Learning to Cope

I reach the last two rows, walk down the middle, and stop in front of the grave I was looking for. The one I occasionally come to visit. The tombstone is grey like the rest of them and has a square like shape. It’s made from stone and has wearied down a little from the years of erosion. There is a bouquet of dead lilies sitting on the grave, probably put there on the day of the burial.
Underneath the name that’s carved on the stone, the date reads “April 6 1999- January 2 2012” and beneath that it reads “Beloved daughter, sister, and best friend.”
The chilly air bites at my cheeks and I try warming them with my gloved hands. My warm breath is visible in frosty, white puffs of air and the atmosphere is suddenly tense. I remembered how my life was before tragedy struck and shattered my very existence into pieces. Tears spring to my eyes just thinking about it and threaten to spill over, blurring my vision. And despite the awful situations and horrid memories that are so vivid, that it seems like it happened just yesterday, I think, I’m glad I didn’t kill myself.