House of Frank

by Kay Synclaire

I weep at your bedside, clinging to you. For as long as I live, Fi, I will never let you go.

“It’s never an easy journey to lay someone to rest. I fully understand, Miss Saika.”

“On the contrary, I can’t offer very much. But what I can offer is a safe place to stay when you have nowhere else to go.

“We are born from the earth, and in death, we become it. It’s not all that peculiar, love.”

It’s a lovely sentiment, but it dredges up the image of you on your deathbed,

Don’t scatter me in the wind to be forgotten. I want to be planted. I want to become something beautiful.

I step into the world where you once existed with an assurance that⁠—yes, you are gone, you are no longer here, but oh, how good life felt when you were. You once existed. And those moments with you still exist.

“Young. Old. We all experience life whether we’ve had lots of it or very little.”

“My baking skills aren’t as good as Evette’s, but when it boils down, it’s all science and a bit of magic.”

I break down into a sob. My heart is so wet and heavy, it feels like I can’t breathe.

“She was a major part of you. Letting go of her would mean letting go of a piece of yourself.”

“Sometimes I speak to her. It’s like she’s here. A part of me.”

“In any case, grief has peculiar effects on us all.”

“Do you believe we are all born equal?” “I think the altruistic answer would be that we are. But we know life is quite unkind sometimes, isn’t it?”

I believe I was born to love. It’s the only course that feels natural to me.”

“You will. You will love again. You will love people, and things, and food, again. Even that piano you play so well. You’ll love that, too.” I swallow the sob pounding in my chest. “How can I? There’s no room for anything else. In my mind, she’s still here. In my heart, she’s still here. But that isn’t enough. I want to hear her. I want to see her. I want to laugh with her.” I shake my head, cursing myself for allowing a few tears to fall. I wipe them before Frank can see. “And I want to bury her ashes . . . I just don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

There is no next great adventure without you.

You died, Fi. There’s no trail left for me to follow. It’s gone. You’re gone.

In your last days, Fi, I wish I had slowed down more. I panicked, knowing that your time was coming to an end. I spent so much time worrying about how to hold on to you that I must have tricked my mind into thinking I’d never lose you.

I’m impressed with how well I can recall your demise without falling to pieces.

“Marionette doesn’t need Julianna’s love. She just needs to know that she is loved. And I have much to give.”

I want to talk to you, even if only in my dreams. But you disappear. And I wake up.

Own who you are and where you belong in this world. Because you do belong here. And you deserve to look like royalty every day. Because it’s all a gift, isn’t it, darling?”

“What’s a gift?” “Life. Especially after seeing how fragile it can be. You’re broken for some time, yes. But then you pick yourself up again.”

“You pick out the fine linens, Saika. You pick out the extravagant fabric, and you wear them. You buy the expensive tea or the book you’ve always wanted. You eat the pie you’ve always wanted to bake, because after knowing how precious life is, those little moments start to feel quite damn big.”

That portrait”⁠—she points to the one on the mantel⁠—“was made the day I chose to become an Architect witch. And also the day that I decided to live my life as exactly who I needed to be. And I found the real me . . . and her name was Hilde. And she . . . I . . . am everything that I’ve ever wanted.”

“Righteous actions still have consequences. It cost me a family and years of solitude.”

“We all handle our grief in strange ways.”

It’s strange how grief works. I was content, walking these strange cobblestone streets, but then here you are. You lurk everywhere. You’re in my thoughts. You’re in my heart, so I cannot help but to find you everywhere.

You enjoyed dancing on the strings of our mother’s patience, and I loved the melody it played.

Instead, I speak to you in my mind, but what can I do with silence, Fi? I speak to you, as a friend seeking a confidante. But I’d be better off yelling my frustration into the sea, where the waves would carry my anguish to oblivion.

And the only absolute in this life is that there will always be Death. And there is no controlling him.

There is no escaping Death. He will come.”

Love fully. Speak truthfully.

“When I die, please, do not die with me.”

what am I going to do without you? Who will I talk to about my life? I have no one.” “Then talk to me. Write me letters. Speak to me in your mind. You are my sister, and our souls will forever be intertwined. In this life and the next. Speak to me. I’ll hear you.”

But the fact is, you will never be apart from me, Fi. You consume my thoughts. Your absence actively shapes and colors my world. My memories of you are folded into my actions. I think about you when I make breakfast in the morning. Or when I sit on the veranda to drink tea. Or when Hilde dresses me up or when I laugh with Evette and the cherubs. Sometimes imagining your voice or your face is like a dull ache, but other times, it encourages me to live with all that I am.

“‘Losing a loved one can be hurtful. And it can be scary. But you can take that pain and turn it into something beautiful. If you’d like a planting ceremony at the country’s largest arboretum sanctuary, come out to the newly rebuilt House of Frank (formerly Ash Gardens). It’s just a short way from the last train stop (by flying!). Once you see the bright red door, you’ll know you’re home. Just ring the doorbell and⁠—’” “Ask for Oli.”

crying 😭