Writing Prompt

The grey sea churned as the wind buffeted the cliffs. Great waves hulking like stampeding elephants in the distance.

The salty spray mottled his face as he sat, contemplative despite the blast of the elements all around him.

His duffle coat clapped furiously, and the noise kept him grounded in the present. In this place it had been all too easy to get lost in the past.

He’d long since given up on his hood, allowing instead the gale free reign to whip his hair however it saw fit. He knew that later on his ears would protest at the beating they were being exposed to, but for now he was content to feel alive, to remember.

He looked out to the horizon and wondered, for what felt like the millionth time, what she had thought when she stood here on that stormy night 7 years ago.

If only she had let him in.

His eyes were wet. It wasn’t the wind. With a sigh that was quickly engulfed by the gust, he heaved to his feet, and steadied himself against the wooden bench.

He traced his hand across the plaque.

‘In memory of Jessica, beloved daughter, this was her favourite place to think’

He kissed his fingers and touched the metal plate tenderly.

‘See you tomorrow’

Then he was gone, an old man making his way gingerly down the winding path to the beachside car park, his daily pilgrimage complete.

Look how it drips thickly and lushly to the ground. Dutch tilted using the floor as a post-surgical crutch. That last drip drop seeping into the matted rug. Crumbs of stale nachos as the friendly neighbour, with encrusted chunky chocolate ice-cream on dusty pillow case adjacent. Milky and mottled cream rug is dog-haired using cigarette burns as an experimental artist’s facade. The ping of the drop, from bottle edge to bottle neck, crumpling like a failed gymnast to the rim. It drops. Cries itself into the dog matted hair, in mouth, through ash dry lips. Fingers relax like limp tendrils. The emerald bottle leaves the grip. Her eyes close to sleep.

One eye is wrenched open. A blinding light shoots across the room. Down an invisible ski slope and tickling her lip. The other darts open; tingling and curious. She observes her tendrils, loosely clasped around fingerprint smudged emerald. The last drop echoes along the rim. She takes one last gulp (her retched sour saliva that is), from prone to standing. Each toe praying to the light ahead of herself. The bottle looked like rubbish in a community pond now. A stranger in the ocean. She knew what needed to be done.

Like a toddler, she hobbled to the kitchen counter. A hodgepodge of final reminders, Chinese leftovers and stacked drinking receptacles. Clutching with a new found determination, as if she witnessed an act of God and she threw her some kindly words. It buzzed. Then again. The light beamed brightly. Whipping it next to her head, hitting green, she called out:

“Mum, I know we haven’t spoken for a while, but I need your help.”

It’s been two years exactly since you took your last breath. We all stood by your side, for hours, holding your hands, telling you to let go, as you breathed the death rattle, fighting to live, even though you were basically brain dead. Those moments are so much more haunting and traumatic and beautiful than most could ever understand.

I. Am. Angry. Why? Why you? You were the greatest man I have ever met. You were fierce in your love and in the strength of family. You taught me so much, and often times I feels so ashamed that so much of our last years together were filled with strife and worry, and disappointments from me.

You should be here. Seeing me rise up out of the ashes of my previous bad choices. You should be here to see how absolutely, beautifully perfect your grandson is.

You should be here to hug me. To encourage me. To always support me and believe in me. To make fun of me. To make our lives, livelier and just... better.

You should be there to walk me down the aisle. To watch me graduate college and become a counselor. To see James grow up and graduate high school. To see him fall in love and get married and have his own children. You should be there to remind me of what true love is every time I see you and mom together, because you are soulmates.

And you will be, in our hearts and in our thoughts. Every happy moment we go through, will always be just a little bit sad because you aren’t by our sides.

Daddy- I love you. I miss you so much. But although, there will always be a hole in our hearts where you were, we are slowly getting better. Stronger. Smelling the roses, as they say.

You were a joyful man, and we must remember all of the good times and light you brought to our lives, and let it continue to shine upon us.

It’s a slow and painful road, my friend. Time is the healer to your open wounds, and your memories are a distant reminder of what used to be. You’ll cry for the first month, maybe year. But soon you will smile fondly at the memories. You will remember the person who was alive, not the dead capsule of their soul. And then, once your heart has mended, you’ll be free.