She scanned the crowd from her remote place beside a large oak tree. So many solemn faces standing beneath black umbrellas...she wondered if each of them felt as alone as she did. She wondered if ANY of them did. She wondered how many of them shared her guilty thoughts: Why did I always demand so much of him? Did he know how much I loved him? Can he possibly feel that I still love him just as much? The tears caused tremendous pressure behind her eyes, but her body refused to let them out. She hated herself for ever making him feel like what he did, or said, or showed, was not enough. She hated herself for not making every moment count; for not smiling enough, or laughing enough. As the guilt and unhappiness began mercifully retreating to the back of her mind and pleasant memories fought for recognition, the pain in her heart only worsened.
...They were in each others' arms beneath the stars; the cotton blanket entwining them felt soft against their skin. She had her arms around his neck, running her fingers gently through his hair and enjoying the warmth of his closeness. He smiled as she sighed happily, then kissed her lips and buried his face in her hair. He breathed the sweet, intoxicating fumes before lifting his face to hers again and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. His eyes burned into hers with a passion that they so obviously shared, and suddenly they were five years down the road...
...Her protruding midsection slowed her progress considerably as she bustled around the kitchen, peeling potatoes to boil and chopping onions for a roast. She was breathless, overwhelmed lately by even the most minute tasks. She flushed when she heard his car pull into the drive, fretting about dinner being far from ready and feeling like a cow with a ponytail. She caught a glimpse of herself in the microwave and decided that one pregnancy every decade was enough. He bounded through the door, tossing blueprints from work onto the desk and reaching her in five strides. "I smell roast," he said, smiling and taking her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. He placed a long, slow kiss on her lips before turning to the sink to finish peeling potatoes. She leaned against the counter and watched him, tears of gratitude and admiration welling in her eyes...
She wiped the wetness from her cheeks, wishing it was caused by tears rather than raindrops. Her throat was tight with grief, and her head ached against the multitude of memories that came rushing back every moment. She wiped a couple more raindrops from her cheeks and proceeded the the newly covered grave.
Her heart began to race wildly as she approached the heaping mound of dirt. She felt an exhilaration that only his closeness could make her feel. Her hands were now numb, and they trembled more with every step. Most of the solemn faces were gone by now; only two figures remained, standing only inches from the foot of the grave. The larger figure stood with one hand in his pocket, his eyes never leaving the glistening tombstone. She tore her eyes away from him as she approached, allowing them to rest upon the dates carved into the polished content: the numbers were cruel, representing a life that had been unjustly ended. She choked as her breathing sped up, hands trembling furiously by now. She turned to face the two figures, knowing better than to hope for acknowledgement. The larger one stood so deliberately, eyes burning into the words upon the tombstone as though nothing could make less sense. She choked again when she saw tears shining in his eyes, his cheeks coated with streaks of salty tears mingled with chilling raindrops. Her sad eyes noticed his free hand clinging to the miniature version of himself. The small boy had large, shining eyes and a beautiful face...a face which held more sadness than a boy of his age should ever have to know. Her heart ached as she looked back into the eyes of the man, searching for any kind of recognition. She moved closer to him, wanting to touch his cheek, or kiss his lips, or feel his arms around her. His empty gaze never faltered, however, as a single tear finally clouded her vision before beginning it's sad descent down her face. She reached up instinctively to wipe it away, but stopped with her hand halfway to her cheek. The small boy was suddenly mesmerized by her, the tear on her face sparkling in his eyes like a diamond. As the tear dropped from her chin to the ground he followed it with his eyes, mouth agape and disbelieving. He looked to the tombstone that held the man's attention so adamantly, then directly back into the woman's eyes.
Impossible, she thought...impossible...those big green eyes bore into hers, searching, it seemed. She could not take her eyes away. So much like his father, but for those eyes...Suddenly, a small smile spread upon the young boy's face, as if he'd found what he was looking for. "Momma..." he said softly. He then tilted his small face to his father's and squeezed the large hand with his own tiny one. The man seemed to awaken, and he looked into the eyes of his small son. So much like HER eyes, he thought. The boy wrapped his arms around his father's waist and buried his small face into the folds of his jacket. She stood, motionlessly watching as the man put his arms around the boy before suddenly lifting his eyes to hers. Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment she saw the fire in his eyes that had seemed always to burn when they were together. Only a moment, though, before the bleak sadness re-entered his eyes and he looked back to the mound in front of him. Then, lifting the small boy in his arms, he turned to leave. Her tears fell as they retreated, and her son turned to give a small wave before they were gone forever. She turned back to the cruel cold stone, in which her name was carved so mercilessly and permanently, and the tears continued to fall...
