BooksBarbecue
Back The truth about keeping secrets
Chapters (22)
  1. Chapter 1
  2. Chapter 2
  3. Chapter 3
  4. Chapter 4
  5. Chapter 5
  6. Chapter 6
  7. Chapter 7
  8. Chapter 8
  9. Chapter 9
  10. Chapter 10
  11. Chapter 11
  12. Chapter 12
  13. Chapter 13
  14. Chapter 14
  15. Chapter 15
  16. Chapter 16
  17. Chapter 17
  18. Chapter 18
  19. Chapter 19
  20. Author Interview
  21. Acknowledgements
  22. Follow Penguin

Everything had changed in barely any time – although I should have been used to that by now. Weirdly, I’d been sleeping better since. Probably not what most people say after a near-death experience. I’d vowed never to go on the ToD again. But that wasn’t too hard; instead of thinking about June, I could just be with her instead.

She looked at me expectantly. ‘Do we say something?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

So we didn’t. We sat down by the headstone, which looked like a headboard, and I dug my fingernails into the earth, imagining that everything below was Dad and in a way this was like holding his hand. It was all like holding his hand. I could go on and live a life and the whole thing would be like holding his hand.

A warm breeze drifted past us. I thought of the mindfulness techniques Gerry had taught us at the last session: I’m here. I’m warm. I feel the sun on my shoulders, hear the robins, smell the sweat from her neck. I’m lucky. I’m alive. I am not alone.

And when eternity comes for me, I will not rage.

But I don’t have to worry about that for now. There’s still so much to do.

Now, it’s summer. I’m spending it with her.

We go to the county fair, and I wipe the unnoticed powdered sugar from the corner of her mouth, and that does not remind me of death.

We grab the edges of the world with our fingertips in the early morning, we laugh at constellations, and that does not remind me of death.

We walk the same path Dad and I walked at the River Styx, and some days even that does not remind me of death.

I am still very afraid. I don’t think I’ll ever not be.

Dad never goes away. He’s in the trees, and the inside of my eyelids, and sewn into my flesh. This isn’t something I can change. And I know that she’ll be gone too, probably sooner than I think; it’s only a matter of time before I sew her in too. I worry about not having enough time – and about not being present enough here to spend the time I do have with her fully. And sometimes when I think about that for too long, about Dad for too long, about ends for too long, the fear comes back as fresh and itchy as when it first arrived. But when it does, we talk softly under blankets. June and me.

This will not last forever. I know.

But for now, if you need us, we’ll be here, eking out meaning from the rest of the beautiful days until the lights go out.

Author Interview

Author Interview

Why did you want to tell this story?