I walked silently behind the group, lost in my own thoughts, and not
possessing the energy to open my mouth and speak. My friends and I
continued down the path in the park. We had been to the park many times
before, and knew the paths and trails well, yet we took the paths and acted
as if it were never there before, and we had just discovered it.
My friends had adapted themselves to my silence, and would occasionally
glance back to make sure I was still there. Sometimes they would tell me
they were "sorry for my loss." My loss? My loss!? Having lost something
means it still exists; it's still there, it can be found. But when someone
dies, they are gone. Gone. They aren't coming back. But how reassuring
those words were at times, I wanted to believe them so badly. One day I
actually went to my mothers murder site, and I looked all around, looking
for her, hoping she would come out from behind a bush and embrace me and
reassure me that she would always be there, like she had when me and her
had played hide and seek when I was younger. I looked under ever bush, in
every tree, yet, I don't know why, but I was half hoping I would find her.
But I was fully aware of the fact that I wouldn't.
I was getting dizzy. I didn't want to be here anymore. I wanted to leave
it all behind. I sat down, right there, in the middle of the trail, and I
started to cry. I had been holding back the tears for so long, so very
long, and I finally let them out. I had promised myself the moment I had
found out the news of mothers death that I would not shed a single tear.
But it was now that I realized that by me not showing emotion in such a
way, I was dishonoring her memory. Mother didn't want me to live my life
by looking constantly for her, as I had taken accustom to doing lately.
She wanted my to cry for her, then move on with my life, to realize that
her time on earth was over, but mine was only just starting, mother would
fulfill her dreams through me, if I succeeded, she succeeded, and by me
lingering in the past and not coming to terms with death, neither of us
would ever succeed.
The tears came so hard, so fast; I wasn't prepared for them, yet there they
were, a curse and a relief. I couldn't let my friends see my crying. My
breathing came is gasps as I tried to regain control. Melody came running
back to me first, followed by Trevor. The others hung back a little, yet
they came all the same. Melly had been my friend since I could remember.
But as I saw Trevor coming over I started to fight so hard to stop crying,
he couldn't see me like this.
Yet he didn't look disgusted. Melly grabbed my hand, "it's ok, Anna, it's
ok." But then Trevor embraced me, and I knew that if my mother hadn't died,
he wouldn't be there, next to me. I whispered a silent thank you to my
mother, and I knew she heard it.
I sat there for another few moments, while I finally let the tears I had
been holding back spill out, while Trevor held me, and Melly kept
reassuring me that everything was fine.
I knew I had the best friends anyone could ever ask for. And the tears
kept coming, but now they weren't for grief or sorrow, but for joy. I was
so glad I had these great friends, and I was so happy that I was finally
able to cry. It was strange that I was glad that I was finally doing the
one thing I had dreaded doing for so long.
Later I came home and after six months of hiding in my room and only
exchanging mumbled words with my father, I was able to talk to him, about
everything, and he was able to talk too. We were both able to get over
mothers death, together.
I still think of my mother all the time, I think of her whenever I
accomplish something, be it something small, like finally cleaning my room,
or something large, such as making the all state band. I think of her
every time I fail at something, because my failures are her failures, but
it's still something we share, and I always smile because I know that we do
share it, no matter the distance that fate put in between us.