Graveside Confessions

Graveside Confessions

Intro: This is a dramatic story written from a prompt in a contest. Please note: This is a fictional story; but based on some real feelings and thoughts.

         I pull right up to the gate to open it. I start to get out and the car keeps rolling. Sitting back down and braking, I relax and try to pull myself together. I haven't been home in four months. Texas; I can't really call this home any longer. This is my worst nightmare, visiting my parents here in this place. I drive down to the spot where they are and get out of the car. All around me are bright colors; blue, red, pink, yellow, orange and indigo. Flowers everywhere, which seems like such a contradiction to what this place holds.

         Walking up to their graves, the tears begin falling down my face. I don't want to do this. I don't want to face them, especially here. My Dad has been gone a little over 2 years and my Mom died in December. Four months ago; months that have dragged, months of me not being myself. Months of me not being the mother that I should be. Months of me not being. I never imagined life without my parents being this hard.

         I have so much to say to these two souls. I sit down between them on the hard, damp ground. I can smell the flowers that someone has set out for them. A sweet, sickly, strong smell. I place them on top of the headstone, getting the smell away from me.

         I begin talking about how much I miss them, how the kids are doing and where I am right now in my life. I really believe that they know and sense these things. It's just my way of stalling, before I make the confessions that I came to make. I am living with guilt and need to let them know. I tried to talk to my Mom about this before she passed; she wouldn't let me. She always said; 'you are where you are supposed to be' and 'you and the kids are doing so good there.' I believe she felt this way. I still have some confessions that I need to share .

         The sun feels so good, shining it's warmth on my back, the wind lightly blowing; another contradiction. This place is far from warm. It's cold; holding all these remains. Remains that are someone's 'loved one.' I know I keep letting my mind drift...I remember the day we buried my Mom. I can hear the song that we picked for the two of them. Remember When, by Alan Jackson.

'........Remember when....

Remember when we said when we turned gray
When the children grow up and move away
We won't be sad, we'll be glad
For all the life we've had
And we'll remember when

Remember when....'

         I'm crying, and this ground is getting harder. I bring up a mental picture of my parents. My Dad; short and round, with white, bushy hair and a grin from ear to ear. A grin which made one stop and think: is he being serious? My Mom; soft wavy brown hair, and big caring brown eyes. Always a giver, a comforter and the peace-maker. I can see them. I can see them playing with me. I can see them playing with my kids and all of their grandkids. I can see them comforting me over and over as I was growing up. I can see them at their big dinner table with all of us around it laughing, joking and loving each other. I miss them. I miss that.

          My confessions have to be told.

         "Dad, I want to start by saying that I should have told you about Mom's cancer. Even though she told me not to tell you or anyone. I should have gone against her wishes and taken the chance of losing our Mother/daughter relationship. I was weak. I am sorry. I realize at some point you did find out and made her go to the doctor, but she refused treatment. I just want you to know that she did not suffer with pain. That when she came home to the Lord, and you, that we were all there by her side."

         These tears are cool to my face. The sun has left behind one of those blue clouds and I can no longer feel the ground.

         "Dear Mom, I miss you. I.." I can't go on; I get up and walk for awhile.

         "Mom, I really don't know where to start. I need to confess my anger toward you...that I hid so well. I need to confess my guilt for not being closer, in miles, to you. I was mad; I lived with your secret for five years. Wanting to tell others, but not wanting to lose our relationship. I chose you, as you always chose me. When I moved, leaving you was the hardest thing I ever did. You encouraged my move and as always; you were right. You knew I would be better off there than in Texas. I will always cherish the phone calls, the visits and our letters. Just as I will always cherish being at your bedside when you journeyed into your death."

         Crying, I realize I do feel better. I'll sit here awhile longer between my parents.