Page 129 of Fear of Falling

“You okay?” My amazing boyfriend asked, reaching out and cupping my cheek. I leaned into his palm and closed my eyes.

“I will be,” I answered truthfully.

“You sure you want me to come with you?”

As if I can’t love him anymore.

“I want you there.” And I meant it. I wanted him by my side today.

“It looks like it may start raining, we probably want to get going,” Wyatt said softly as he brushed his thumb against my cheek. He knew just how hard this day was, and it meant the world that he was there with me.

“Okay.” Threading our fingers together Wyatt led me out of my apartment and to the elevator. His thumb brushed the tops of my knuckles as we silently rode it down to the lobby.

As soon as we stepped outside, I looked up, the sky dark and stormy.

Pretty fitting for today.

I breathed in the smell of rain as Wyatt held the passenger side door open. Usually, I hated him treating me like I was fragile, but in this moment I appreciated it. He knew all I needed right now was him.

The car ride over was quiet except for the music playing softly on the radio as I gripped Wyatt’s free hand in my lap. The closer we got, the tighter the ache around my chest cinched.

A few minutes later, Wyatt parked in front of the one place I hated coming to.

Park Lawn Cemetery.

A lump formed in my throat as I looked at the front gates. The fact I hadn’t been there in a little while made me drown in guilt.

“Want to go in alone first?” Wyatt asked but I kept my eyes straight ahead. I knew the path by heart—40 steps straight, turn left for 10 steps and I’d be there.

“Would that be okay?” I needed to be alone at first.

“Of course, babe. Take as long as you need. Just text me whenever you want me to come in, or not,” he squeezed my hand supportively.

Knowing I couldn’t put it off any longer, I leaned over and placed a soft kiss on Wyatt’s cheek before slipping out of the car. The air was chilly as the wind slowly picked up. I wrapped my arms around myself, thankful for my thick sweater.

My feet moved on their own as I entered the cemetery, crunching on the dried leaves that coated the ground. I’d dreaded this day all year. The irrational part of my brain told me if I just ignored it then it wasn’t real. But it was.

I passed headstone after headstone, heading for the one I knew by heart. It only took another minute for me to find the one I was looking for. Tears welled in my eyes as I stared at my father’s grave.

I brushed the fallen leaves off his headstone, letting my fingertips trace his name and the words written on the bottom.

Anthony Scott.

Beloved father and friend.

Until We Meet Again.

“Hey dad, happy birthday,” I whispered. “Can’t believe it's your birthday already.” It felt like yesterday he was with me, laughing at some dumb joke, yelling at the television, having Sunday dinner with me.

My dad always hated celebrating his birthday. He thought it was pointless at his age, but no matter what, every year I baked him a cake, and decorated with streamers and balloons. Dad always said he hated it, but his eyes always lit up when he saw them. The two of us would spend the entire day together doingwhatever he wanted, even if that meant just sitting and watching television together.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been by in a little bit.” With everything that had happened, it’d been a few months since I’d visited.

God, I’m such a bad daughter. How could I have not made time to visit him?

My chin trembled as I squatted.

“I wish you were here, Dad. You should be here.”

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