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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.
