sons she was going to try to set me up with this time, but I didn't really want to stick around and find out.

Crisp air outside filled my lungs as I made my way to the gates, and it was a welcome relief from the heavy weight of the stares. At least out here, the matchmaking and meddling couldn't find me.

The familiar streets I had grown up on stretched out before me as I pulled my coat tighter around me. Just a few minutes to collect myself, and then I would have to get back to the wake.

Despite my best intentions, my feet were carrying me away before I could even process that we were leaving. The town hadn't changed much, and meandering through the narrow streets of old brick buildings brought a peace I didn't think I'd feel.

A feeling like coming home.