There was no coffin. Her body had been too mangled; so little left to identify her with. The key signs had been the pieces of jewelry she wore. These were not facts that Ruby Flickwick wanted to know about her mother’s demise - but they were facts she knew nonetheless. As the eldest daughter she was put in charge of the family’s transition through grief. No, that wasn’t true, Nan took care of their souls; Ruby did the grunt work. Ruby read the condolence cards, Ruby picked out the flower arrangements when it became obvious Duncan was too beside himself to fathom putting together a memorial. She had done it in two days. Now sitting in the first row watching as the family Priest blessed what remained of her mother, Ruby remembered the other times they had been in this church. She remembered receiving her first communion here - how itchy the lace on her dress had been at the neck. She remembered her own Quinceañera and then last year sitting through Sophie’s. She remembered the way her mother had puffed up with pride. She remembered the eloquent speeches given by Ramona - about the importance of being open and loving to the universe.

The building felt too small to contain the smattering of ministry workers, her father’s family, her mother’s family, the sounds of her Tia and Abuela wailing. There was not enough room between the Earth and the sky to contain her anguish - no matter what Professor Trishna said. The ocean was not deep enough to express true depth of her grief. She was stoic in the face of Sophie’s hysterics. The fifteen year old was literally curled in their brother’s lap sobbing into his shoulder. If she weren’t crying she walked around in a daze. She hardly spoke, Nan had spoon fed her the night before. It was safe to say that perhaps Sophie had completely lost her mind. Ruby was not good at vocalizing her pain. She worked it out into tiny details - the flowers attached to every end of the pews; the details down to the lettering of the funeral programs and prayer cards. She agonized over every possible picture to place above the lilies and orchids in place of a coffin. She wrote and rewrote the speech she wanted to give.

When she found comfort no where else she would sit in the kitchen - the former center of the household was eerily quiet. There she could remember, she could think. It was such a cliché; the idea of “if I’d only known then”. What if she had known then? What would it change? Would she have loved her mother more? Pushed herself harder to please her? None of that seemed physically possible to Ruby from where she sat. She had only broken composure once - when they had told her there was not….enough body left to recognize, let alone piece back together for an open casket. It was not a fact she had shared with her siblings. She did not think it was a fair thing for any of them to know; but if one had to carry that harsh knowledge it was better it was her. She had, however, burst from the funeral home and thrown up outside in their very lovely shrubbery. She had felt like her heart was stopping, the world was stopping, her life was stopping. The selfish part of her wanted to trade places with her mother.

She could not stand being on this side of the grief. As the Priest drew to a close he looked at Ruby. Catholic Priests who were also Wizards were hard to come by so Father Donahue also happened to be a close family friend. He had baptized all of the Flickwick babies; even Duncan when he was first born. Father Donahue was obviously quite old - but he carried himself with an air of dignity and heart that endeared him to Ruby. Hearing his voice catch as he introduced her - Ruby felt a kindred spirit between them; the people who did what they had to do in the face of overwhelming pain. When she stood beside him she bowed her head as he made the sign of the cross over her… she felt her stomach tighten and the light hold she held on her feeble lunch got loose enough to almost let go. She swallowed it back hard and looked out into the sea of familiar faces but only allowed herself to for a moment before focusing on the furthest wall and for a moment just took deep breaths.

“First, I would like to express for my family our undying thanks to those of you in attendance today. Looking out at this sea of familiar faces I am reminded of just how lovely and loved my mother is,” she folded her hands in front of her and took a deep breath, “As I was getting dressed this morning - trying to decide what height of heel was most appropriate for one to wear to their mother’s funeral I realized there is no answer to that question when you are seventeen years old. And then with a broken heart realized the person I would have asked is no longer with us,” her smile was frail but she managed, flicking away the tear gathered in the corner of her eye. “My mother loved weddings; but she hated funerals. She hated them not because it meant we were honoring the dearly departed - but that the sadness of it somehow conveyed the idea that we did not appreciate the lost ones while they were living,” she paused again looking directly at her family for once, making herself aware of the mess they had become.

“As the daughter most like her - in all of the best and worst ways; I share this sentiment. I would like to believe that Ramona Flickwick; wife, mother, and pain in the Ministry’s ass knew she was loved the night she died. It is one of the few comforting ideas that I have been able to come upon in the days since her attack. If she were standing before you now - well first of all it would be a bit of a shock, secondly her hair would be much bigger than mine, and thirdly I believe she would only want you to hold onto one idea,” she paused to take a deep breath, slender fingers wrapping around the podium and she tried to remember her posture but was feeling closer and closer to the moment she would cave in upon herself, “The most we can do in life is love one another as much as possible for as long as possible - and it shouldn’t take a death, holiday, or a lot of liquor to get you to admit that; to hold onto that idea with both hands. My mother was both wise and infuriating; she made you love her and then she made you crazy,” the slender teenager gave a teary sniff and shook her head.

“The women on both sides of our family are known for being strong, bullheaded even… and my mother was no exception; but if there was ever a moment I felt like I might break from all of the pushing, she was there to remind me that if she pushed she did so out of love; out of the belief that we could and should do as much with ourselves and our time on Earth as  humanly possible,” looking at the portrait of her mother she took a deep breath and pressed her finger tips to her lips; “I will spend the rest of my life hoping I make her proud; hoping that I honor her memory… and I hope that in some way our tragic loss at least reminds you that the one thing my mum believed in more than anything else in the world was that loving with all of yourself was the only way to live. If you do nothing else…hold onto that idea, because the only thing we can ever hope to do perfectly in our imperfect lives with our imperfect hearts is to live each day as though it has a purpose and love the same way,” She gave a small bow of her head, tacked on a thank you before she swiftly made her exit. She couldn’t stand there another minute mourning. She felt as though her heart were coming out of her chest.