Red Carnations

“You know, I still miss you.”

She had her arms folded in her lap as she stared silently at the grave in front of her. It was in an old abandoned church in the wreckage of their town. It had been where she was last with him before he died.

There wasn’t a body. There wasn’t a cemetery or a funeral. Nothing at all for her love. So she made this place their special place, his special place. The headstone was a ragged rock that had smashed through the ceiling. It was covered with moss, the green of it standing against the red carnations that grew all throughout the floor of the church.

“I still remember the night the bomb fell. I know you were on your way here… You always came here.” She smiled with sad fondness. “You had said earlier, that you thought something bad would happen. That if something happened to this place, you wanted to go down with it.”

Pale hands clenched at her white skirt. “Why did you have to be right?” Was the harsh whisper, before the voice turned soft again as she reached out to place a hand against the moist stone.

“I know this must seem silly, me coming here all the time to tell you about what’s going on… But I thought you’d like to know.” She smiled again. “The war is over now; everyone is slowly rebuilding their lives…” Her expression fell. “But…” A shake of her head, and a smile was back.

“I’m rebuilding too. I live just a short ways from here, did I tell you that? I started a flower shop. Flowers make so many people happy here… I guess it’s from seeing something full of life and color in this dark place.

It’ll be colorful soon enough though. The town is coming closer and closer to being rebuilt each day. Some families already have freshly painted houses and homes again. We even have a running orphanage for the children who lost their parents…”

She trailed off, running her hand down the front of the rock. She chuckled softly. “You’re so… tolerant, to listen to me ramble to you all the time. I’m surprised you don’t get tired of me. I just can’t help it… I miss you so much…

I love you.

But you know, there’s one other special person who helps me through the day.”

“Hey Mom, are you coming? You promised we could go to the park! They fixed the swing sets!”

She laughed, looking over her shoulder at the little boy who was looking at her impatiently. Her little angel. Leaning down, as if to tell the stone a secret, she whispered, “He’s just like you, you know.”

Standing up, she turned around, smiling at her son. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“Hey Mom,” The little boy asked as his mother walked up to him. “Who were you talking to? I didn’t see anybody.”

“An old friend.” She replied fondly, grabbing her son’s hand. “You would have liked him, I think.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You know, we have some time before we get to the park. Why don’t I tell you a little story about him…?”

As they left, a translucent character got up from the ground next to the grave, smiling. I could never get tired of hearing your stories, or of you. It’s comforting to hear your voice.

I’m glad you don’t feel lonely; you have no reason to be. I’ll always be here, always, to hear your stories. To hear you laugh, cry, anything at all. I won’t leave even when you’ve run out of stories.

And when that happens, we can stay here together, and hear our son’s stories.

We will never be apart. Never.

I love you.