A Child's Grief

I was gleeful, which looking back is morbid due to the circumstances; I didn't care though, as I held my grandma's hand walking through the store looking at all the things I could buy. I was the rich, I had $100. Now, that is a Sundays worth of tips, but when I was six, I'd won the lottery. Looking back the price on the winning ticket was far too high.

I bought purple dress and littlest pet shops. What else was I supposed to do?

I sat, limp legs dangling, swinging whenever I was bored. As if I was on a swing, at the apartment park and my mommy was pushing me. Instead, I was sitting on a front row pew in a windowless room, with crimson drapes, dimmed lighting, with dark mahogany walls.

I didn't stay in that room long the first time, they took me and my brother to a room full of toys. My dad said it was to talk about "grown-up" stuff. It was only to ensure that nobody would say anything they weren't supposed to at the ceremony. To protect me and him.

I looked up at an eight-foot concrete angel. Then I looked at my brother, we shared no words but the meaning of the look was clear. "That one," with my hand pointed I stared at my dad.

"Maybe something a little smaller," he said, pulling me away from the pretty winged creature. I pouted, but soon moved on to playing tag with my brother in the lot. A gray-haired man, walked across the gray gravel and through the gray rocks, everything was gray except the sky and my mood, oddly enough. He smiled, it was odd that he did that given his job description, but I think it was only cause I was smiling first.

"Can I help you?"

Such a simple phrase and easy enough to answer, and he was just doing his job, trying exploit a grieving family. If I had known the true consequences of what exactly he was helping me do, I would've been inconsolable. No tears came, because I didn't know, so I just kept smiling, "I want something pretty." I wanted something grand, memorable, sophisticated, just like she was.

We stared at the sea of granite; they were all square. Squares were boring. Everything was plain, unremarkable. He kept walking, so we kept on walking. He stopped, we stopped. I scanned the rocks he selected, they were better.

"We can put her picture on whichever one you choose." I nodded.

My dad and brother kept looking at me, I picked a headstone shaped like a heart. She had the biggest heart. For the last time I pointed at a headstone and said, "That one."

Reminiscing, I was given a lot of responsibility then. Of course I wouldn't know the severity of any of my decisions for years. Death is a hard concept to grasp for a six year old.

My dad and the grayed man talked for a while, going through all the logistics, money and timelines. Then they got to what would be put onto the rock. "Wife of... Daughter of... Mother-"

"Mommy, she is my mommy" I interrupted.

"Mommy of Alyxia and Louis Driver," the old man smiled, "What picture do you want?"

"The one where she wearing the crown." I knew as soon as he asked. She looked like princess, a tiara and white dress. I know now it was their wedding day.

My mom had a white dress with black polka dots. It was my favorite, I use to take it from her closet and wear it around the apartment all the time. It was exceptionally large on my body at the time, which is why at the age of six my most notable ability was tying bows behind my back. It was the last thing I'd seen her in. It's what I chose to bury her in. They rifled through her closet continually asking this or that, but that was the only thing I wanted her to wear, along with the black strappy kitten heels she wore all the time. I couldn't think of a better outfit.