cinema [h.s.]

chapter forty two.

⚠️ TW: Talks of graveyards and deceased loved ones. ⚠️

April 9, 2021.

As I pull into the graveyard, I'm met with a feeling I haven't felt since Robin passed away.

Denial.

Coming to a loved one's grave makes everything so much more real. They're here, but they're not really here. It's just a stone, with a coffin buried six feet beneath it, surrounded by other coffins filled with loved ones of others.

It's scary really.

Coming to confess your feelings to someone who is no longer on earth. But here I am, sitting in my car, staring out at the thousands of graves plastered along the dead, brown grass.

Everything stands still. It's eerily quiet, too quiet. Sometimes you'll hear a bird crow and other times you'll hear a squirrel running along a tree stump.

But other than that, it's silent. Everything echoes and nothing feels real. All that's around you is stones with loved ones' names carved into it and people that are grieving, much like I am, who have come to sit at the grave of their loved one who is now at peace.

Life goes on but it's never the same.

A saying that Mel used to tell me anytime I spoke to her about my fears with the baby my girlfriend is currently housing in her womb.

I may be fearful now, but I know a year from now I'll be looking back at past me saying we made it.

After sitting in complete silence for a few minutes, I gather the courage to open my car door. When I open my door, I'm immediately overwhelmed with the heavy feeling of sadness.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

I reach over my center console and grab the bouquet of light pink flowers I bought at the farmers market, shakily tucking them into my chest and sliding out of the car.

I take a minute to scan over the area surrounding me. All of the trees are still. The leaves that have fallen off of them aren't moving. Even the wind is standing still, much like it does as a warning sign before a tornado hits.

My shoes crunch along the gravel as I walk down the trail looking at the greenery and flowers scattered along this place.

There's not much.

My eyes travel along the never ending gray and beige stones that are lined with flowers, pictures, balloons and stuffed animals. I feel my heart tighten as I come across a tiny stone that says Lily Matthews, born sleeping.

No grave should ever be that small.

I glance over at a few more stones as I hit the end of the trail, getting closer and closer to my loved one's freshly dug grave that's littered with pictures of Ivy and family.