I stand there until my nose is numb, my eyes watering from the chilly breeze. Perhaps today is not the day after all. Disappointment settles into me like an old friend.
Right before I’m about to leave, an elderly woman in a pink tracksuit places a hand on my arm. One of the sweet neighborhood watch ladies, Bethany Cook, her arms full of golden mums.
“Mind if I squeeze by, sweetie?” she asks.
“Oh yes, sorry.” I step to the side.
She stumbles on the first step, reaching out for support. I catch her before she can crash into the metal gate, her arms bone-thin and frail under the thick velvet fabric.
I steady her back on her feet and adjust her skewed pink snow hat. “You almost took a tumble there.”
“These knees always act up when a storm is on the way.” Rubbing the spot, she hisses through her dentures. “I hate to trouble you, but would you be a dear and assist me inside? It’s only to place these flowers.”
“Oh, I...” I glance up, staring at the rows of headstones through the bars. Bethany smiles up at me, my resolve melting. “Sure.”
She loops her arm through mine, shuffling carefully over the cobblestone path. With each step past the row of graves, the invisible hand that gripped my chest lets go, and I take a full breath with ease.
I did it.
Most of the trees are bare, their leaves long gone or crumpled on the ground. The change of seasons happens so gradually that one moment you blink and realize fall is almost over. For such a small town, there are rows after rows of graves. So many deaths.
“My Jackson is over here,” she says.
Bethany stops in front of her husband’s moss-covered headstone. Smiling, she dusts off the loose dirt and debris, sweeping the stray leaves into the grass. She places the mums into the vase on the ground, rearranging them to her liking before kissing her fingers and tapping them on top of the marble.
My heart aches for her, but she seems at peace, standing straight again and ready to go.
“How do you cope with your husband’s loss?”
“Because I’ll see him again. Death loses its sting, no?” She pats my arm affectionately. “Do you want to see your granny’s grave? She’s not far from here. A few rows up and to the left. I like to leave her flowers on her birthday.”
My hands tremble at my sides as the urge to bolt hovers in the recesses of my mind.
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“Pishposh. You’re none of that. Regina was a dear friend of mine, and I love to visit when I get the chance. She was the only one who could out-bake me in the kitchen. I’m always tickled to see her jams in the General Store and Lula Belle’s. It’s like she’s living on through you and Des.”
Words fail me, my throat clenching as I fight back the tears. This time she is leading, humming softly until I find myself where I wished I would never be.
Granny . . .
Seeing her name on the slab of marble is like a bucket of cold water splashing over my head. I collapse on numb legs,falling to my knees in the grass. Salty tears trail down my cheeks, dripping off my chin. Like a dam that burst, I can’t stop.
Similar to the leaves on the trees, time slips away so quickly. One minute Granny was here, then the next she was gone. There were so manyI should haves: More sitting and listening to her stories. More offering to help with her jams. MoreI love yous and hugs.
“Don’t hold it in, sweetie.” Bethany rubs a soothing circle on my spine.
“I never got to say goodbye,” I blubber, my breathing erratic and raspy.
“Remember, it’s not ‘goodbye,’ it’s ‘till I see you again.’ Just like my Jackson.”
A calming peace fills my soul.Not goodbye.I place my hand on the headstone over her name.Until I see you in Heaven.
Standing, I wipe the dirt from my pants. It hits me—the sudden urge to call Tristen so I can fill him in on finally conquering my fear. And maybe ask for one of his special bear hugs.
“Well, would you look at that.” Bethany rotates her leg. “My knee feels much better.”
I dash the tears from my cheeks and fight back a smile.
