My Soul To Take |18+ ✔

III. All Soul's Day

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My Soul To Take by K. A. Young.

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My stepdad drives up to the cemetery gate, standing wide open as I look up at the raven statues on either side of the pillars. It's like they are the guardians for the bodies of those long gone, their souls resting in a better place. We drive beneath ravens' gateway, the sun falling as daylight savings will wind our clocks back an hour come the end of the weekend. We pass gravestones, the trees billowing lightly in the wind, taking a long windy pathway until we reach our destination.

Just as my stepdad parks the car, I catch a glimpse of mother with fresh roses in her hands, standing before where Kristjan was buried all those years ago. It's become a second home for us, a visit at the minimum, three times a year; one for his birthday, one for the day he died and then for the collective All Soul's Day.

"Katla," my stepdad draws my attention from the window, glancing back at him.

"Yes?" I ask, uneasy as this is always a hard day.

My stepdad tells me, "Your mother has had a rough day on top of this occasion, please keep this in mind."

It's not like I'm going to say something to upset her, I understand and I'm always careful.

"I will," I grip the handle of the door and open it, stepping out onto the pavement of the pathway. I can hear my stepdad's door open and close from the driver's side, but my gaze just settles on my mother, standing like a statue observing another.

Stepping across the grass, nearing her, I come to stand silently alongside her still form. My gaze lifts to the weeping willow that watches over Kristjan's grave, the tips of the leaves brushing gently against the ground. Slowly, I lower my gaze over his gravestone...

Kristjan Aron Adler

July 6th, 2040 October 5th, 2046

Beloved Son

In God's care.

His life a beautiful memory, his absence a silent grief.

Mother sets the roses in the flower holder next to his gravestone, tears falling down her cheeks silently. My stepdad comes to her other side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as she turns and cries into his chest, lifting my gaze to see the fresh wounds cut through, the pain lingering on his face.

Death is inevitable, the maker we must all meet...

...though the death of a child is something that causes a hole to form, the wound never healed as the pain and grief fester, no matter how much time has passed from our initial grievance. His life was taken from him too soon, my thoughts often wandering in these silent moments, wondering how and what my life would have been like if he'd been part of it. I wonder what food he'd enjoy, or the sports he might play, or perhaps he'd enjoy ballet. I don't know these things though...

...I never will.

Slowly, I turn to mother, wrapping my arms around her waist while she shifts out of my stepdad's arms. She turns to me, hugging me as I rest my chin on top of her shoulder, whispering to her, "I love you, forever and always."