Chapter 34

Chapter

Thirty-Four

"Death ends a life, not a relationship."

― Mitch Albom

Sofiya

Many, many years ago.

Father Pasha stood solemnly at the church pulpit, dressed in his traditional black cassock with a white stole. Around his neck hung a large gold cross, glinting softly in the candlelight as he began his sermon at my papa's funeral.

"My dear friends, today we gather in solemn remembrance of our dearly departed, Vladimir Melov," Father Pasha's voice resonated gently through the hushed church.

He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning us, before continuing.

"In the face of death, we confront the fragility of life. It is a reminder that our earthly journey is transient, like a fleeting whisper in the wind, here one moment and gone the next."

Adjusting the folds of his cassock, Father Pasha continued, "Vladimir's passing reminds us of our own mortality, a reality we often shy away from but must confront with courage and faith. Death, though a parting from this earthly realm, is not the end but a passage to the eternal presence of our Creator."

I sighed slowly, my hands trembling as tears welled up in my eyes.

"Vladimir lived a life that touched many hearts and minds," Father Pasha whispered. "His laughter, his wisdom, and his presence enriched our lives and left an indelible mark upon us."

Mama cried beside me, a handkerchief over her mouth, her eyes fixed on papa's coffin.

As he spoke, Father Pasha's eyes glinted with compassion, his gaze moving from me to my mama.

"As we mourn his physical absence," he said softly, "let us also celebrate the legacy he leaves behind—the memories shared, the lessons learned, and the love that bound us together."

I sniffled and wiped away the tears streaming down my face.

"Vladimir's journey on earth may have ended," he said quietly, "but his spirit lives on in the lives he touched and the hearts he warmed."

As we got up, hand in hand with my mama, we walked solemnly to his coffin.

Together, we approached, the scent of incense lingering in the air.

Dasha trailed behind us quietly.

With heavy hearts, we made the sign of the cross over papa's resting place, a final goodbye .

We turned away from the coffin and made our way outside.

As we drove back home, everything was quiet in the car.

Mama parked and went straight to her room without saying a word.

Dasha held my hand and brought me to the living room.

It felt like the house was holding its breath.

She sat with me on the couch and said softly, "I know it hurts, Sofiya. But we're here together, okay? We'll be okay."

I nodded, wiping a tear from my cheek.

Dasha squeezed my hand gently.

"I'll bake you something sweet," she said, then disappeared into the kitchen.

I sat there for a while, just thinking about Papa.

The house felt different now that he was gone.

I could hear Mama crying from upstairs, and my heart shattered into pieces.

I, too, couldn't hold back the tears as I walked numbly to the kitchen.

Dasha managed a small smile, her apron tied tightly around her waist as she reached out to smooth my hair.

"Do you think Papa is eating clouds that taste like strawberries and drinking lakes that taste like vanilla ice cream in paradise?"

Confusion flickered across Dasha's face as she gently caressed my cheek.

"Papa once said that one day we'll all be together in paradise," I choked out. "I want to go now, Dasha. P-Please, I need to be with m-my Papa," I managed to say before uncontrollable sobs overtook me.

Dasha knelt down beside me, her eyes soft.

She gently held my face in her hands and planted a kiss on my forehead.

"You're six years old, Sofiya," she murmured. "You're too young to join your Papa. But I promise you, one day you'll see him again."

As Dasha held me close as her promise lingered in the air.

But inside, I couldn't shake the ache in my heart, the yearning to be with Papa getting stronger by the second.

Could she really mean it?

Would I ever get to see my Papa again?