The Second Stage of Grief
A/N: Hello everyone! Long time no speak~ Well, I thought I'd drop in to – for once – properly introduce this little piece. It was a challenge given to me by Kuneko with the simple premise "Rick, Popuri and Rod (Lillia's funeral)" before spinning out from there. I thought that, rather than explore this sad topic in a straightforward way, I'd look at what the impact this event might have, coupled with a (belated) Rod return, on Popuri. Given that my grandfather died recently, I tried drawing a bit on that experience; primarily, in how grief can sometimes be redirected into different emotions. Though my experience wasn't like this, I thought it might be relatable for some people. Anyway, I hope you're all doing well and thanks for reading!
Rick was a mess.
Rod was defeated.
Popuri was angry.
Lillia was dead.
The three members of the almost-family stood in front of the open casket, the sun at their backs signaling the start of the funeral's third day. Rod had arrived the night before, dusty from the road, at their doorstep. Standing, pale and blank-faced, before his dead wife, he seemed more ghost now than he had ever been. As if he were the one who had passed and had returned to look over his own funerary services.
Popuri wished that was the case.
While Rick sniffled by his father's side, neatly groomed appearance coming undone through grief, his sister could tell that he drew strength from the older man. Lillia had always mentioned how similar they were – whether in stubbornness or diligence – and Popuri could now see the resemblance. Haggard expressions and sunken eyes peered from below straw-colored, straight hair, with thin frames swamped in unfamiliar formal attire.
Popuri hated the resemblance. She despised it. Rick was ten-times the person her father was. Her father couldn't hold a candle to Rick's dedication and love for his family. Nothing could replace the fact that he'd been there.
The smell of lilacs and pink cat flowers permeated the room, masking the smell of death. Facing the ceiling above the coffin, Popuri saw the flash of curled pink hair out of the corner of her eye.
Mommy. Tears came unbidden, but Popuri smothered them. She was too angry to grieve.
Her father had promised he would save her. Since the last time she had seen him, as a nine year old on her front porch, waving goodbye as she clutched her mother's skirts, she'd believed he'd be able to do it. Even as she saw her mother wasting away in the county's regional hospital, body thin and connected to all manners of machines, she'd believed. She'd prayed and waited for his return, even as her brother yelled that he wasn't coming back.
Oh, he'd come back all right, but too late and too empty-handed.
The girl wasn't sure what to do with all her anger. The sense of betrayal ran deep, though she couldn't fathom why. Rick had been able to make amends with their father, even if he was shocked at his resurfacing. They'd hugged when he'd shown up, seeking comfort in the familiar. Popuri, who had once run into her daddy's arms when he was away for a few hours, had brushed past to go see Karen when he'd opened his arms invitingly.
He wasn't her home anymore. He wasn't her promise of a better future. He wasn't an assurance that everything would be alright.
Having let her eyes drift between the two men at her side, Popuri finally let her thoughts drift as well. Memories of her mother, of her final moments, left her shaking. It had been a week since her life had fallen to pieces, shattering her young heart and she felt like a throbbing wound. She ached and hurt all over, and couldn't contain her emotions. From tears one minute, to praying for it to be a dream the next, and ending off with anger, her emotions were unpredictable. And no amount of warm hugs from her father would fix that.
"Ready to go, kids? It's time for round three," Rod tried to speak encouragingly, putting a comforting hand on their shoulders. Rick nodded despondently, before shooting his father a wobbly smile. Popuri had hated how sports-like he made it sound. She hated how encouraging he was trying to be, when he didn't understand. Having all he needed, Rod continued, "We'll be by ourselves soon. Just hang in there."
They moved away from the coffin slowly, Popuri still unable to properly look at the woman inside.
Her mother was dead, her father was back, and nothing was as it should be.