Junebug • TWD

27. Loss.

Sometimes I think that I've got it worse than everyone else. In school, sometimes I'd feel sorry for myself while I sat in the grass, tying knots in little blades of grass during recess. But that was before. I should have known how lucky I was. Even if I didn't have anyone to play with at recess, even if my uncle Merle left bruises on my face sometimes, and even if I wasn't sure if my dad truly loved me, at least I was safe. At least my family was safe. At least we had food, a home, and a safe place to be.

Because while I was sitting solemnly, but peacefully in the grass, there were other kids in other places who were dying. There were kids who were starving, or who were dying of thirst. There were kids who were losing all the people that they loved to war. And losing the people you love has got to be the greatest pain a person can endure. I'm feeling it right now, standing at Dale's grave, all by myself.

His clunky watch is still strapped nicely around my wrist, and I'm holding his bucket hat tight in my left hand. Rick gave a speech about Dale, just before he and a few others, including my dad, went out to clear all the walkers on Hershel's land while everyone else left to bring our things into the house. They've got more important things to do. Not me. I can't think of anything more important for me to do than to sit here and think about Dale.

My Grandpa Will wasn't a good father, and he wasn't a good grandfather either. Sometimes I imagine what my life would be like if Grandpa Will were a little more like Dale. I think my dad would be happier, and Merle wouldn't take so many pills and drink so much beer. I think they would've had good, stable jobs and they'd be kinder to people. Dale would have taught them kindness.

It's funny- the sad and strange kind of funny- that the kindest people I knew were the ones to die. Sophia had the biggest heart you've ever seen and she got bit, anyway. And Dale preached kindness like pastors preached the bible, and he got torn up in the field.

The world is unfair, is all I'm saying. Before, people were the cruelest creatures that walked the planet. They were greedy and evil and they were capable of terrible things. They hurt people and they took parents from their babies. People are still the cruelest creatures that walk the planet, I think, only now they can walk it even after they're gone. There is no escaping the cruelty.

Today, the weather is cold. Colder than it was yesterday. I think the Earth is grieving Dale's death, too. Dale was one of the few that truly appreciated her, after all.

Part of me is sort of wishing that I'm next. That I'll get bit next so I don't have to keep feeling this terrible, terrible pain in my chest. It aches and aches until I can't hear the birds chirping or the wind howling. I know Dale would feel sad for me. He wouldn't want me to think how I'm thinking right now. And I know it's wrong, so I try to push it away, deep down into my heart where it will push and tug until it is let out again. But I can't let it out.

Fall is here and winter is just around the corner. The plants are dying and we are, too.

The good thing about pine trees is that their little needles don't fall off when it gets cold. So when the leaves fall from the tree, twisting and turning with the wind, the graves won't be buried with leaves. This big, old pine tree will stand tall and protect these graves from the harsh winter that's ahead of us. And it'll give Dale, Sophia, and Hershel's family something nice to look at.

In fact, I'm looking up at the pine tree right now. The sun is shining between the branches, making me squint my eyes. I pretend that the little tears escaping the corners of my eyes are caused by the bright, bright sun and not the lump in my throat. I sit down in the grass and pull my knees up to my chest. The harsh, nippy air crawls its way through my dress and finds a home deep in my bones. Something tells me it's not just the weather. I wonder if I'll feel this cold forever.