Last Place You Look

Dear August

Dear August, tell me that there's light
At the end of all this starless night
Dear August, please don't let me fall
'Cause I don't know where this road is headed anymore

The day was sunny and the air was hot. It was always that hot at the end of August. The leaves had yet to show any sign of changing, but the excitement and anticipation for the beautiful reds and oranges was always there for both of them.

They stopped the car and there was a moment of silence between them as the engine died down. The music, his, stopped. It was always a tradition to listen to his music on these days. They were special to both of them. They tried to come as often as they could, but life happens. But they carved out three dates in particular. One in February, braving the colder temperatures, one at the end of June, and one at the end of August. It was an eerie place, especially when it was quiet, but there was a certain type of solemn silence that surrounded them. It was like a bubble was cast over their small area and it was just them. They were alone, just like a family again.

"Are you okay, Mom?" She looked at her mother, who still looked the same as she did when she was in her 20s, but now with laugh lines around her lips. These days were always the hardest for her, but she always put on a brave face for her daughter. The grief never went away, it just got easier. It didn't shrink, she just got stronger as the time passed.

She looked at her daughter and saw so much of him in her. His green eyes, wild chestnut curls she fought so hard to preserve as she watched her grow, and the distinguishable dimples in either of her cheeks. She looked remarkably like her aunt, but she was her father's daughter. There was no denying that. She acted like him too, even sung with the sweetest voice. She was strong willed and persuasive. She was headstrong and went out of her way to make sure the people she loved knew she loved them. Just like he did.

She came home one day, around ten years ago and heard a strumming coming from somewhere in the house. It wasn't notes, just strings with the faint sound of fingers running across them. It was a sound she hadn't heard in her house in almost eleven years and she broke down in the foyer. She kept his guitar around because it kept him around. She didn't even realize she was on the floor crying until there was a head of strawberry blonde hair on the floor next to her, holding her.  It never got easier, and there wasn't a day where she didn't miss him. He left a hole in her chest when he left her, not that he had any choice.

"It's okay, Charlie. I've got you. She's distracted, let it out."

So she did. She focused on her breathing, went through the motions that her therapist had taught her to compose herself so her crying spells didn't escalate into something more. Apologies flooded her ears, because neither of them knew that such a harmless action was going to set her off. She didn't accept the apologies from her best friend though, because they weren't necessary. No one had done anything wrong. Her daughter was simply her father's daughter.

And she was so much like him.

She called the man her daughter loved the most in the world, the father figure that had stepped up when he didn't have to: her father's best friend. He bought her a guitar her size and they sat on her bedroom floor together for an hour every day and just played together. He taught her all the basics, and even some of her father's songs. It was hard to hear the guitar and tell herself it wasn't him, but she soon found comfort in it, especially when she heard the notes from the song he had written for her father years before. When she heard his songs, she sat outside the door and listened to them play together. There were giggles when she messed up and words  from encouragement when she was struggling. Hearing the words he had meant for her father felt more personal now, because now she understood them the way he had intended them. Her growing up and doing the things her father often did really was a sign of the times. All the hard work the two of them had put in to get as far as they did was coming together. Her daughter was a thing of perfection in her eyes, a perfect combination of the best parts of her parents. She just wished he was there to see it. He would have loved to see everything she had accomplished.