I just walked through a tornado... and survived.

As everyone knows, tornado's are destructive and devastating. They rip life up by the roots and twist debris around until it's just a jumbled mess of garbage. And yet, I just survived that. Because that's how I always imagined a funeral to be. I imagined stepping up to the casket and having my heart—the very part of me that pumps life through my veins—suddenly ripped out of my chest. I imagined the structured pillars that keep my existence standing firm to suddenly end up as a heap of twisted decay inside my chest. I imagined myself to end up a mess of destruction and devastation.

But that's not what happened.

Instead, I find myself smiling and joking with loved ones as they come to offer their condolences. I find myself genuinely celebrating the life that my mother had lived. I find myself seeing all the good that she did and the powerful influence she had on, not just my life, but on hundreds of lives. I never even realized that she knew so many people, but as friends and strangers share their stories and memories about my mother, I find pride swelling beneath my chest.

She's a legend.

She has touched lives in such a magnificent way that I have no doubt she'll be remembered lifetimes from now. Her quirkiness and courage are admirable. She was never afraid to help someone out. She'd go out of her way to lend a listening ear, or to offer words of wisdom.

I'm sitting in the front row as people make their way to the microphone to share what my mother meant to them, and the only thing I can think about is how extraordinary of a woman my mother was. I always knew she was incredible, but I never realized just how far out her integrity extended. She was real and genuine, and honest.

She didn't have to cry with you for you to understand that she sympathized. You could see it in her eyes. She didn't pity people, but she always had the right words to snap someone out of their gloom, and she did it without being harsh or belittling. That takes practice and skill for most, but I believe those things came naturally to her. She was a people person in every sense of the word. She loved being with people, and she loved helping them find their importance.

Tears slide silently down my cheek as I watch pictures of her flash across the projector screen. Music filled with hope and promise drowns out any possibility of doubt. The world is a dangerous, scary place, but I don't have to ever worry about my mother ever again. I don't have to fear if she's okay or not, because she's now in the safest place known to man.

I'm suddenly hit with a startling realization as I watch the photos switch from my mother's younger days to ones taken just weeks ago. I realize that I'm not afraid of death. I, by no means, want to die—I'm still happy to live my life—but for the first time in my entire existence, I know for a fact that I'm not afraid to take my last breath. I'm not scared about what will happen to me in the afterlife. I'm not afraid to say goodbye and leave this world. Because I now have someone waiting for me on the other side. And this thought gives me comfort.

It's this comfort that gets me through the funeral.

Even as I watch my mother's body being lowered into the ground, I don't cry. I just stand off to the side, my heart aching with the loss. But it's this aching that alerts me to the fact that I survived this horrific moment in time. This pain makes it clear that I'm still here—my heart is beating, my blood is pumping, my brain is clicking.

My mother's passing didn't kill me.

I feel something slide over my shoulder and I glance up and to my right to find Seth beside me, one arm looped around my back as he tugs me into his side. I'm not in the mood for physical contact. I'm not in the mood to be consoled or pitied. I don't want anyone's sympathy. And yet, I don't move because I've decided I'm done.

I'm done trying so hard to fix something that I have no control over. I can't pressure Seth into loving me—even though Hope claims he already does. I can't change his mind or sway his heart. All I can do is be myself. All I can do is respect him, love him, and wait.

My mother's death has taught me that I'm powerless. When it's time, not even I have the ability to prevent an event from taking place. I can't save a life, or a marriage, or a soul. I don't have the gift of persuasion that will pull Seth to my side and lock him into loving me. I wouldn't want that anyway. I don't want to have to convince him to give me his heart. I don't want to have to lure him in with promises and kisses. I want him to see me—really see me—and make the decision to stay all on his own.

Which is why I don't move. As badly as I want to run away and hide from all the pitying glances and tender touches, I don't. Because, while this moment in my life is emotional torture, I've still got the common sense not to screw up my marriage more than I already have. So I remain tucked into Seth's side as I wait for this day to be over.

I see Emma, Trevor, Shon, Steve, and several other familiar faces in the crowd, but other than a tight smile in their direction, I don't offer any other acknowledgment. I just remain frozen beside Seth, scared that if I move I will crack. And once I crack I don't think I'll stop draining. I'm just hoping I can conceal my brokenness until I get home. But I can't...

My eyes spot my mother's photo standing on an easel just next to her grave. It's like an out-of-body experience. That's not supposed to be her face in that picture. This should be someone else's funeral. I should just be an attendee. I should be the one offering awkward apologies and stiff conversation in an attempt to make the miserable souls feel better. But, I'm not. Instead, I am the miserable soul.

Once the ceremony is complete, people slowly disperse, flicking pitiful glances at me and my family. I return their looks with a smile and a small wave, mostly pleased to see them go. I'm ready to be done with all this. I just want to go home and weep into my pillow. But, before I can do that, someone's tapping my shoulder.

