“….. may she rest in peace,” yelled the undertaker as he hurled my sister’s corpse into the grave.

My throat closed as ugly sobs threatened to burst through my pursed lips. I can do this. Just a few minutes and I can cry my heart out, alone for the first time in days.

My grandparents walked away, high and mighty as always with their matching Lululemon and Air Force 1s. They glared at me, acting as though I was the reason she fell off a chandelier and had to go to the hospital, where she was accidentally given a C-Section due to a mixup of patients.

The second they left my line of sight, I fell to my knees. Sobs racked my body as I let my emotions free. Millions of needles poked at my body and salty tears dried out my throat. Everything feels wrong and broken without her. I feel wrong and broken without her.

I sobbed next to the grave until my tears ran dry. I wiped my face with my sleeve and stood up, brushing the grave dirt off my pants. I took a deep breath preparing to face the rest of my life alone, and just as I was about to walk off, I got hit in the face with a handful of mud.

“What the fuck,” I croaked, disoriented from my crying. Confusion dripped through my body seeing the figure in front of me, then I started crying again. But this time, they were good tears. Amazing tears.

The dark coils of hair, the warm chocolate eyes, the faded jeans and red tank top. My sister. My sweet, amazing sister. I ran to her and tackle hugged her.

“What are you doing, girl? Tackling an old man! The nerve you younguns’ have these days,” my sister grumbled. Except it wasn’t her. It was the old gravedigger, who had some strange fashion choices.

He pushed me away, and I ran. As far as my legs would take me. That was the last time I ever saw my sister’s face. My grandparents burned all the pictures of her afterward. I will never get to see that sweet angel’s face again until I join her.

Which may be quite soon. Or it may be many years from now. Death does not discriminate. It will come for me eventually.