It was a beautiful service; traditional and concise, no fanfare or grandeur, just how Tom would have wanted it to be. Perry, though not a terribly skilled organist, had put hours into practicing a variety of basic hymns, remembering Tom's fondness for the instrument and how some nights he and Mira would spend hours at the pipe organ's bench, paging through the hymnal and taking turns offering up their praise to the Harvest Goddess through music.
Many of the townsfolk remained on the church grounds afterwards, waiting to speak with Mira one-on-one and again extend their condolences and support.
Gill was not one of them. He remained in the church, in rear pew, sitting in the same position that he had been for the past fifteen minutes, leaning forward with his hands on his knees and staring vacantly down at his perfectly polished patent-leather shoes.
When he hadn't joined the file of villagers making their way outside, Father had quite pointedly told Gill that he best come along now. To which Gill responded, head hanging the same way it was now, that he simply did not want to be here. He didn't see Father's reaction (and Father was nowhere near predictable enough for Gill to just assume it) before being left to his lonesome, and quite frankly, he did not care.
Of course he didn't want to be here. Not that anyone truly wanted to attend a memorial service, given the circumstances that would need to proceed it, but the rest of the villagers had gone above and beyond to see to it that this would aid Mira in piecing her shattered life back together. This was to celebrate Tom's life, not mourn his death.
Yes, the intentions were the very best, but there was a reason they were called "intentions": because they rarely agreed with what the reality was. And what the reality was, was that no amount of cherished memories would bring Tom back.
He remembered the same thing had been done for his mother. Well, he didn't really remember anything about the service; he'd been in such disbelief, even at seven years old, that he did not attempt to accept it was really happening. What he did remember was the priest at the time telling him that this service would be a way to carry his mother's spirit with him forever, a distinct memory to use to persevere through the days ahead when he and his father would find themselves encumbered with grief.
That was a crock of lies if he'd ever heard one. While it certainly couldn't have done a thing for him, in all his inattentiveness, it did even less for Father.
Oh, he'd accepted the hugs, the heartfelt "I'm so sorry, Hamilton"s and "Whatever you need, we'll be here for you and Gill"s, and all the pies and pastries (clearly, nothing alleviated one's sorrow the way desserts could) with the dignity that was to be expected from a mayor, the husband of a woman who exemplified poise and generosity. But it was simply because he'd become such a mindless shell of a person, that he was only going through the motions.
It was days later, at the funeral, that the barrier of disbelief was penetrated by the actuality of his mother lying in repose before him, pristine and angelic as she'd been in life. The brave smiles he and Father had sported so well (the same one that Mira currently wore) fell away and he'd bawled like the wretched, weak little boy he knew he shouldn't be, not in front of Mother, but he couldn't stop himself. He'd even made a move to reach out and touch her one last time, only to have Father calmly draw him away and envelop him in a hug. Gill could feel Father's chest heaving, as tears splished into his finely-combed hair.
"I-I've lost her," Father murmured over and over. "I've l-lost everything..."
That hadn't been the worst part, as purely devastating as it was. No, the worst part was the other townsfolk so dutifully reminding Gill how much he resembled his mother, how they were just so much alike, how he was a spitting image of her. Oh, he understood they only meant it in the most complimentary way, but what did they really know?
He really wasn't like her. Yes, physically he took after her (and not Father, thank Goddess), but in his opinion, that was where the similarities ended.
Gill rubbed at his eyes, which were now stinging with the effort of forcing back tears, and finally lifted his head. Nondescript voices could be heard outside the two open church doors, far away enough that he couldn't decipher exactly what condolences were being whispered to Mira, what cliché phrases were sandwiched between the comforting hugs.
That was the difference. Mother would have not been sitting here away from it all, like he was. She would have been the last person to leave Mira's side and known exactly what to say, or what not to say, none of this nonsense that was spouted off only because it was "what seemed like the right thing to say". She was so gifted, with her intuition, her ability to understand people as the person they were down to the most minute detail.
Gill had never quite mastered empathy by any stretch; if anything it was the opposite. None of his peers' trivial problems could possibly compare to what he'd gone through, and he was anything but sympathetic to hearing about their daily troubles: humidity-induced frizzy hair (Julius) or a blouse that was torn beyond repair (Luna) or the fish that got away (Toby). Their plights, while inconvenient to be sure, were nothing he could bring himself to invest in.
No wonder Father was always so disappointed in him. He was gullible and still broken enough to believe it every time he heard the line about how much he, Gill, had taken after Mother. No wonder all his attempts to cheer Father up only went for naught at the best, and at the worse, sent him into a deeper depression because he just wasn't the same as Mother at all.
The Autumn air swirled around him as he stood in the doorway of the church, watching as Jake and Colleen and Yolanda disappeared into the horizon, down the path back into Harmonica Town. Only his Father and Mira were left, Mira's trembling hand blotting at her eyes with Father's handkerchief while he patted her arm. Perhaps reality was setting in faster in for her than it had for him and Father.
That was when his heart clenched. Mira and Tom had been married for at least twenty years, he knew that much. He couldn't even fathom if he'd lost Mother at this age, instead of when he was a child, the amount of anguish he'd be crushed under. No, he didn't possess the boundless compassion Mother did but this wasn't damaged clothing or unruly hair.
He would go up there, tell her he was very sorry for her loss, and though it was the single most overused phrase he could possibly say, to not say anything at all...he couldn't face himself if he didn't.
Her eyes were dull when he approached her. Not unkind but void of the gentle warmth that had once so freely surrounded her.
"Mira, I..." Gill started, then abruptly stopped. She and Father waited expectantly as he stood there with his mouth parted like a goldfish.
He was intelligent, more than articulate enough to form some sort of profound sentence that would leave her feeling as if the burden of losing her beloved would soon be lifted from her soul.
But that would be a lie.
So he had no choice, and the only words he could think of that felt right fell from his lips as he tentatively stepped closer, and gently hugged her. "I...know."
Mira buried her face in his shoulder, weeping, her shawl fluttering to the ground as her slender arms circled around his back. Gill swallowed down the lump of sudden emotion that had risen in his throat, and his gaze panned to his father, who stood a few feet away.
Father was smiling. It was faint, but it was real, and his eyes shone with pride, respect, and the genuine affection he hadn't seen since Mother passed.
Sorry about the delete & repost, I was just so unsatisfied with the ending. I didn't want to make it too happy or resolved since Gill ends up leaving before the start of AP, but I wanted there to be at least some sense of...ends being tied together. Anyway, I had this idea for a while, after reading Gill's story from the official Japanese Animal Parade site (I can send anyone a link to the English translation of it, if they're interested). I'd like to write more Gill stuff in the future, so an honest opinion would be nice; this is my first time really writing him.