The spring of 1928 would be the most heartbreaking of all the seasons in Atticus Finch's mind. He always looked forward to this time of year. Of course snow in Alabama was incredibly rare but one could still feel the bitter sting of winter. The South knew how to hide it better than in the northern states. The humidity at this time was apparant but not overbearing like it always has been in the summer months. The trees, the flowers, the whole landscape will bloom again while his wife wilted away to her death. A horribly ironic and sad paradox.
The twenty-eighth of May was the day of her services. Poor Jem went in there knowing that this was going to be the last time he was going to see his mother. He kissed his mother on the forhead and promised that he would be a good boy for Atticus. It made Atticus crumble inside at how his boy had to suffer this devastating matter at such a young age. Even more heartbreaking was that he was apparantly wise beyond his years. Bless the old souls for they are the ones who understand the heartache that the world has to offer, that's what Finch folk would say. This old family belief would pack a punch on this day.
Scout, however, was the same bubbly little girl she always was. She smiled at her mother and carried on in her own toddler language with her. Jem would try to stop her but Atticus would hold him back. He figured this was her time and if she was happy, then by golly let her be happy. She will have plenty of time to be sad later in life.
Atticus had a very hard time controlling his emotions and let a few tears roll down his face. He didn't want his children to see him cry but damnit, that was his wife in that casket. Her long blonde hair that had been brushed so delicatley, the soft makeup that only accentuated her natural beauty and her favorite pink party dress would one by one sting Atticus' heart like cactus needles. He noticed someone tugging at his pant leg and realized it was his equally, emotionally battered son.
"I's sorry, Atticus," his sad eyes filling with fresh tears. Atticus wasted no time picking up his boy and hugging him close to his chest. He was getting heavy but anything to comfort his only son. Life is too precious to not let these moments happen. While he was comforting him, he noticed Scout in the corner of his eye and watched her play with her mother's hair. Scout always loved to do that and it made Atticus smile.
That same night was as heavy as the day. Everyone was exhausted and ready for bed. They were tired from the tears, the townfolk who stopped by to pay their respects and their endless amounts of kindness and comfort. Atticus had allowed the children to sleep in his bed that night, which was most unusual. He just wanted to be close to his children right now because where would he be right now if it wasn't for them? What kind of excuse would he have to be stong and go on with his life? These children were his saving grace. They were all in this grieving process together, a process that would probably never end but he was sure as the world going to love them through it. In the middle of that long night, with Jem curled up next to his torso and Scout completely on his stomach, he looked at the moon and said a prayer. A simple prayer of love and gratitude for not only what he lost, but what he has.
Thank you, God, he whispers into the night, thank you for my children.