𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄

e p i l o g u e .

i stand in front of a marked stone as auburn red leaves sway down onto the ground around me. the ring i had once given him many years ago as a birthday gift feels cold around my finger. i had decided to keep it after sorting through his belongings. a reminder of the friendship we had. a cold breeze blows against it sending a small shiver down my spine, but i pay it no mind. instead i squat down and wipe off fallen leaves and twigs from the granite headstone.

first i had lost my mom and brother and then, a few years back, i had lost my dad and friend. the first few months after waking up were the hardest. having witnessed their deaths, having seen my dad slumped on the ground, having held my friend when his life slipped away from me, i needed more than just physical therapy. to this day i still have weekly appointments, but i'm coping. i can't change what happened, i can only move on and i am determined to do so.

i open a pack of cigarettes and take one out. smoking never interested me, it still doesn't. to be fair, the taste is unpleasant all together, but once a year, on the anniversary of the day that i lived and he died, i come here and smoke one. i place a cigarette in front of the cold stone and light up mine. his favorite brand. for some time i reminisce about the time we had discussions about them. how to me they all had the same repulsive taste and how to him each brand was different. he only smoked these and wanted to have nothing to do with others. i wonder if a smoker can really taste the difference.

my mind drifts off, thinking about nothing in particular. the houses my dad and friend lived in have both been sold and with the insurance of my dad's, i managed to find a small appartment for myself. going back to college, i had put on hold. i'm not ready for that yet. and i remind myself that that is okay. how fast you make progress isn't important. it isn't important that you make big steps, just that you take one, my therapist had once told me, and i still live by those words. or try to at least.

i used to wonder for months what happened that day. how my dad could have shot my friend and himself. i used to wonder why he had done it, if there had been signs. if i could have prevented it if only i had woken up sooner. for a long time i was overtaken by guilt and melancholy. it took me a while to realize that i might never find the answer and even longer to realize that that was okay. part of me will always wonder, but some secrets are meant to stay hidden, some secrets are better off as secrets. in the end, that might be for the best.

i stand up again, putting out the cigarette. "be well, my friend. until we meet again."