I stand silently beside the grave alongside the rest of my family.
A chill breeze accompanies the light scattering of rain that turns the chalky soil to mud and fills the air with that fresh scent that always seems to accompany this weather. Dark clouds are scudding across the sky above us, the threat of a heavy storm hanging around the windswept plot of land. It fits the mood with a grim certainty.
No-one wants to be the one to cry first, to break down and admit how his heart has shattered. I include myself in that, and no matter how much it hurts, nor how guilty I feel, I will stand tall beside my brothers. We are all weeping inside, and we know it, but those tears are tearing us up and it will not be long before someone succumbs to them.
Grandma is the nearest to breaking, although she holds herself as straight and steady as a sergeant-major. She clutches the flag that had draped the coffin with both hands, although I dislike that it was there at all – we serve the world, not just our country. Beside her Tintin and Kyrano are like statues, Kyrano stoic as always, although his eyes betray the pain. I think Tintin is in shock.
And then Brains. Dear dear Brains. You didn't want to be here, you felt as if you had no place at such an intimate and tragic family event. You couldn't be more wrong in that respect. You are a part of this family and we would have it no other way. None of us blame you, although that knowledge hasn't stopped the guilt from almost destroying you. Your machine was perfect, it was the operator at fault and no-one else can or should take the blame for that.
Dad steps forward, his face pale and drawn as he begins a long and much rehearsed speech. I don't hear the words, but I can see the anguish in his eyes as he stutters to a halt, unable to remember what to say next. Does he really think that it matters? His love and devotion are plain to see, and it is all too clear how deep this grief runs through him. Words aren't needed.
He seems to realise this, and with a bow of his head he throws a handful of soil into the open grave. The rain has turned it to mud, and the dull splat is an alien sound for this occasion. The brown smear has marred the silken sheen of the dreadful casket, and I wonder once again if the luxury of fine oak was necessary.
As Dad moves back out of the way Scott steps forward to take his place, his face set like stone. He seems to have aged twenty years since that fateful day that led us to this place and his face is lined with weariness and sorrow. My dear older brother, I can see how deep this has hurt you, I can see the same guilt I feel eat away at you too. You always thought that you could protect us all.
The simplicity of your speech surprises me – just a few words of love and loss. But I can see through you Scott. I can see your hands shaking, the tears gathering in your eyes. I can see you breaking, Scott, and it's breaking me in turn. With a whispered farewell you back away from the grave, your small handful of soil joining Dad's and your eyes unseeing in grief.
Virgil brushes his hand across Scott's shoulder in a small gesture of comfort as he stumbles forwards. Oh Virgil, I know you blame yourself the most. I've watched you closely since that day, and the light has left your eyes. The piano stands silent in the living room now and your paints haven't been touched, you haven't been able to bring yourself to go near either. Can't you understand that none of us blame you? Can't you see that even in Thunderbird 2 there was no way you could have stopped the Firefly from exploding in that heat? It was a tragedy, a terrible accident, please Virgil, can't you see that? I can't bear seeing you in such pain, in such anguish.
You stand there silently for a long time. We understand. Some things are too raw and deep to be said. Your fist clenches tightly around the soil before you let go, it seems as if you put every thing that you can't say into that gesture. As that ball of mud falls it is as if you have thrown your heart in along with it. Your eyes – so dull and lifeless – are dry from tears. I suspect that you have none left.
It's Alan that pulls you back from the grave side – forcing you into Scott's comforting arms, where you merely stare unseeingly at that dreadful hole in the ground. My baby brother stands on the edge of the pit, refusing to look down and staring straight ahead as he blinks tears back. Dear little Alan, I've watched you grow from a silly child to a mature and sensible adult, but these past events have taken their toll on you. You're looking so gaunt, Alan, so pale and thin. My silly baby brother I'll bet anything that you haven't been eating or sleeping properly. And I can't blame you; who could?
You speak so quietly that none of us can hear you, but the emotions playing across your face say more than mere words can. My poor baby brother. It's supposed to be my job to protect you from pain, but this is one torment I can't help with. A hug to scare away the monsters won't work this time, as much as we all wish it would.
I'm so proud of you Allie, you've grown up so much, and as much as I want to keep this pain away from you I know that you can survive it. You're a strong young man now, and I believe in you. I can feel my heart weeping in sympathy as you finally screw up the courage to look down upon the coffin and a small sob escapes your lips. Don't try to hide it, Sprout, we don't think any worse of you for it. You don't watch where you throw that little handful of mud as you walk away from the grave and turn your back to us all. We won't be offended kiddo; we know you want to hide the tears.
I switch my attention to Gordon as he slowly approaches the yawning hole in the ground. Tears are already streaking his face, but that doesn't surprise me; our dear practical joker is always the most emotional out of all of us. He closes his eyes for a moment, and I watch in concern as he appears to sway where he stands – he obviously hasn't been taking care of himself. It hurts me so much to see you like this, Gordon, to see tears instead of a smile. Right now I would give anything in the world to see your smile again, and to hear you laugh. You have always been the light hearted one in our family, but that heart has clearly broken.
You open your eyes and try to speak, to say your final farewell. A whispered 'I love you' is heard and your contribution of soil falls from your trembling fingers. The splat of it on the coffin lid is drowned out by a small thud as you fall to your knees and bury your head in your hands. Please Gordon, don't cry, you're breaking my heart into even smaller pieces! I can see your shoulders shaking and each sob is like a knife being struck into me. Please don't cry little brother, it hurts so much to see you like this. I want to run to you and gather you up in my arms like I did when you were a child, but I know that I can't, not yet.
It's Alan who goes to you, and I watch in broken-hearted pride as my baby brother wraps his arms around you, his own pain forgotten as he tries to help you with yours. Because brothers stand by each other. It's not long before Scott relinquishes his hold on Virgil to help the two of you to your feet.
A watery smile creeps across my lips as I watch four of you embrace, and Dad wipe away his tears. I know my family will survive this – we're Tracy's, we're a tough breed.
Slowly the group of you move away, leaving the open grave for the undertaker to deal with, but I want to remain a few moments longer. Walking up to the mouth of the deep scar I crouch down eye-level with the gravestone, my gaze flickering across it.
John Glenn Tracy
Born October 8 2040
Died October 14 2066
Loving brother, son and friend. He now shines among the stars he loved so much.
I smile slightly. What do you know; I died exactly one thousand years after the battle of Hastings. I doubt my family will appreciate that fact.
I know what is meant to happen now. I understand that I should be leaving, my last flight to the stars you might say. But I'm not going. Not yet.
Standing to my feet I look down upon my own coffin and know that I won't be going for a long time yet. I need to see that my family is alright first. Yes, I know they are strong, but I need to see it with my own eyes. I need to watch them recover from their loss. I feel too guilty at leaving them like this.
Brushing my hair irritably out of my eyes I give my final resting place and coffin a little nod, before turning and running after my family.
Because I won't leave them until they're healed. Because I stand beside my brothers no matter what.
