On the third day of Mama’s death the doctor took Alex and myself out to our big tree out back. Two shovels propped against the tree, and he pointed at them, then the ground. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what to do.
I step forwards, Alex following me. He hasn’t spoken more than necessary, and even then his words are muttered, sentences as short as he could get them.
We dig a hole for Mama’s grave for well over an hour. My hands are blistered and bleeding, and my back and shoulders ached with every move. Alex labored on, almost as if the physical pain took his mind off the pain inside his heart.
The doctor came outside after two hours, and said it was deep enough. He looked at our hands, and grimaced. He took us inside and took care of our hands. Mary watched on, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together.
Then, with our hands wrapped in torn bed sheets the doctor showed us the coffin he had gotten. He dressed Mama for us, got her cleaned up and laid her in it. Allie picked some wildflowers and he pressed them into her hands across her chest.
We lowered the coffin into the ground, and I took a shovel, throwing the dirt on top. Jenny threw some flowers atop the coffin, then grabbled handfuls of dirt and helped me. Willie took the other shovel and helped. Allie took Jenny and held her close.
After the casket was fully covered, Alex placed a cross he made at the top, and we all threw some flowers on it. I looked up at the sky. It was overcast, looked like rain. As if God was about to release His tears with us.
The doctor spoke a little, prayed and then that’s when the tears came. After he quieted down, that is. Allie leaned on Alex and cried. Poor Alex. You could see the struggle on his face as he tried not to cry, but he couldn’t stop it. The salty tears spilled down his cheeks. Jenny held onto Mary, and they cried together.