Migraine

Lucia Costa's headache refused to go away.1

It stayed with her through her shower that morning, the long drive to Albom, and now it was pounding at her temples, during the funeral.2

Lucia had dreaded this day, ever since she first heard the words "Bacterial Meningitis" come softly from her mother's lips. Though Lucia was rather bright for her twelve years, she had to ask what that was. She couldn't imagine it being anything too bad. Mommies aren't supposed to get sick.3

But Lucia's mommy did. And two days ago, she died in a hospital room, alone. Lucia was thirteen now; a teenager. She didn't want to cry in front of everyone. She didn't want her grandmother to take her hand and whisper a prayer in Spanish while fingering the crucifix that hung from her neck. But here she was, looking at the large photograph of her mother that was displayed in front of the mahogany casket, feeling her silent tears fall on her lap.4

And the headache remained.5

It occoured to Lucia that a headache was the reason for her mother's doctor visit in the first place. She had lay in bed for three days straight, with a warm, wet rag on her face, the shades drawn, and the door usually shut. Following the appointment, she experienced things that the doctor warned her about. She couldn't move her neck without trouble. She woke in the middle of the night, moaning, with a fever. This went on for a few months before the doctors decided that this wasn't going to just run its course, and checked her into the hospital.6

Lucia moved her neck forward and backward. It swayed easily enough, but it caused unbearable pain behind her temples.7

Stress. The headache was from stress, and nothing more. Especially a disease that kills mommies.8

Lucia told herself that as the service ended and everyone stood, and poured out of the church. Her grandmother was still holding her hand as they walked to her father's pale blue Honda. 9

The headache caused a wave of nausea to go through Lucia. For a moment, she was afraid that she would throw up on the interior of the car. This surprised her, as she hadn't eaten in two days, even though in those two days, at least a dozen casseroles had shown up at the Costa household.10

The procession was mercifully short; Lucia was sure her stomach couldn't handle another minute in the car. The casket was sitting above the hole where it would be buried. The funeral party gathered around it as more prayers were said, and dark red roses were laid on the the coffin. People began to disperse. Lucia felt a few hand giving her comforting pats on the shoulder as they left. Lucia moved closer to what was once her mother, her best friend, her most faithful companion. Though she thought she was out of tears, Lucia felt her eyes well up. 11

"Te amo," she whispered. She ran her hand down the length of the smooth, wooden box and turned to leave.12

She was free of pain.