Crime scene investigation

She had lost her son twice. And twice she had been saved by her daughter.

First when he left, at 15, with his heart bitter with resentment that he never explained.
She cried everyday, all day long. Her husband, out of pity on her misery, suggested them to have a child.

The daughter born 9 months later saved her. It was a new beginning, her daughter was more than perfect. She was a dream fulfilled.

The second time she lost her son was when he died, at 25 suffocated in his desperation and hopelessness.

Her soul cried deep inside with an infinite sorrow. Again her daughter saved her, because if wasn't for her, she wouldn't continue alive.

Now, at 15, her daughter died. She didn't have enough tears to cry anymore. A furious rage started eating her entrails, poisoning her blood, crunching her heart: "I miss you so much that my heart aches to pump and my blood crawls slowly through my veins".

During the memorial mass, while the priest was explaining about Lazarus and how we are all going to assume a celestial body at the end of times, she could only stare at the box with her daughter's ashes. She remembered how heavy was her lifeless body when she found her and tried to revive her with CPR and now it was a light bunch of ashes in a box. She thought of all the atoms that made her daughter's body, all the fusions and collisions that had happened in billions of years in the forge of the stars that were now gone and that somehow got together to form such a beautiful girl that had brought so much happiness and hope to her in he short life. She reflected on how all these atoms were constantly changing, transforming, combining, reacting as her daughter grew. In how they were still being transformed, by the fire of the cremation, but they were all there in one way or another, still part of this universe. All that we are is a bunch of atoms combined, reacting and transforming one another. The dust of the stars. Maybe that's the celestial body mentioned by the ancient people. We are made of stardust and to the stars we return as dust.

This idea was at the same time tragic and wonderful, but neither that, nor the Lazarus story could bring her any comfort.