Sebastian
** You never know the value of a moment**
There's something about dressing in a tux.
The soft material clings in all the right places because it was made solely for you to move in.
The charcoal grey suits me, or so Bethany once said.
Memories flood, depicting a life entirely of me adorning such a suit at every avenue I stepped into.
My first tux was prom, year eleven. Ten whole years ago, when I was merely a sixteen-year-old boy that goofed around doing kid shit whilst hoping for the best with my grades. I had no plan, no desires, living each day as if it were my last.
My mates and I were already half wasted; we'd been drinking before our Hummer limo pick-up, of which we would accompany each other to collect the girls of our friend group in high school.
Back then, things were all fun and games.
The second time I wore a tux was my very first meeting with the big boys.
Luckily for me, I fell out of college into work as I started working for my father's company, and things were going smoothly.
My business degree enabled me to stand at the helm just under him, and the board accepted me as if that were where I was meant to be because of who my father was.
My life was planned, yet I still managed to have fun, fool around and get those weekends full of fun at least three times a month.
I was an idiot back then, living for weekends and whisky.
The third time I wore a tux was at my wedding.
I'd grown up a lot in the time after my father's stroke.
He needed me at the top whilst he took time to recover. And with responsibility came personal growth.
The personal growth that I'm most proud of.
Dressing that day almost felt exactly as I do today.
Dread sat in the base of my stomach, though then it wasn't for fear; it was with excitement of the life I had chosen, of the woman I would be waiting for as our new life was about to begin.
I was going to be standing at the end of a very short aisle, waiting for my beautiful bride to join me as we chose to come together in holy matrimony.
Traditionally, a man is supposed to face the priest, but I couldn't help but stand the opposite way, facing our guests, but more importantly, my impending wife.
I wanted to see Bethany walk towards me. I wanted to study her dress, hair and makeup, but most importantly, I wanted her to see my reaction.
To know that she was the most beautiful sight anyone could have dreamed of on their wedding day.
And she didn't disappoint.
Her lace dress clung to her every curve, her halo of curled brown hair fanning down her back.
Her barely-there makeup was enough to hint that it was there but not enough to take away from her natural beauty.
And though I'd seen her, and she was stepping up those three little steps with the help of her father, my eyes stayed out across the gathered guests.
I wanted to see everyone's reaction to the most beautiful bride that she was.
And again, she did not disappoint.
Bethany never did.
She looked stunning, beautiful, gorgeous.
And everyone looked precisely as I felt. In awe of her, amazed by her. And that brings us to today, the fourth time I've worn a fitted tux.
Bethany's funeral.
She shouldn't be dead; she shouldn't be lying cold in a casket right now, but here I stand looking at my reflection, knowing I'm going to be walking down the very aisle that led us to a happy marriage now, ending it by laying my wife to rest.
Til death do us part.
Who knew those promises would be adhered to so soon?
I've never been one for suits if I'm honest.
They... itch—.
"Dada," Melody's voice arouses me from my memories of tux-wearing as I fix my wedding cuff links to my sleeves.
My mother runs into the room right behind her, scooping her up to cradle her close.
She's two now, a little firecracker like her mother.
She'll soon become a strong, independent young lady and no doubt woman in the future... as long as I continue parenting her the way Bethany wanted.
I'm not sure how I'll match her parenting, and I'm almost certain I'll make mistakes, but it's just the two of us now, and that means I have no choice in the matter.
I'll have to learn, make myself better...
"I'm sorry, Seb. She runs like an athlete," my mother apologises with saddened features as she takes me in in my wedding tux.
I hadn't known which one to choose, but I thought it ought to be the one that brought us together as one, to depart us as two once more.
She's come all the way up from the south coast and has been here for the last three weeks since Bethany passed.
I'm not sure I could have done this sentence without her, but then again, the longer she stays, the more she helps out, and the less I'm doing, therefore leaving me susceptible to future failure.
"It's okay, mother. She's my child, and I am solely responsible for her now."
"You know Tina and I will be around," she states.
My mother-in-law had requested for Melody to go and live with her, but there was no way I was going to accept that type of long-term agreement between Tina and me.
And the same goes for my mother.
Melody belongs here, in our house, in her room.
