Now That You Are Gone

Now That You Are Gone


“Why do we have to keep coming here?” My daughter asked in a shaky

voice. “I am scared. I don’t like to come here.” She seemed very upset.

“Aila, honey! We don’t have to come here if you don’t want it. But, this is

what people do when somebody dies in their family. They go to visit their

graves from time to time. It makes them feel closer to that person.” I tried to

comfort her. But she was not listening.

“I don’t wanna be here! I’m scared!” She burst into tears. I knew this was not

easy for her and that she could not understand why did people have to die and

be buried.

Taking her in my arms, I walked back to my car trying not to cry myself.

I had to be strong for both of us. Anger was flowing over me times and times

again. As much as I was sad for losing my husband, I could not help it but be

angry at him. I could not stop thinking about all the times I cried because of his

crude behavior. The times he was a stranger to me and a person I could not

trust. He had chosen to go somewhere else to spend all those moments that

we could have spent together laughing and playing with our daughter. I could

never understand why he was avoiding spending time with his family.

Aila was quiet in the back seat while I was driving home. I was glad she was

not crying anymore. Life was harder for us now that he was gone. I have felt

alone so many times while he was still alive. But it was never this alone. At

least I knew that he was alive and hoped that he will change and somehow

things will get better. But now he was gone, and was not coming back or

changing for the better.

Aila was asleep when we got home. I was going to stop at my

mother-in-law’s house on my way, but since it was late I decided not to. I

opened the back door and took her in my arms. She was only six years old, but

very intelligent little girl. I looked down at her little angelic face. Oh, how I

wished I could protect her from all the pain in this world. Sometimes I asked

myself did her father ever really pay attention to how much she loved him. She

adored him just like any other little girl would adore her dad. He was a hero to

her, someone that would always be there to protect her.

I wanted to feel the same way she did. I wanted him to be the hero he was

when I met him the first time. The one I believed in and felt safe with. But,

I have never felt that way ever since I married him. He was a stranger to me,

and he never let me cross that invisible line that he created around him. What

was he afraid of? I wanted to be the one he would trust and need support from.

But he did not want that! I was his woman, his toy, and someone he could have

when he wanted to, and push away when he did not need.

My apartment felt empty and cold. I knew I could not sleep that night, so I

turned on the TV hoping that it would take my mind away from the anger and

the pain I felt on the inside. It has been more than six months since his death

and the pain was still fresh and hard to bear. I never thought he would die the

way he did. The whole time while we were married I feared that something will

happen to him. His reckless driving and irresponsible behavior always made

me fear that he would get himself killed in an accident. Never have I thought

that he would get sick and die from a cancer. It came on so unexpected and

spread over in an instant. Before we both knew what was happening he was

gone.

All of a sudden I became a widow with a little daughter to take care of.

My already sad life has become more sad. I felt guilty that he was gone

because I wanted him out of my life so many times. But, I never wanted him to

die. I wanted to leave him and move on with my life. But I have always been

afraid of being alone and never gathered up enough courage to leave. Now,

the man I loved and hated at the same time was gone, and I was alone with my

daughter. Not only I had to cope with his death I also had to get over the anger

that has accumulated in me over the years.

I stopped taking Aila to his grave hoping that it would help her forget about

his death. She was doing a little better and was not constantly asking why did

her dad have to die. I was glad that I did not have to answer that question

times and times again. I was praying more often as it seemed to be making me

feel better. I prayed to God to give me the strength to forgive. It was the

hardest thing to do besides helping my daughter with her pain.

Sometimes, when Aila was in school or with her grandmother, I would go to

visit his grave. When I was little, I was afraid of cemeteries just like Aila did.

But now coming to his grave has helped me to calm down and get more

strength to go on. I would sit there and let my mind fly away. I wondered about

the lives of the people who were buried there. What were they like? Have they

ever experienced any happiness while they were alive? Or did the death come

as a rescue from their little miserable lives?

Thinking about them has helped me to get in peace with my own little life. I

realized this was the only life I had, and that it all depended on me whether I

wanted to be miserable the rest of my life or do something to make it more

exciting. I could spend it being sad and pitying myself for having bad luck,

or I could reach out and take whatever is out there that the life on this planet is

offering. I had a beautiful daughter and the whole life in front of me. There

was still time to live and enjoy life.

One day I went to the cemetery and planted some plants on his grave.

I wanted to do something nice for him.

“Those are going to have some beautiful flowers.” I jumped when I heard a

voice behind me. It was the old man I usually saw sitting at the cemetery.

“Flowers are not going to help them, my dear,” he said.

“W...What do you mm...mean?” I stuttered.

“Well,” he said. “We all come here to grieve and talk to them, plant the

flowers on their graves. But, do we ever ask ourselves what kind of a place

are they at? Are they in a good place? Or are they not? Is there something we

could do for them?” His words sounded strange and distant.

“You see that grave?” He pointed his finger to the grave that he was usually

sitting by. “That’s where my wife was buried. She was the most beautiful

woman I have ever seen. Was not happy with me. Nope. She ran away with

another man. Yeah, she did.”

“I am sorry.” I muttered.

“She got in an accident and they both died. Just like that. I never remarried.

She was the only woman I ever loved. I hated what she did to me. But I never

hated her.”

“That is so sad. Thank you for telling me that.”

“No. Thank you. I have a daughter just like you. I raised her myself. Yeah,

I did. She is a nice woman. Married a nice man, too.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah. I have been praying for her mother, asking God to forgive her. She

made a mistake. But, she was just a human. Yes, she was.”

“We are all humans,” I said.

“Yeah. I will be going now. Take care my child.” He smiled sympathetically.

That night after I went home I could not stop feeling ashamed of myself.

This whole time I have been pitying myself and thinking only about me. I never

though of him and what was it like to be dead. The old man was right. I have

been so selfish. He could be in a bad place and needing my help. I could do

something for him, I still had time. That night I decided to change my life and

become a better person. That night I believe I got rid of my anger.