Excerpt from Susie’s Journal, followed by a trip to the cemetery–
Later today, we are going to the cemetery.
Shoot, I guess I hadn’t written about what happened yet; talk about a non sequitur…
What happened. It feels like I wasn’t present for most of it. I think my higher self, Susan, helped shield it from me. That’s no doubt why I didn’t write about it before now. While I thank her for shielding me from a lot of things, I know now that since it happened, I haven’t been as present in my life as I should have been, particularly for my dad. I know he understands. I’m not sure I always do, though.
Now that I brought it up, I’m not sure how to write it, and anyway, I don’t have any time right now. I hear my dad calling me. It must be time to go…
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I’ve seen the ritual Dad performs at the cemetery so many times; since that first time, I think I could do it in my sleep. Funny thought. Maybe I have seen it while I was asleep—maybe when Susan was in control. He goes through the loved ones in our family group, including friends who have passed. He puts out small bouquets for each loved one and recites a memory or two about each before moving on to the next. Today, the last stop is new to me, anyway. I know she passed a while ago now, but this is the first time I have been fully “present.” It is only a short walk from Matt’s headstone. I hope I can get through this… I only have to watch.
It is time for the final bouquet.
I follow Dad, taking short, uncertain steps to match his. We stop near the headstone. The afternoon sun glints off of flecks of quartz in the granite headstone, highlighting the darker lettering. No, I can’t read it—not yet. I bite my lower lip as a hawk shrills a warning nearby. I look toward the sound, blinking and squinting, anything to avoid looking at the name on the headstone. Deep breaths, Susie. Take slow, deep breaths.
I return my focus to Dad as he drops to his knees, his shoulders stooped, his head bowed as if in prayer. No, that’s not it. It is in defeat. I carefully kneel beside him, my left hand kneading into the grass, its feel calming me, as I reach around his shaking shoulders. A sow bug crawls through the grass at the base of the headstone. I know I have to do this. I force my gaze upward to the name carved in the stone. Then it hits me…
Mom is gone.
