Frank's POV
I just kneel there, right in front of him. No, I know it's not him. But it's as good as.
I trace the name that moulded darkly into the stone with my finger, trying not to stop breathing. It was always him. It never was anyone else. I met him when I was twelve, yeah, twelve. I refrain from smiling, and I feel pressure on my shoulder. My Grandson just stood next to me with his arm around me like he was my only support.
He always supported me. Looked after me. He said it was because I was younger, but I knew it was because I had mental problems. He only understood me; no one else bothered to try.
My family came with me today, came with me to visit his grave. I haven't come in sixty years. Sixty years. Now I have to suffer the pain all over again. The pain that never went away.
I didn't love again. I tried to at least move on but I couldn't.
My parents didn't take me back after the incident. After the fight. After the blood and after the sliced skin. They blamed me. They blamed me for loving him. I didn't plan on it, but hey, destiny can be a bitch.
I'm selfish. I know I'm selfish, I won't try and deny it. But now that he's gone, I try and wonder if it was worth it. He died for us all, died for the country. No one thanked him. Sure, every school has a couple minutes of silence to think about the honourable soldiers that risked their lives for us, but no one actually went up to every single grave and thanked them.
I never. Like I said, selfish.
I didn't thank them because I didn't think it was needed. They took him away from me. I crumble in on myself then, my fists tightening.
He's gone. He isn't coming back. I've known this for sixty years. But knowing I lived sixty years of my life without him makes me sick. It makes me realise I shouldn't have done it. I should've just ended it when it ended for him. But like I said, selfish.
I cried for him, every single night. I prayed and went to church and gave my respects. But never to his grave. I never went to his grave ever, except now, and that makes me inhuman. Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.
He deserved better than me; and yet he stuck by me, he helped me, he understood me, he loved me.
I didn't visit because I was scared. I was scared that I'd start hallucinating and see him again, but then realise it's just my imagination and I'd die all over again. I died as quickly as he did.
They, meaning my parents and every neighbour, didn't think we'd last. But he promised me that he had my back, he promised that we'd never fall, he promised that no matter what, he'd still love me.
I believed him. I really did.
I trace his name with my finger one last time and I realise how much I missed him. Our adoptive daughter carried on living for me, even though she was heartbroken, she married and had kids. I'm proud of her. I'm not proud of myself, not a chance.
I'm proud of him though. He died fighting for a cause he believed in, even if I stood against it.
Evan took my hand and Ellie hugged me tightly, blinking back tears. I promised myself I wouldn't cry. I promised him I wouldn't cry.
I need to keep my promise, just because he didn't. He lied. Not purposely, but what he promised didn't happen. Life didn't give us a chance.
But no matter what, I'm still with him. I still believe in him. I know he's the one dead, but I'm going to stay strong. I'll die soon, I know I will, and hopefully I'll find him again. I'll give him a chance to apologise.
And maybe, just maybe, I'll forgive him for it.
I allow myself to stand up, knowing I'll be the last out of us to be able to do this. I turn around, leaving the slab of stone behind me as I walk towards the cemetery's gate. I don't look back, because if I do, I'll break down. I'm not breaking down because of him.
I don't need him. Not anymore. But the next time I see him, I hope we can reconnect, that we can be together again. That's all I've been wishing for.
Evan smiled at me, his eight year old eyes glistening at me. I smile back at him, allowing myself to actually show physical happiness.
I don't look back, and I'm the one to close the gates behind us as we leave. I glance up to the sky and I know he's looking down at me. He's the one that's not here, but I'm the one who died.
I'll never forget that, and I doubt I'd forgive him for it. But I can't stop loving him. I never could.
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A/N: Yep you guessed it, he's talking about Gerard. Who else would it be? Now, I got his idea when I was listening to No Matter What by Papa Roach, and I strongly advise you to listen to the song whilst you read. I also watched a bit of Saving Private Ryan in History class with BG and it was great. So they both influenced this story. I wanted it to be sad but God knows if it turned out that way. See ya soon!
