Though I may speak some tongue of old
Or even spit out some holy word
I have no strength from which to speak
When you sit me down, and see I'm weak

Two kilograms.

That was what a single human body had been reduced to. Every thought, every memory, every smile and laugh line, every straw-tinted hair, every crooked toe and gentle finger. Two kilograms.

Anna held the urn in her arms gently, as if she were cradling a baby. She stepped carefully over cracks in the uneven pavement as she picked her way aimlessly along the city streets, mindful that a stumble could spell disaster.

Her lips twisted upward unhumorously at this thought, as if anything could be more awful than watching your dear mother's own body feed upon itself until there was nothing left to sustain it. The cancer had moved swiftly, mercilessly, from her bones to her brain, within a few short months. It broke her spine first, then her spirit. In the end, she was a writhing spectre of pain, confused and pleading incoherently for relief. She damned her nurses, cursed God, and forgot her own daughter.

It was a horrible, horrible death. An unclean one.

Anna had no idea where she was going, really. She had intended on picking up her mother's remains from the funeral parlor, taking them home and placing them in the spot she'd set aside above the small fireplace in her living room, then going about the rest of her day. Perhaps she could go back to the office and get ahead of the mountain of paperwork that she was sure awaited her return. It was Saturday, so she likely wouldn't have to field any inquiries and sympathetic platitudes.

Instead, her feet carried her in the opposite direction from her home, past the park she used to bring her mother to in her wheelchair, when she still craved sunshine and had hair for the wind to blow. She drifted over the bridge where her father had died in a car accident over twenty years before, her fingers lightly drawing along the rough concrete pillar that still bore the scars, even now. Past the small run down old tea house where her mother had spilled hot tea all over a nervous graduate student cramming for his finals, which led to an exchange of phone numbers, a wedding, and two daughters.

When she realized her feet were beginning to hurt, she glanced skyward and sighed. She could hail a cab and head back toward her apartment again, if she were anywhere near the part of town where cabs frequented. Instead, she found herself in the older part of town, quiet and relatively deserted.

The twinge in her left foot had all the warnings of becoming a full-blown blister unless she got off her feet soon. She looked around for a bench but saw none. All of the small shops in the general vicinity seemed to be rolling up for the afternoon. She sighed and hefted the pretty blue urn in her arms…

And then the enormity of the situation became the heaviest thing in the world. Tears began gathering in her eyes and she blinked them back furiously. She felt her cheeks redden as she took a few calming breaths. Closing her eyes, she counted down from ten, a trick her father had taught her when she was young to control her anxiety. It would do her no good to have a panic attack right here in the middle of the street.

When she opened her eyes, she realized where her wandering had brought her. There, to her right, was the small parish her parents had married thirty-four years ago. Her fingernails tapped her mother's urn and she bit her lip.

Guess you wanted to see the old place again, Mum? she thought. She squinted her eyes to read the hand-painted sign out front.

Historic Downton Abbey

Est. 1374

Visitors Welcome & Encouraged

Open Daily - Sunday Services 9am

Reverend Howard Gantry

An older man in overalls opened the wooden gate that closed off the wall around the church for her as she approached. He tipped his cap, a bit of black paint from the brush he held dripping onto the old cobbles of the entry path. "Oh bother," he muttered. "Suppose you should watch where you're stepping, miss," he apologized. He watched her with interest as she stepped around the mess he was making.

Anna gave him a quick thanks and walked up the path to the front entrance. She pulled on one of the heavy wooden doors and slid inside the narrow opening, letting the door close gently behind her. Out of the bright sunlight and into the relative darkness of the open nave, it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust. Maybe a few moments of prayer would do her some good, even though she hadn't exactly had any conversations with God lately.

She took a few steadying breaths and made her way toward the altar at the front of the small church. There were a few other people there, sitting relatively far apart from each other in separate pews. An elderly couple holding hands, their eyes closed serenely. A little boy and his father, heads bowed silently in prayer. A middle aged man in the front pew, staring ahead at the stained glass windows that depicted the crucifixion, studying them intently.

She carefully set the urn down beside her as she knelt at the altar. The wood railing before her was smooth from countless hands that had caressed it for comfort and strength. She folded her hands together and bowed her head in silent prayer.

At her murmured "Amen," she lifted her eyes to the mural of a suffering Christ on the cross.

Life is suffering, her illogical brain offered her without asking.

The dam opened. Tears flooded her eyes and her shoulders folded inward, her body suddenly wracked with sobs. She slapped her hand to her mouth in embarrassment as she bit her lip to fight back the rest of her grief. She managed to pick up the porcelain urn and get to her feet quickly enough to get her out of the church, but not too fast as to make a scene. She walked swiftly back up the center aisle, ignoring the screaming of her feet in her high heels, and slammed the door open, dashing out into the bright sunlight.

She stopped and tried to compose herself, tried so very hard to stop the overwhelming sense of loss from consuming her, but grief won. She began to cry openly, with ugly sobs and heaving breaths. She braced her free hand against the stone railing beside the steps.

A gentle warmth caressed her shoulder and she became slowly aware that it was someone's hand. Admonishing herself for being so dramatic, she sniffled loudly and looked up to see another hand offering her a packet of disposable tissue.

"Thank you," she managed to choke out as she grabbed a wad of soft tissue from the cellophane wrapper.

