More than just a friend || Roger Taylor

25- the last goodbyes

30th August 1978

Tw- literally heartbreaking cannot lie (and mentions of abuse)

Life had been numb since I'd lost her. Completely and utterly hollow.

The world told every story they heard, the press printed every words they knew, and everyone liked to repeat them as if they knew her. The tv channels played her films and the radios paid their respects, not to mention to infuriating bundles of support the media had paid to my dad, a man so shallow he didn't even ask his daughter to the funeral. But none of them really knew Anna Petrov like they all seemed to think they did, and the people that really did know her, had a past and wanted a present with her, had let every word bundle onto the anger.

Unless they'd been through it, most people failed to realise the numbness her death forever left me with. She was my mum, the women that gave birth to me, raised me, loved me, kissed my cheek, read to me before bed, covered any cuts or bruises and kissed them better, plated my hair, watched movies with me, and she would always, always love me.

Lucky I had Connie, Julian, Summer, Charlie and even Mel, who had showered me when every inch of love and support they could, each taking a shard of my broken heart, using as much glue as they could to try and mend it piece by piece.

I hadn't yet visited her, her grave in the churchyard, just in front of an old bench that I could sit on and cry just like she wanted, which is why me and Connie had decided the day before to fly out and stay in a hotel for the night, just to get the change to say my awfully sudden last goodbye.

I knew it was coming, the day when I did loose my mum, but that didn't mean it would be any less sudden than anything else, or hurt any less than I knew it would. I was shaking as I stepped through the gates of the yard, the field of grey stones blurring in my eyes as they filled with tears. Connie's hand stayed in mine the entire time, standing right besides me like she always had been and always would.

I hadn't originally had any plans to ever return to the states, but after failing to receive an invite to her funeral (which the press snatched up quicker than I could even say yes), Connie had agreed to spending only a mere night in a hotel with me so the two of us could pay her a final visit.

Our flight back home was at ten, so we really only had time to do exactly what I remember asking me to. I had a bundle of flowers in my grasp, and tears already forming as I stepped through the grass green and daisy's proud.

We slowly walked along, taking the time we felt was deserved to read the names of those who'd been lost, glancing at the picture frames left cherished and flowers left brightening, until we reached her name.

The grave was bare, deprived of the love and care the others surrounding it had been smothered with. It wasn't real, the way her name had been carved into the stone only to be left surround by the others who'd been so loved.

Connie sat down on the bench underneath a tall tree, one large enough to shelter her from the sun as she sniffled and took a tissue from her pockets to wipe her fresh tears as far away as she could.

I kneeled down slowly in front of the grave, not bothering to try and put any from of a stop the endless stream of tears trickling down my cheek. I gently placed the flowers besides the stone, softly brushing my thumb over her name, sighing as my cold touch traced the engravements.

I never thought I'd ever have to experience that very feeling, looking down the last image I could keep of my mum, which is why I think the way it swarmed my body was so indescribable. The only feeling that felt one bit familiar was the guilt, the fact I knew I hadn't even gone to my own mums funeral. I hadn't even known they were gonna bury her, I was told the following morning by Charlie after he'd caught the paper from that day.