Don't Stand So Close To Me

5 years later

The wind was carrying throughout the park gracefully. My bountiful daughter playing in the grass, picking flowers for her Mother’s grave.

I brought a bouquet myself, one I thought she would have loved.

We were walking up the hill to where she was buried, the love of my life.

I always had too much to say when I would see her.

When the “How could you leave me?’s” stopped and the bursts of rage, the hate i’d shout at the top of my lungs for myself. When it all stopped I was able to talk to her about life. Tell her how our daughter was doing, all the new things she’d learned to do. I would tell her how well our band had done. I’d tell her we wrote songs for her. Gerard and I would come by and sing them for her, me with my guitar in hand.

I sat down in front of the grave, my tears wetting the grass below me. Lana bounced around below me, babbling on to the tombstone about her new pet cat. Little Lana, not the one six feet under.

“I miss you. Today your Mother met little Lana. She cried. She says she still thinks of you everyday.” I whispered to the tombstone.

“We all visit Laura’s grave from time to time now too.” I sighed, pain filling my heart.

“Daddy! I’m hungry!” Lana piped up.

“Alright honey, I’ll take you to get something.” I smiled down at her.

“YAAY! Can we go get ice cream?!”

“That’s not food Lana. Think of something else.” I chuckled.

“MMMM. Pancakes! Let’s go to the pancake house!” She grinned.

Going there always reminded me of the first time I’d sat down with her, teased her, gave her a hard time.

I tried to hold back my tears, gripping my chest in pain.

“Daddy?” Little Lana looked up to me in concern.

“I’m okay sweetie, just give me a minute.” I sighed.

As I was getting ready to walk I felt a warm embrace wrap around my chest. I looked down to see there was nothing there. I felt the slight peck of soft lips at the back of my neck. I whipped around and nothing was there. I shrugged and walked with Little Lana to the car.

As we got in I reached into my pocket for the keys, but instead pulled out something softer.

It was our wedding ring. The one I’d given Lana. The one she was buried with. One of the flower’s from my bouquet and Little Lana’s bouquet was tied tightly to it.

I pressed it to my lips, “Thank you.”

Notes