Saturday, August 13, 2011

Her Story ( The ones who love us, never really leave us )


A/N: The one moral growing up, the only one that ever stuck, was, 'The ones who love us, never really leave us.' I hope you understand that moral too.

In the beginning, when asked if she missed her son, she said yes. She said yes, because her son had been murdered, violently, overseas, in a place she couldn't protect him. She said yes, because he had been so young, so willing, so brave. She said yes, because your child isn't suppose to go first, that's just not the way it was meant to go. She said yes, because her son, who had been her pride and joy, was gone, never to return, until the haunting memories of his memorial, swept into her dreams.

She had said yes, maybe a thousand times that first week, over and over, as the neighbors, friends, family, and others stopped by. Her house must have been stocked with so much food, enough to feed a third world country for a year. Maybe two. Perhaps three, if it was a small country. She had flowers, lots of flowers and chocolates; so many, she didn't know what to do with them. She had cards, ones that carried sadness and pain, and some that carried the fondest memories. Everyone that had known her son, they had all written to her, sending their smiles and happiness, even some money. She also had awkward conversations with the little boys and girls that lived on her street, forced bye their mothers to check up on her.

The next week was her son's memorial. She wanted to be the only one there, so she set the time late, telling everybody. And she got a secret memorial, before everyone showed up. The first time she had cried. The second time, she kept her tears to herself. When it came time to bury her son, she picked a shady spot, somewhere privet, and quiet, and somewhere he would be blessed with knowledge. It was his thing, knowledge.

Time would pass, slowly, and the woman, turned older, and older, but every year, on the same day, she would make the journey to the spot she had picked for her son. Every year, she would leave flowers, his favorite ones, and talk to him. And then, she would go back home, another year accomplished, another year set. She never broke her tradition, no matter what was happening, and nobody ever asked. They all knew, without having too.

When asked many years later, in an interview for the local newspaper, she was asked once more, for the final time, 'Do you miss your son?' She said no. She said no, because he had been murdered overseas, doing what he loved, and what he wanted, knowing the risks. She said no, because he had been young, and happy, brave and strong, willing, and wanting, and that's what made him who he was. She said no, because, even when your kid isn't suppose to go first, they do, but you have to trust them, because they know. She said no, because, after so many years, she finally understood, 'The ones who love us, never really leave us'.
By Enya Rodriguez
Published: 8/6/2011


Source : http://www.buzzle.com/articles/her-story.html

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