Grief

"Will I ever see her again?"

Grief

                You had a habit of staying in bed while he waited for his red shades to magically appear in his hand. Then, he’d realize that he’ll have to grab them on his own. You had a habit of tossing rice and cooked turkey bits into a metal bowl, only to realize that he’d have to eat it for dinner. Wrapping the bowl of food like it was a gift for Christmas morning; You pulled on his shades and shoes and walked to the local church, hugging the metal bowl. It wasn’t because he was a believer and it was Sunday morning. There was someone he wanted to see.

                Tiptoeing past the parking lot, he slipped into the cemetery and went down the row of tombstones. There, near the end of the row, he found her, Scruffy. Just murmuring the name over his lips brought back the days of his faithful pet. The York terrier was a feisty one, but she had a heart as good as gold and mind that was trained to kill on command.

                The lazy days where he and her watched old soap operas never got old, at least for Scruffy. Just imagining those days reminded You of Scruffy’s ruffled fur. He could almost feel her moist tongue licking his leg and hear her little barks, famous for setting off all security alarms around the street.

                Placing the metal bowl down on her grave, You clapped his hands together and prayed, for goodness in health in Doggy Heaven and all the shoes and homework scraps for little Scruffy to chew on. He heard crying next to him. He saw his former self kneeling at Scruffy’s grave. Face swimming in tears, his younger self asked his dad, “Will I see Scruffy again?”

                “Yes, somewhere in life.”

                You shook his head. Kneeling next to him was a little boy, no older than six. His face was wet with tears as he murmured the name of his lost family member. You didn’t have tissues in his pocket nor did he have comforting words to say to this little boy. He did; however, had a green Jolly Rancher stuck in his pocket. He opened one of the boy’s hands very slowly and curled the candy around his fingers.

                You was done grieving, but it wasn’t right to leave a kid by himself. So, he waited for the kid to finish coughing up the tears, as gross as it was. Wiping his nose with his sleeve, the boy whispered,

                “Will I see her again?” He pointed to the name on the tombstone. Ms. Fuzzy-Wheezle, You mouthed. Interesting name for a person. Or pet. You looked at the kid, really looked at him. He could be like his dad and tell the kid that Ms. Fuzzy-Wheezle will come back. You remembered that lie well. He remembered the days he spent waiting at the front porch, waiting for Scruffy to run back into his arms. He remembered praying to the Man-Upstairs, praying for Scruffy’s save journey back home. Was it worth it? Well, he found out the truth later anyway. He didn’t feel bad or angry or sad.

                It was just…his was of grieving. At his age, it was better than hearing the truth. You looked at the kid right in the eye and told him, “Ms. Fuzzy-Wheezle is on a special trip. Will you see her? I don’t know. I never saw Scruffy again.” He pointed to his pet’s grave. “But, you don’t need to see her again. She’s in here.” He pointed to the boy’s chest. “And here.” He pointed to the kid’s head.

                “B-But, will I meet her again?”

                You paused. He wasn’t a priest. He wasn’t a spiritual leader. He was just a teen YouTuber that was visiting his pet’s grave on a Sunday morning, without coffee in his system. Did he have an answer? Yes, but he didn’t know if it was right.

                He remembered asking that same question to the church’s priest. He forgot what the answer was, but it made him feel better. What was he going to say to this six-year-old looking boy? He didn’t have to say anything. Heck, the church’s priest didn’t have to say anything but he gave You the words he needed.

                Ruffling the boy’s hair, You smiled. “I hope you do.”

Author's Note

Just to get this straight, the character in this story is named You. I think his parents were being funny when they named him that. So, this is a disclaimer for anyone who thinks I'm switching POVs or confused on what POV I'm doing. The character's name is You and that's all I'll say.

Reviews

[Marie]

I was a little confused, you you staightened that out. Nice story.

[Vivian]

Thank you very much