The Summer at Lake Minnetonka (Completed)

III

April 3rd, 1983.

Friday

Doing exactly as planned, I woke up right back at my normal time of 5:45, helping my sleeping schedule get back into its normal cycle. It wasn't often I got up late so yesterday was definitely weird for me. I quietly make my way into the bathroom, trying not to disturb Aunt Rose and Khalia's peaceful rest.

I had become a master (mostly) of getting out of here to do a few things before I had to take Khalia to school. With everything that happened yesterday, I almost forgot about my routine that I prepared for Fridays. To be fair, it always became harder during the colder days but I managed.

After drying myself off, I quickly pull on my clothes and fix myself up a bit more before treading lightly down the stairs. The early morning cold air hits directly at the wet ends of my hair as I step out to the early dawn sunrise at the horizon. A lot of people don't really appreciate its beauty since most people aren't early risers. Like me.

I turn the key in the ignition, hoping that it's quiet but that's never the case. The drive is so familiar to me; I could probably drive here in my sleep. I had made it sort of a ritual to come to the cemetery every Friday morning since I was a freshman in high school. Most of my friends understood why I did it but never offered to come with me, mostly because they assumed I like the privacy. Which was partially true but it'd be nice for some company for a change, this place could get creepy.

I always brought a bouquet of flowers whenever I came but this time I didn't so instead I brought a single rose I had picked from the front entrance. I pray they don't come looking for me for the theft of a single rose. I'm already regretting taking it.

The walk to the headstone never changes, I always pass the same headstones of those who had been there much longer. Probably since before I was born which was pretty long.

"So, we meet again," I speak as I walk up to the headstone, saying that to no one in particular. I lay down the rose and read each headstone as if it were the first time.

Evelyn Hudson

A loving mother, daughter, and friend

1926-1973

I read my father's next, finding the same inscription.

Raymond Hudson

A loving father, son, and friend

1924-1973

I laugh to myself as I find myself looking at the dash between the years. It's crazy to think a whole life is in that simple dash, everything from tears to happiness all summed into simple words on a headstone. They don't really tell how that person lived between that time. I remember the funeral, almost every single detail.

I broke down openly in front of all my relatives and my parents' friends. Khalia didn't understand what was going on at the time since she was six years old at the time, but I did. I understood everything that had happened at the tender age of 13. It took a few years for me to really over the grief and to really believe they were gone. The pain still remains there but it's not as present as it used to be. This ritual, in a way, gave me some sort of closure every time I came.

During that time, we were shuttled between different relatives because the will wasn't fully completed at the time so the family had no clue who they would leave us to stay with. After a couple months, it was decided that we would stay with our Aunt Rose. She took us with open arms, trying to be one of the many brave faces even though she was suffering more than both of us.