February 3, 1964. Her birthday.
April 19, 2009. The end.
Today is February third, and here I am, as I have been for the last six years, sitting cross-legged in front of the cream-gray headstone, rereading those dates.
Her name...the inscription. She should be fifty-one today. She's not. She won't be. Another petal in the wind.
I open my mouth to say the words. The same words I tried to say last April, when I came here with Shaun, the words I long to tell her.
"This is your granddaughter, Elissa." I can think the words, but no sound comes out; the only noise, the wind.
"I wrap my coat around the infant in my lap a little tighter in an attempt to keep her warm, thinking of the words I tried and failed to say four years ago. The words written on a piece of paper shoved in the flower pot on the right. The one no one puts flowers in. The one no one removed the lid to.
"I'm getting married on Saturday." The pot's a little over half full now, all folded pieces of paper.
Introductions...pictures. A million moments missed because she's gone. People who will never get the chance to meet her. Things she'll never get to experiance. Memories neither of us will ever get to relive; get to touch.
The wind picks up, blowing fallen leaves and dead grass around. Making Elissa cry. Giving me my que to leave. I pick myself off the crunchy, dead grass, my baby heavy in my arms, and take her to the car.
A final time for the day, i come back alone, staying only long enough to place another memory in the unassembled scrapbook of the life she was suppose to be around to see.
Replacing the lid, I walk away, murmuring hte only words I can, to quietly for even me to hear.
"I love you."
Written January 10, 2011. In memory of my mother who passed away last year. My world will never be the same, and I find myself upset that she won't get to see the things in my life she should have. My graduation, my marriage, meeting my future spouse, her grandchildren. R.I.P CJ, R.I.P.