And now, after only 14 short years together with the one she loved, Lada steeled herself to put her beloved to rest with one final serenade. The marten rose from her seat at the head of the funeral procession and made her way out of the pews to the sanctuary. Not even a few moments into her solemn, lonely march she felt that all too familiar lump in her throat return. There was no solace to be found in the deafening silence of the church. 

As she walked up the stairs and past the mortal reminder of her dear husband, she felt as if she'd falter. One lingering glance at his peaceful expression was all it took to remind her of everything she lost, and everything she knew she'd come to miss.

She slowed for a moment, unsure if she'd be able to carry through with such a tremendous sadness weighing on her heart. She felt like she simply wanted to disappear into a dark, quiet place and let the madness of the world continue on without her.

A subtle shift in her peripheral vision drew Lada out of her hesitation. A young woman, exceptionally tall and graceful looking in her slender black dress, offered a sympathetic bow of her head. Her innocent eyes offered all of the sympathy in the world, but like everyone else in attendance, nobody quite knew the pain the marten felt in that moment. Still, it gave Lada the strength to carry on.

The young woman, a neighbor, had offered her services as a musician when the pastor delivered the news of the death of Lada's husband to the congregation. Lada only knew the tall canid in passing, but had heard her perform before. She felt a twinge of guilt as she couldn't offer the oboist any more than a single rehearsal session this morning. Despite that fact, she performed beautifully.

The reddish canid lowered her head and let her ears droop as Lada moved past to take a seat at her prized harp. After a deep breath to cleanse her mind, the marten leaned in to the massive instrument and let its weight press against her shoulder. It was a familiar embrace, the marten and her harp, and it offered her some comfort in that moment. The two women glanced at one another briefly. A gentle nod from the young woman indicated she was ready on Lada's cue. 

( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0a7YL9Yg6-4 )

The dreamlike hum of the harp began to fill the silent chapel, followed by the hauntingly poignant voice of the oboe. The marten closed her eyes and let instinct take over. She had played this piece hundreds of times before, and now was no different. Memories drifted through Lada's mind as the congregation fell into the duet's spell. In the back, her sensitive ears picked up the now familiar sound of her mother-in-law's despair. No parent should have to suffer pain of outliving a child. 

Memories, bittersweet memories. As she played, the marten lifted her eyes for a moment to look at the casket. She couldn't help but think back to happier times when her music led husband into restful sleep, rather than accompany him in the eternal stillness of death. She smiled and fought back tears, remembering how he would get so flustered when she moved him with her music. He never did admit it, but she knew he could turn into a weeping mess with the right melody. Nothing made her happier than to tease at this adorable weakness of his, to hold him close during those brief moments of vulnerability. In her mind, those were the moments she felt they could see into each other's souls. This memory was enough to bring forward the tears she thought had run dry. A tiny sniffle left Lada's snout as tears silently rolled down the marten's cheeks. 

The piece drew to a close, ending on a hanging, hopeful high. Both musicians waited several beats to let heavy silence punctuate the end of their performance. It was the young woman who moved first, slowly lowering her instrument from her lips. Her downcast eyes welled with tears, causing the marten to finally give into her own emotions. She couldn't explain it, but the sincerity of music seemed to strip away the carefully laid defenses in the hearts of man. And in this moment, it was never more apparent. There was not a single dry eye in the congregation.

Lada rose from her stool and began her silent march back to the front row when she felt a hesitant paw touch at her own. She turned to see the lanky young woman peering at her through watery eyes and moving in for a gentle embrace. After a moment of hesitation, the marten surrendered to the canid's compassionate offer and began to openly weep into the gentle hug. While Lada didn't know the tall girl very well, she took comfort in the brief companionship they shared. Their common goal, to honor the passing of someone so important and precious to the Marten. Despite the sympathy and help of all those close to her in life, this momentary alliance meant more than all else to the marten.

Lada felt a paw gently pat her on the back as the young woman's own chest heaved momentarily with emotion. Though Lada knew all eyes were on her, she did not feel embarrassed or rushed. She simply appreciated the much needed shoulder to lean on.

Several moments passed before the marten slowly stepped back from the embrace and silently thanked the canid with a soft smile. Her gesture was returned in kind before the young woman turned to move back to her position near the piano, gaze turning downward as her own mind grasped at the concept of mortality. 

After making her way back to her seat in the pews, the marten once again found herself turning inward and letting reality slip from her focus. The droning of the pastor, the hum of the organ and the sympathetic condolences all ran into a blur. She simply wanted to go home and be alone with her harp and her thoughts. And before she knew it, that's exactly where she found herself. 

The marten thanked the pair of strong young men for their care in moving the harp back to her living room. Despite their inappropriately casual attitude during her time of mourning, she knew they meant well. They likely just couldn't relate. As the door shut behind the pair, Lada stood in place. Only the soft tick-tock of the grandfather clock permeated the silence.

She quietly observed the cold emptiness of her once cozy home with a newfound sadness. The joy she had experienced within these walls now seemed like such a distant and cruel memory as the finality of it all came rushing at her like a freight train. She fell to her knees, muzzle in paws, finally succumbing to the helplessness she felt in her heart. She weakly uttered her late husband's name between her sobs, as if hoping he'd answer. But she knew there would be no reassuring hands to hold her, or stroke her fur. Not any more, not ever again. She was now Lada, the 43 year old widow.