Sweater Paws {michael clifford}{completed}

epilogue

{60 years later}

Story looked at the gravestones with hurt and anger in her chest. Why was she always the last one to go? Why was it always her who had to feel the pain of losing him? "Momma, are you coming?" She heard from behind her. It was her son, Taylor (who was almost 29), asking her. "No. I think I'll stay a little while. Take care of your brothers and sister please. Make sure they make it home okay?" She turned to look at him. He nodded but asked, "Who's gonna take care of you Momma?" She fought back the tears and said, "Don't you worry about me." Taylor heard the hurt and sadness in her voice, but knew if he pestered her, she'd end of worse. As she had when Luke and Carlie died ten years ago. When Story was alone, she sat on the ground, in between the two graves, each held a man she loved desperately. She didn't know if she cried or not but she sat there for hours. "Why did you have to go? Why couldn't it be me? Why couldn't I finally be rid of pain?" She said finally, tears escaped her eyes. Here she was; almost 90 years old, and she's outlived her two husbands and two of her children. "Just take me, please. Please take me so I don't have to live in misery." Story cried, tears flowed from her eyes like a waterfall and her chest was tight with hurt, her throat closed in anger. Why couldn't God take her instead? She laid on the ground, the sunlight in her eyes. Story took a shaky breath, wiped her eyes with her sweater paws, and when she closed her eyes she knew it would be the last thing she ever seen.

And that was okay with her.