The Last Ten Years
26 Apr 2020Today’s prompt: “Tenth anniversary”
Your daughter came to the cemetery today, just like she has every year for the last ten years.
She didn’t say too much this time. The first year, she just cried. The next couple years, she’d talk about her favorite memories with you. “Remember when I asked you to play Barbies with me, and you gave Barbie and Ken a time-traveling monkey friend?” she would say. “Remember when you got me a puppy, and I was allergic, but I wouldn’t let you take him away from me?”
The next few years, she’d talk to you about how school was going. Eventually, she’d talk about how work was going. What her new boyfriend was like. You would have liked him, she’d say.
But today, she didn’t say much. It’s been ten years after all. She’s grown and changed, after all. But her memories of you are frozen in time. She didn’t get the chance to have a grown-up relationship with you.
She laid some flowers on your grave marker. “Hey,” she said. “If there’s anything after this, I hope you’re doing good. If you can see me, I hope I make you proud.”
She’s doing all right. I just thought you’d like to know.