A Little Piece Of Andley

Gone

I lay a scarlet rose down for the last time, removing the withered one I'd put there a few days ago.

"I love you, Mom." Kneeling down, I whisper our parting words.

A tear is already falling down my cheek as I turn to look at the other smooth granite gravestone, stark against the old, eroded ones.

"You too, Dad."

After placing a second rose on the bare earth, I lean back on my heels. This is the last time I'll see their graves.

More tears are falling by now. No! I can't cry! I squint to make out the writing on the grey stone; attempting to carve it into my brain as if it was stone as well.

Too late. All I can read is "loving mother of Ashley Purdy, " before I break down.

My shoulders shake as I silently sob, covering my face with my hands. I am reduced to a mess of weakness and grief on the floor.

They were only people that could comfort me when I was upset. Now I have no one: just the chilling, heartless embrace of stone.

When Dad was in the intensive care unit, he made me promise to hang on, and carry on living after he died. He knew I had a history of being suicidal, and right now I really want to join them in heaven.

But I don't break my promises.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the crimson blooms. Their blood-red colour reminds me of the day of the accident.

Mom and Dad went out for a meal together, leaving me at home. Then, on the way back... Their car got hit by a drunk driver.

Of course, I didn't know this. I spent the whole evening worrying about where they were: they weren't answering their phones, and I didn't know which restaurant they'd gone to. All I could do was wait for the inevitably bad news to arrive.

And now they're both gone.

Gone.

Like I will be, soon.