Page 91 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

But today, there’s someone else I need to make amends with.

I park in the church’s lot and sit in my car, staring at the rows of the deceased. For such a small town, there’s a lot of people buried here. I have a vague memory of where Ma’s plot is, but since I’m avoiding Lee, I can’t exactly call and ask, and there’s not a chance in hell I’ll talk about it with Pops.

I’ve been wandering for a few minutes at a leisurely pace, taking in each name, half of me hoping the next one will be Ma’s, and the other half praying I never find it.

The cemetery is pristine, hedges perfectly trimmed along the perimeter and the grass thick and green. My hand grazes over a dark gray tombstone and before I even look, I know it’s her.

Ma.

My heart trips along with my feet, the paper wrapping the tulips I bought crinkling under my sweaty palm.

The pounding in my head rattles my bones as I squat in front of the marble slab. I slowly unbind my flowers, removing the wilted ones from the vases on either side. I brush away the fallen leaves, and take painstaking time removing every single speck of debris until her name shines as much as my memory.

Maybe if I wipe away the dirt and grime, it will cleanse the tarnish off my soul.

Sinking to the ground in front of her marker, my eyes devour the words inscribed, searching for a hint of her essence through the stone.

Gail Elizabeth Carson

Your life was a blessing, Your memory a treasure. You are loved beyond words, Missed without measure.

“Hey, Ma.” My voice wedges in my throat, the words blasting me into a memory of the last time I spoke them. The last time I ever heard her voice. My chest splits open, eight years of grief escaping through the crater, raining down on my insides and crippling my composure.

“Ma, I…” My voice catches again, and I cup my mouth to stop the guttural sob that’s scratching up my esophagus.

If I speak, I’ll scream. So I stay quiet, instead. I already wrote down everything I needed to say anyway.

It could be minutes, or it could be hours that I sit in silence, but it’s not until the setting sun dances across the marble that I finally stand to leave. My body feels heavy. The burden of my turmoil being pulled by gravity, trying to anchor me to the spot.

Somehow, I force my limbs to move.

With a kiss to her name, I slip an envelope under the vase of tulips and walk away.

Ma.

Hey Ma.

Dear, Ma.

I don’t really know how I’m supposed to do this, or what it is I’m supposed to say. I’m sorry doesn’t seem good enough, but it’s all I’ve really got. And the truth is, if it weren’t for Sarah, I probably wouldn’t be here, so I’m not sure the apology even matters.

But I am, for what it’s worth. Sorry, that is.

I’m sorry I was never the son you wanted me to be. Too caught up in needing Pops’s approval to realize I already had it in you.

I’m sorry I’m still not the son I need to be. I’m trying to do better. Think you can ask the big guy for some grace?

I didn’t know, Ma. I didn’t realize you were the glue holding our family together.

I’m sorry for not realizing how you were the center of every goddamn thing. You always told me to find my sun, but Ma, I already had it in you.

I didn’t know true darkness until you were gone.

I’m sorry for not coming to see you sooner. More. At all. Even now, the thought of going to your plot makes my stomach turn and my chest cave in. If I stay away, I can pretend that you’re still here… that I’m still just too busy to reach out, and nothing’s really changed.

Visiting your grave is admitting reality isn’t what I want it to be.

But can I tell you a secret? I already know it’s not.

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