Brock didn’t say a word. He gave me a silent strength, one that reverberated through my body, battling the sorrow. “Th-th-that’s it.”
He squeezed me tighter, pulling out a pen and paper from his pocket. “You might be angry with me, but I’m going to leave this with you and stand back here.”
I looked at the paper he shoved in my hand like it would give me advice on what to do. Tears blurred my vision, but he grabbed my hands and reassured me with his voice. “Write to her. If you can’t talk or are unsure what to say, write. Leave it there. Throw it in the wind.”
“Have you done that before?”
“More times than you’d imagine.” I met his gaze as he admitted it and saw caring. I gulped to stop all emotions coursing through me. He continued to stare, so I nodded, hoping that was what he was looking for. “I’ll wait however long you need.”
I took a breath and a new resolve came over me. He was right. I needed to do this alone. I gripped the paper so tight it crinkled, but I didn’t care. I put one foot in front of the other until I stood at the edge of her grave. Her name mocked me, such a lively name for an amazing woman.
KLARISSA ELIZABETH TURNER.
THE BEST MOM A GIRL COULD ASK FOR, KEEP BEING THE LIGHT
Tears streamed down my face and fell on the ground that covered her coffin. I had multiple thoughts race through me. Was the coffin okay? It rained a lot; was it ruined? Was it stupid to talk to her? Could she really hear me? Would she be mad that I got distracted? I fell to my knees, staring at her name and twirling the pen. Brock’s words made sense then. Leaning against her stone, I decided to write to her.
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
I can’t believe I forgot, Mom. I’m sorry.
I miss you, Mom, every day. Every time something good happens, I send a prayer of thanks to you because I know you’re up there, cheering for me.Work is good, school too.
I have a make-shift family who love me like their own blood. Don’t worry about me being alone. I’m not. I have all these wonderful people in my life, filling it with color and noise, making me laugh and roll my eyes. I got my dream internship with the school’s football program, and Mom, I met someone who lights my soul on fire.
I would give anything to talk to you, to hear your voice, to hold your hands and listen to your guidance. I could teach, work with kiddos, or go into the sports world. How do I know what’s the right decision?
Your voice is getting harder to remember, and that kills me. When I dream about you, it’s a gift because I can see you and hear your voice again, even if it’s temporary. I wish I could tell you how I might be in love with someone. It’s all consuming and terrifying, yet it fills my stomach with butterflies because so much could go wrong. But you taught me that life without hurting is a life without joy or love.
I love you. I miss you. You’ll always be a part of me.
I wrote until there wasn’t any room on the paper, and I folded it up into a little ball and set it on the spot right above the grass. It shouldn’t blow away, and it was perfect for the first time seeing her grave. I suddenly remembered the roses on the car, and I turned to get them.
Brock stood there, holding them out.
My forehead wrinkled.
“I had a feeling.” His blue eyes were dancing with emotion. They were shining brighter than normal, his face twisted in concern. I took the flowers from him and laid them on the grave. The roses made it look better. Happier. Once I got them situated, I turned back to face him and threw my arms around him. I hugged the living shit out of him, and he squeezed me.
Time didn’t heal wounds, but Brock’s presence stitched mine back together to aid in the healing process. I spoke to his chest, my voice coming out awkward because my mouth was filled with his shirt. “Thank you so much.”
“I told you before, there isn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do for you.” His lips touched my head. If I hadn’t been so sad, I’d have relished the action. “Let’s head back.”
He tucked me into the side of his arm again, and I sighed in contentment. I was sad, guilty, worried, anxious, but also, content. He fixed the little pieces of me that were broken.
We walked back to the cars and once we arrived, he cleared his throat. “Are you good to drive right now? We can come back later to get your car?”
“What about work?” I asked, frowning. “Wait, how did you know I was here? Don’t you have to get back?”
He looked up at the sky. “You didn’t reply to my texts last night or this morning. You don’t strike me as someone to not respond unless something happened. I uh,” he paused, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I became slightly more concerned when you didn’t show up to work. I got Fritz’s number. He refused to tell me, and insisted if I knew you, I wouldn’t have to ask where you’d be.”
That earned a small smile. “That’s Fritz for you.”
“I looked up some dates and put it together. I’m sorry, Grace.”
“Did you come straight here?”
