Page 8 of A Legacy of the Light

As I sit in the Uber home, I feel quite pleased with myself. Not only did I go out, have fun, and not be a miserable wench, I actually met someone. Elliot is sweet and attentive. I hope he gets in touch so we can meet sober and see if there is anything between us.

But I can’t help thinking about the creeper at the bar. I call him a creeper because I don’t want to admit how he gripped me with a single look. Or how it lit something on fire that hasn’t sparked in over a year. It told me a thousand stories I couldn’t understand.

I have to let this go. I already have too many unsolved mysteries in my life.

The Uber drops me off at the front of my apartment building, and I thank the driver as I step out into the cold air. I slip off my heels the second I’m in the clean lobby and, as I wait for the elevator, my phone vibrates in my purse. I pull it out to see that Rach has shared her location with me. She’s still at the bar. And Elliot has texted me.

Elliot: I can’t believe you left me with these two. I feel like a spare part now!

I chuckle as I read it and go to type a reply when I see the three dots appear. He’s sending me another message.

Elliot: In all seriousness, I really enjoyed meeting you. Would you let me take you out one night next week? A proper date?

Smiling at the fact he’s texted me so quickly, I type out a reply with excitement bubbling in my stomach.

Elsie:Haha! I’m sorry, this week has me beat. I

really enjoyed meeting you as well. Yeah, I’d like to see you again. I can do later in the week if you’re free?

Elliot: It’s a date. I’ll pick you up at 7 on Thursday. Drop me your address in a few days?

Elsie: Sounds great. I’ll see you then xx

I slip my phone back into my purse and fish out my keys, grateful to be home but glad that Rach forced me to go out. Once in my apartment, I grab a glass of water before getting ready for bed and give myself a metaphorical pat on the back for going out and having fun.

For once.

Chapter 3

The buzz of my night out with Rach wears off quickly. By the time Sunday evening comes around, the darkness of grief has consumed me again.

The brief reprieve was welcome.

Elliot and I message back and forth and Rach has gone into graphic detail about her night with Luke—which turned into a whole weekend with him. I’m happy for her. She deserves someone special in her life who will treat her like the queen she is.

I have a challenging Monday, participating in a quarterly planning session that I’m thrown into last minute and am woefully underprepared for. Now a heavy weight has settled on my chest.

Rach spent the entire day gushing about Luke and their weekend. Whilst I was grateful to her and how she’s stuck by me, I just need some peace and quiet. That’s how I end up at the cemetery. I come here when I need a moment to breathe. Around an hour’s drive from home, the cemetery is peaceful and surrounded by nature. Grandpa and I thought it was the perfect place for Mom and Granny.

It’s a beautiful spot, underneath a giant oak tree with a pond nearby. During the day, I can appreciate the beauty of this place, even if it’s tinged with the sadness of loss. In the gloom, I can only make out Mom’s headstone and the one closest to it.

Sometimes visiting Mom’s grave feels empty. She’s not there in my mind. I’ve tried so many different things as an outlet for my grief, and none of them have provided any relief. I tried talking to her as if she was there, I tried writing her letters, I tried pretending she was still alive and I just hadn’t spoken to her for a while. None of it worked.

It took me a long time to realize that there is no outlet; only learning to live with it.

So here I am, sat on the damp ground in a cemetery, in November, in the dark, trying to live with it. The usual feeling of guilt that I haven’t visited enough sits with me, like a dark shadow hanging over my head that will never go away.

When you’ve never experienced loss you don’t realize that what comes with it is just as bad as the loss itself. You mourn for the person you used to be, the possibilities of the future held with that person, and the guilt of carrying on and living your life.

People tell me, “That’s what your Mom would want you to do,” and I know this is true. She would want me to be happy and be the best version of myself. But how dare I be happy and laugh and smile and live, when her life was cut so brutally short. How dare I carry on and have new experiences when she isn’t here to experience them with me.

“Hey, Momma, I miss you,” I murmur into nothing-ness. The gravestone is marked for both her and Granny, but knowing that only Mom is really here stops me from acknowledging Granny, too.

The simple stone bears both their names and dates of birth. Grandpa didn’t want anything fancy, and neither of us felt the need to add anything further.

The night is still, and water drips from the trees onto the ground and the surrounding gravestones.

I don’t say anything else out loud. I sit and stare at her name and imagine she’s sat with me. I imagine her wrapping her arms around me in a warm embrace and what she would say when I told her how I was feeling. How she would make me feel better and how I would feel lighter after speaking to her. I might be an adult now, but nothing will ever be more comforting than the embrace and support of your mother.