One Moment

Fifty

Kinsley

I can't believe I'm sitting in the parking lot of the cemetery. My hands are gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles are white, my breathing is unstable, and I'm sweating.

I did it. 

After years of fearing driving, I drove here to the place where my family and Mads are buried. 

I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and take a deep breath, trying to fight off nausea.

This feels like a lucid dream. One that's trying to fool me into believing it's real. Soon, I'll wake up and feel a wave of disappointment. This progress will mean nothing. 

But when I sit up and look out the windshield, I see a vast mass of land dedicated to both old and new headstones. Large oak trees dot the area, and small green bushes line the gravel pathways. This is not a dream.

I'm sure other drivers I was sharing the road with wanted to veer me off the road. My driving was slow, but I kept myself calm while driving. My decisions were smart. The music I listened to was calming, too. 

I actually made it.

Before unbuckling my seatbelt, I let out a small squeal of excitement. Despite the sadness illuminating the cemetery, I'm allowed to be proud. Relishing in these small moments are worth the hassle. One moment can change the course of your life. It's best to embrace even a shred of happiness. 

Stepping out the vehicle, I breathe in the warm summer air. The weather is beautiful today. It smells of sunshine and barbecue, along with a floral note. Sunshine streams through the trees above, adding a golden glow. 

I glance up at the sky. Today is the first time it's been sunny and warm while visiting this place. Then again, I've never come during the summer. It was too emotional for me to endure, too painful. I only came when I felt the need to. Birthdays, anniversaries, et cetera. All those times it's either been raining or snowing, cloudy or foggy. Never clear and blue and hopeful. 

Happy.

Feeling a little more than timid, I exit the parking lot and follow the all-too-familiar pathway to the far side of the property. To the spot beneath the biggest oak tree. As I walk, I realize something: I'm not dreading each step I take. This time, I'm excited to visit my loved ones. Maybe the weather has something to do with my mood. Whatever the reason, I'm not on the verge of tears right now. I know they will come later. That's inevitable. 

When I come to the spot below the shade of the oak tree, I stop and stare, feeling a little guilty that I didn't bring flowers to lay down. In my defense, however, I was driving for the first time in three years. Stopping at a store would've added too much pressure. 

As I stand, staring at the headstones and the names engraved, I try to think of what I'm going to say. But my ability to think is overwhelmed by questions. How am I supposed to say goodbye to someone when they're already gone? What do I even say? Can they hear me?