|
|
"Hold it together, for them, for yourself", I'll say, sometimes aloud, repeatedly.
I drive in on the beaten up pavement passed the rows of stone markers looking for that one twisted tree.
That's my marker, that's how I know I'm close to where you two are resting.
"Keep it together, you're doing great", I'll say as I respectfully close my car door like a whisper,
Then over the field I look, remembering where you are.
All the stone and marble, all the squares and rectangles, they all look so similar.
Some bear the names of one, some of two, some the Star of David, some the engraved outline of a cup of wine of which I don't really know the significance.
Some have been engraved with a name, but no year as of yet as if it is just patiently waiting.
I walk straight from the tree in the direction I know you are.
I try not to walk over the markers, I feel uncomfortable, disrespectful.
Sometimes I even apologize out loud if I have to do so.
"Man, I'm proud of you, you see, it does get easier with each visit", I tell myself.
It sometimes takes me a while to find you, but I know I'm getting close because all the butterflies in my stomach want to come up and fly out,
And enough tears to cloud my vision and trace my cheeks start to pour down from my eyes.
It's funny, all those little lies I tell myself to keep me from acting this way.
And there you are, side by side, my mother's mother and father.
A year apart in death, but today and now and forever in my heart and on my mind.
I kneel; I place the customary stone on your marble name.
I blow the loose grass shavings from within the etchings of your names to keep you clean.
Every time I visit I say the same things:
I tell you how I miss you,
and how I wish you could have seen how I turned out.
I did good grandma. I've grown up big and strong.
Grandpa, I made it on the job, I've got my badge just like Dad..
You'd both be so proud of what I've become.
But you never saw me grow beyond that of an angry, troubled teenage boy.
I've never really been faithful. I don't know why, I have no excuse.
I want to be.
I want to believe that God is coddling you like two newborn infants,
That angels are serving you as you served my brother and me.
And if I'm right, then you hear me, and you see me, and you know what I have become, and you hear me telling you what has been going on and taking place in my life.
When I tell you of my job, my girlfriend, or my cool new car,
I want to know that you hear me,
that you see me,
or that you already know because you are right here with me.
Because kneeling at a piece of concrete and talking aloud and crying uncontrollably like I am at the second of this writing is not enough.
I need you.
I need you both.
I miss you more than I can even imagine I could ever express.
And I love you both as much as ever.
And If I am right, then God, please, let me be reunited with them someday,
because a boy needs his grandma and grandpa.
