When I looked again, it was gone

Beaten down and broken, I stared at my feet, one shoe on and the other off buried in dying brittle grass. I have come to the conclusion that I do not know where I am, how I got here, wherever here is and why I feel so groggy.

Then I remember where I am. At the cemetery looking at five decorated stones, slowly being consumed by the same wry weeds that are enveloping my feet. Five stones. All are there because of me.

My mind feels as if it is furiously working trying to answer all my unanswered questions. But it keeps hitting roadblocks. I don't drink anymore but the feeling is very similar, eerily similar.

My drinking ended my marriage and family. All in one millisecond. A moment I vaguely remember. One moment I'm driving us home from a family picnic, the next my life is scattered across all four lanes of the freeway. They have told me that my wife and three children died instantly. I guess that's some sort of resolution. Had they survived the crash I would be of little help. I was three, probably four sheets to the wind.

That is all that plays through my mind. Like a dream. But it's not a dream. I lived it.

But did I? There are five stones. All names are familiar to me. Including mine.

Did I not survive? Is it possible I perished as well? I could only hope.

But this feels so real, but if I died with my family, why aren't they here with me? Then I realize that they are probably in a different place then me.

I turn to leave when something catches my eye.

I look again, it was gone.

Four stones remain.

I'm alive, unfortunately I'm alive.