"No trouble at all," a man's voice said quietly. "I always carry a pack for just such an occasion."

Anna smiled despite her grief and quickly wiped at her nose, which was currently running like a faucet. She blinked back tears and looked up at the man, whose face was obscured by the strong sun directly behind his shoulder. She almost snorted at the movie cliche, the halo around the head of her kind rescuer.

"You come across a lot of sad lots like me, do you?" she said hoarsely, dabbing at her tear stained cheeks. She shifted a bit to get the glare out of her eyes and see the stranger better.

The dark-haired man smiled gently and shoved his hands in his pockets. "From time to time," he replied, bending his head lower to talk to her. "I saw you crying inside and figured you'd need them." He was a bit older than her, she'd venture to guess ten years? Maybe fifteen? Kind eyes were lined with the sort of crinkles that came from smiling. He wore a black oxford shirt and grey trousers with serviceable shoes. His sleeves were rolled up a bit from the wrists, and dark hair peeked from under the fabric.

Anna nodded in thanks and offered the rest of the package back to him. He held up his hand and shook his head. "Keep it," he offered. "You many need more later." He glanced downward at the urn still clutched tightly in her left arm. "You've lost someone dear to you." It wasn't a question.

"My mother," Anna answered. She sniffled softly. "On Tuesday. Cancer."

The kind-eyed man grimaced and nodded in understanding. "Horrible disease. I hope it was peaceful."

She felt a flash of anger at his words and set her jaw. "That's the thing," she spat, though not at him. "It wasn't. It was nothing like the pamphlets and support groups say." Tears began falling anew and she made no effort to fight them this time. "Why did she have to suffer so much?"

The man gently turned her by her elbow and steered her to sit down on the steps of the church. He slid down beside her, a comfortable distance for a stranger, but close enough that they could talk somewhat intimately. He stuck one leg out straight in front of him and folded his hands on his other bent knee. He sighed heavily and looked upward. "I ask myself that same question every day. Why do we suffer? Why does this thing or that thing hurt so much? The physical, the mental, the emotional?" He spread his hands and screwed his face tightly. "One can say it's to know what good actually is, or to feel what it is to be human, or to teach us a lesson." He scratched at the back of his neck and grinned sheepishly. "It's all a load of cow manure, honestly."

Anna snorted and rolled her eyes. "You mean bullshit," she said.

He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "I wasn't going to put it in such bold terms, but yes. Everyone suffers differently. Everyone loves and loses in their own way. It changes us. For better or worse, but it's part of life. I can't offer much more than that without giving you an entire sermon, and I'm sure that's not what you came here for." He spread his hands helplessly. "Everything happens for a reason, good and bad. You learn from it, you grow from it, and you keep on going."

Anna wiped the rest of her tears, realizing she'd gone through the whole package of tissue. "Well," she said with a small smile. "You should be a motivational speaker, Mister…"

His eyes narrowed strangely, as if she'd somehow caught him off guard. "Bates," he said, extending his hand and taking hers in a warm grasp. "John Bates." He shifted a little on the step and smiled broadly. "I do a little motivational speaking, yes."

"You're not bad," Anna allowed him, earning a wider smile from him. "You're not that strange Tony Robbins fellow, but..."

He laughed openly and regarded her with his green eyes. "I'm not nearly as tall. And I've told you my name, so…"

Anna shook her head to clear the bit of fog that had settled in it. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "And before you say nice to meet you, sorry like my Papa used to, my name is Anna Smith."

"Well, I'm certainly pleased to meet you, Anna Smith," John said. "Are you a member of this church?"

"No, but my parents were married here. It's a lovely old place. Very inviting."

He nodded in agreement. "That it is. If you were looking for someplace on Sunday, it's a nice group of people. Not old and stodgy like your grandparents' church probably was in its day. Perhaps you could join us the day after tomorrow? If you're feeling up to it, of course."

She considered him and what seemed to be just a friendly invitation to an Sunday service. It had been years since she'd been to church and the sudden feeling of calmness that washed over her at the memories of going with her family made the decision for her. Not to mention, the appraising look that John Bates was currently giving her, part friendly and formal and part...something else? There was a slight heat behind his eyes that intrigued her, a darkening of his expression that she found attractive. She glanced quickly at his left hand, noticing no ring and no indentation of where one should have been.

"A motivational speaker and salesman. Perhaps I've been persuaded, Mister Bates," she said, drawing the long vowel of his last name out slightly.

His eyes lit up and he grinned again, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. "Wonderful. See you Sunday morning?"

Anna turned on her heel and tossed a smile back over her shoulder. "I actually look forward to it. Thank you ever so much." She took two steps and remembered she had wanted a cab earlier. "Oh, can you tell me where I can hail a cab?"

He frowned and pointed down the street. "Actually, I think there's a dispatch two streets over? I'm actually sort of new in town, but I'm fairly certain there's one just over there. I think it's called Branson's or something like it."

"Thanks again, Mister Bates."

"John," he corrected her.

"John," Anna replied with a raised brow and a toothy grin as he waved from the steps of the church. "Goodbye." She felt his eyes boring into her back as she left the courtyard.

What just happened? she thought in amusement. She glanced down at the urn, which she knew didn't contain her mother's soul or spirit, and thanked her nonetheless.