With me, her father, even if I'm rendered next to useless in this crippling pain that consumes me most minutes of every hour, then so be it.
Melody reaches for me, and I take her willingly.
She's in a lace black dress, and her hair is up in pigtails that curl in one direction, that innocence of her later baby years still evident on her face.
She still has the dummy, and is only partially potty trained. Bethany was doing a great job with her, but I guess that's all left up to me now, and that scares me more than a room filled with suited men from the board at work.
I hold Melody close to my chest as she places her arms around my neck, and I move off away from the mirror that had captivated me, only to walk out of the room and downstairs with the intent that I had previously lacked. It seems I was procrastinating.
The car has been waiting for me for the last twenty minutes or so, and I know my father sent Mother up to collect me. And I also know she used Melody as an icebreaker.
Can I blame her?
No, no, I can't. After all, my moods have been less than perfect these last few weeks, especially regarding the planning of today, let alone actually attending the funeral of my late wife.
Anyway, it wouldn't do to be late, especially at the funeral of my beloved; after all, my father's all about appearances.
Now, you see, it's traditional to ride in a limo with the closest family members, but I've decided that Melody and I would do best riding in my car.
I don't want to be stuck in a packed-out black limo, and it was never Bethany's wish to arrange such things, but that's my father for you.
Exiting the house with Melody, I walk straight to our car, strapping her in at my father's dismay, who says nothing more on the matter despite having very high opinions on my choices.
We had already argued just an hour ago, and despite his angst, he has not won the argument and neither will he.
Things will be moving my way; after all, it is my wife's funeral that we are attending, and this is my choice.
The journey is one of the most silent journeys I've ever had. Melody has even adopted silence in the quiet realisation that today is a different kind of day.
I worry about how she's coping.
How do you explain to a two-year-old that their mother died?
How does that affect her and her brain?
She's undoubtedly missing her mother; her crying and clinginess are evidence of that.
I stare at her periodically in the rearview mirror, assessing her like a business rival.
She's sucking on her thumb, her small cuddle blanket with those satin loops hooked around her finger whilst she endlessly stares out of the window at the passing buildings that hold her attention for longer than usual.
I've imagined many times that I would find myself carpooling Melody, but never had I imagined carpooling her to her mother's funeral at such a young age.
But alas, this is our reality, and the journey has ended; I have delivered her to the final resting place of her mummy.
I pull into a parking spot, turning the engine off as I remain in my seat. The silence in the car causes a dramatic atmosphere as I think of all possibilities except the reality we've been thrust into.
But time is not on our side, my mother interrupting me for the second time today, her eyes already wet, my father's handkerchief rolled into a ball in her palm.
"It's time, Sebastian," she encourages much as she always has done, but this time it's different; it's needed. My soul calling to have my mother there to hold my hand one last time.
And that's precisely what she does; she holds my hand as I walk the three of us to the church doors, where our closest family awaits me.
My father, my brother, Bethany's parents and her brother and sister.
They all wait with depleted looks of depression as they stare at Bethany's lilac casket being removed from the hearse.
I can do nothing but look on in agony as I stare at my beloved last resting place, the very box she will be lowered into the ground forever more.
"Mummy?" Melody calls, pointing at the very box I've refused for her to visit her mother in. But it seems despite my constant need to protect her from the horrors of this situation; she seems to have gathered the obvious anyway.
"Yes, my darling. Mummy," I agree with a soft tone.
Tina starts to cry, her tears falling thick and fast, Geoff holding her to him like the pillar of strength he has always been.
Paul holds young Eloise to him as she, too, starts to sob. She's only sixteen, but a child going through grief for the first time. Paul's a little older, just hitting twenty-two, and though he wants to cry, you can tell he's holding his emotion in, much like his father.
And in contrast, my family and I stand stoically, our emotions buried deep inside, just as my father taught us. Mark struggles some, only being twenty, but even so, he's masking his upset with indifference, even if he does look angry.
I feel terribly sick, my stomach in knots as they call us forward to help hold her casket.
Both of our fathers, both of our brothers and then me and my best man, that funnily enough, surfaces from within the church at that precise moment as if called for.
Josh rides beside me, holding my shoulder as my mother takes Melody.
"You've got this, buddy," he tells me as the men around me start to filter forward.
Yeah, I've got this, but for how long for?
