I had hoped that paying my respects at my father’s grave would allow me to let go of the past. But it was unsettling to see my likeness on a neighboring gravestone. I had no clue that this unexpected discovery would unveil a truth about my mom that would change my life.My father’s death from cancer was two years ago. All I can say is that it has been a really terrible period. I will never forget the day we received the news that his lung cancer had progressed. Everything seemed to come to a halt, and we were ensnared in an endless nightmare. It seemed like we were fighting an uphill battle, even though the physicians wasted no time starting therapy. Despite his valiant efforts, cancer ultimately triumphed. My mother phoned me at my city apartment to tell me he had passed away. As she relayed the news, her normally powerful voice faltered. “Penny… he’s not here anymore.” Tears and hasty packing are what come to mind when I think of that time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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I couldn’t help but wait for my dad to cordially meet us as my husband, Andrew, drove us to my mom’s home. That, however, never happened.I felt so far from the funeral that I could have watched the burial of the coffin from a distance as I sobbed. It seemed as if he was buried with a fragment of my soul. The loss of my father has left me with an overwhelming sense of melancholy, even though I know that time may alleviate emotional suffering. I still feel like I received that awful call from Mom yesterday, even though it’s been two years. Initially, I was utterly helpless. Remembering pleasant times with my dad, like when he taught me to ride a bike, when he gave me extra ice cream, and when I was pleased to graduate from college, would make me weep every night before I went to sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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I began to question everything because the grief was so intense. Tell me why this has befallen us. Would fate always have it that I would be the luckiest person on the planet? Visiting our hometown brought up too many memories of my dad, so I couldn’t bear to go back. Attempting to divert my attention away from my melancholy, I buried my head in spreadsheets and meetings. Instead, my mom started dropping over to visit me, and that helped me much to avoid thinking about those tough times. There has been a recent uptick in my feelings of guilt. It hit me: I needed to confront the memories I’d been avoiding. Last week, when Andrew and I made our way home, my anxiety level rose as we passed by familiar landmarks.Our first stop was to the cemetery. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
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It seemed like it was becoming tougher as I approached my father’s burial location. My knees collapsed as I arrived at last. My eyes welled up with tears as I sat down and traced his name on the rough rock. I was drifting off to dreamland, regretting previous decisions, when Andrew’s gentle touch snapped me back to the here and now. “Penny, I want you to look over there,” he murmured. I was frightened as I glanced at another tombstone nearby. It read: “Forever in Our Hearts, Penelope,” which is my name. The photo showed me as a little kid, beaming as if I had all the answers. I peered down at the tombstone, but I failed to make out any details. I was wide awake and this tomb was really there, so it wasn’t a horrible dream. Fearfully, I dialed my mother’s number. Without hesitation, she grabbed the phone. “Mom, I’m at the graveyard, and there’s…” The name of my grave is engraved on a tombstone. “What’s happening?”There was a little pause before Mom spoke out with an unusually even tone, “I didn’t think you would return to see it.” “What are you trying to say?” Feeling more perplexed, I asked. I thought I had lost you two when your dad passed away.”You ceased visiting, you ceased contacting… I required an outlet for my grief.” She paused for a second before continuing, “I bought the lot next to your dad’s and had the gravestone carved.” “It was the only way I could deal with it.” Anger and sadness washed over me. Something, nevertheless, seemed illogical. When she came by, why didn’t she mention this? Why pretend everything was fine? Then it hit me: she’s continually checking in on me, worried about my health, and urging me to return home. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
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She was preparing for something new, yet she was also unhappy. When I thought of the medicines she gave me a year ago, a chill ran down my spine. What was her intention?I was trying to find answers. “I’ll be there soon, Mom,” I responded, abruptly cutting off the conversation. On the way to her apartment, I realized that the streets that brought back happy memories were now making me nervous. Mom smiled as we pulled up; it was as if she had anticipated our arrival. Within the home, everything was familiar to me, with the exception of a little altar adorned with my likeness, votive candles, and fresh blossoms. A sickening feeling washed over me. I replied, “Mom, we need…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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