I turn around, ready to greet another old friend of my mother's, but instead, I come face-to-face with Emma. She's not looking at me with regret in her eyes though. Instead, all I see is sorrow. She loved my mom too, and I'm realizing with every passing day that my family and I are not the only ones who lost someone special to us. Everyone that was here today is hurting, and I need to remember that I'm not the only one with a broken heart.

We don't need to speak because everything that needs to be said is visible on our faces. I just stand there; my lips lifting into a smile that I don't feel like giving, my arms reaching for a hug that I don't feel like offering, and my eyes filling with tears that I don't feel like shedding.

Before Emma's arms can fully wrap around me, we're both trembling as grief makes itself known once more. It reminds me of a fountain, the water just being recycled back through constantly. Will this ever end? Am I just going to be crying and broken for the rest of my life?

"I know you're probably sick of hearing this," Emma starts to say as we pull away from each other, both of us wiping at our damp eyes, "but, if you want to talk, or gorge on beef jerky, or cry... just let me know. I'll be over in a heartbeat."

I just nod, not able to push any sound past my swollen throat.

"Also," she says, lifting a finger towards me and pointing it at my chest. "I expect you to answer my calls in the future."

I can't help but chuckle softly at her serious tone. She'd been calling me almost none stop over the past two days, and I'd ignored every one of them. I knew that if I heard her voice then I'd have to relive everything all over again. I wasn't in the mood to spill my emotions or listen to her mumble 'I'm so sorry' over and over in my ear. So, to prevent that from happening, I'd ignored calls from everyone I knew—including Shon and Steve.

After another quick hug, Emma bids me farewell and I turn, expecting to crash straight into Shonice, but she's nowhere in sight. While I'm half grateful that everyone seems to be gone now, I'm also offended that she ditched me on the worst day of my life. And then my phone chimes from inside my bra. I grab it out, curious as to who would feel the need to text me when everyone I've ever known was physically with me just minutes ago.

I smile when I see who the message is from...

I know how it feels to lose someone special, so I'm going to give you the distance that I'm guessing you're craving. But, the moment I get wind that you're doing better, you need to be prepared cuz I'll be over at your place with a duffle bag full of liquor and potato chips before you can even lock your front door.

You've got plenty of people here for you in the now... I'll be here for you in the later.

I love you, girly. And trust me, you're going to be fine. Just let time do what it does best... move forward. And I promise you'll eventually start moving forward with it.

Shon.

I smile, tucking my phone back into place as I begin walking towards Seth's truck. Everyone seems to be on the same page because I can feel the rest of my family following behind. We're all too exhausted to talk, but I'm more than okay with the silence. In fact, I think I need it.

The drive home is calm even with the emotional turmoil rattling behind my chest. I don't feel the need to cry right now. I'm content just to sit and let my mind wander. Seth is quiet beside me and I can't help but wonder what's going on in his head, but even when I glance his way, he doesn't tear his eyes from the road. I watch his jaw tick and I wonder if he's trying to hold back a tidal wave of his own grief.

Hoping to break through and improve his mood, I graze my fingers over the knuckles of his right hand where it sits stiffly on the gear shift. His eyes instantly dart to my hand on his, and then he lifts his gaze to meet mine, his brows dipped in question.

"How are you doing?" I ask softly.

His expression changes subtly into one of disbelief—as if he can't believe I'm asking something so ridiculous. Clearly, he doesn't feel like he has the right to mourn.

"I know how close you were to my mother," I expound. "I'm not the only one hurting here."

His eyes shift back to the road, but his brows relax as he considers my words. My hand is still resting on top of his, but when he suddenly turns his hand over and slips his fingers between my own, I feel my breath catch. His thumb slides over the skin near my wrist and I just watch, wondering why I can't see the fire that his touch is producing. How does he still affect me so dramatically after all this time?

"Yeah, I'm alright," he mutters after several beats of silence and then changes his mind. "I will be."

He turns his head towards me and offers a quick smile before focusing back on the road. As we approach our street he shakes his fingers from my grip and reaches to shift into second gear. I pull my hand back into my lap, instantly missing the heat that he'd generated against my palm. My eyes slide to peer out the window, glimpsing our small home just a few blocks ahead, and that's when I feel Seth's fingers slip down my arm again and into my palm. I shoot him a surprised glance, but he's not looking at me.

There's something about losing my mother that has changed the air between Seth and me. We're no longer suffocating ourselves in this blanket of tension. Instead, we're just relaxed. There's still no intimacy, and we haven't had a chance to really talk since that night at the cabin, but something is different.

That doesn't change the fact that we still have problems. We've got many things to discuss. But I can't stop wondering how things got so bad.

And, once I can function again without my heart exploding in grief, I plan on asking Seth the most important question that I can think to ask.

Can all this damage be reversed?