The Dreamer ✓

Letter 06

NO.6; A LETTER TO A STRANGER

 

JANUARY 1st, 2014

Dear Somebody, 

The other day, no, it must have been two years ago? Yeah, well, something like that. (You see when I say 'the other day', it can be yesterday or ten years ago, it doesn't really matter). I remember that day. I was fifteen and turning sixteen in less than one month. And I had just come from an afterschool revision class for the upcoming exams in summer.

I remember. It was the last day of April and the air smelt of lavenders and was thick with humidity. I walked leisurely with my iPod on and earphones in, listening to the latest songs. It was a particularly hot day so I wore my sunglasses and had taken my school blazer off and rolled up my shirt sleeves.

I didn't want to take the main road as it a) too long and too hot b) there was a couple of stray dogs that liked to hang around that area that scared the hell out of me. And so, I turned a corner and entered the local cemetery. It was a little creepy but it was better than the alternative of being mauled by dogs. With Arctic Monkeys playing, I walked down the cobbled path, my eyes lazily wandering around the graveyard, skipping from headstone to headstone.

And that was when I spotted you.

You were under an oak tree, surrounded by a myriad of gravestones but you were only interested in two. You were kneeling, like your legs had given out. Like they couldn't take the weight of all the troubles you held and you sank. Your eyes were trained on two headstones, they were new, maybe only a couple of months old and made of the finest marble. In your lap, lay a bouquet of sunshine yellow carnations that you were gripping tightly.

And oh your face, I will never forget the expression. It was the expression of a person who wore a mask of bravery for the world, who held onto the last scraps of strength they had with all their being. And it was the expression of someone who let that crack and disintegrate only in the most private moment. You were laying bare all your emotions and every thought you ever kept leashed.

I stopped walking and stood frozen and transfixed. I don't think my heart was beating, all I could hear was the faint rustle of the leaves in the summer wind and the occasional chirp of a bird. I knew you. You wore the same black and red uniform of our school. You were in the year below. I was sure I had seen you around.

Not always but sometimes just a flicker of your dark braids among the chattering populous of Burbank School or a flash of your bright smile and the sound of the laughter you caused. I remember. I remember hearing the whispering rumours of a death. A student had lost her father and younger sister to a fatal car crash. It was then, as I silently watched you kneeling by their graves that I realised that student was you.

And I was suddenly transported back.

I was eleven years old again.

Left hand clutching my father's and right hand clutching Evelyn's.  Tears streaming down my face as I watched them lower my mother's coffin into the ground. The pounding sunshine of the early spring was cruel and mocking and I wanted to scream and tell them to stop. Tell them that it was all a mistake and that somehow, my mother was still alive.

I never hid my grief like you did, I never tamed it because I never had to. But you, I realise you had to be strong and hold everything up when everyone else was falling apart. You had to put your grief aside for now and concentrate on those who needed you.

Thirty seconds, a minute, five minutes may have passed as I watched you. It didn't surprise me when you started crying. Not silent or controlled, but loud and unrestrained. It was all the pent up rage and grief and emotions you stored. It flooded out in harsh breaths and I was completely frozen. I was almost going to run over to you and offer you a shoulder to cry on. And give you reassuring falsities about how it would be alright, that tomorrow brought a new day and less pain.

I almost did.

Almost.

But I realised this was your moment, a small, private moment of peace in the chaos that submerged your darkly lit world. And so, with a heavy heart I turned and continued on my way.

I saw you three days later in school. You were smiling, it was a painful one. One you use when your energy is running out. I wanted to ask your name, find out your story. We all have a story to tell, and yours looks to be a dark one.

I am writing this letter in Esterlake Cemetery Park, the same cemetery I saw you in two years ago. I'm sat on a bench, on the small hilltop that overlooks the graveyard. It's eerily silent and the wind carries an icy bite to it.

I am writing this letter to tell you all things I wish I had the bravery to say to you back then. I want you to know that it does get better. The pain of losing those you love is one of, if not the most, painful experiences a person can endure. Death is not fair and it has never claimed to be kind. It's as cold as the deepest winters.

I'll tell you this. Time doesn't heal. It numbs. I won't lie to you. The pain you feel that first instant the dagger pierces into your heart is a pain that will remain for as long as you live. For those lucky few, it can heal but for those of us who refuse to let our loved ones go, the pain only numbs. You learn to live with it because it becomes a part of you.

I stumbled and crashed through the death of my mother and six years later, it still hurts but the pain is not as prominent. I want you to know that the times are ahead are dark and they are cold but they are not times you have to face in isolation. You are never alone.

There's a certain quote from Harry Potter, said by Sirius Black. "The ones that love us never really leave us."

It's heartbreaking and true. As they are remembered they're never truly dead. They live in our memories. And I want you to know that you are loved and that is something worth remembering.

Love, Morgana