I went to Dad’s cemetery with the intention of reconciling with the past, but I felt a chill go down my spine when I noticed a picture of myself on a nearby tombstone. I had no clue that this unsettling finding would lead me to a revelation about my mother that would change my life.
Two years have passed since my dad passed away from cancer. To be exact, two years, four days, and a lifetime of pain.
The day we learned Dad had stage IV lung cancer is still fresh in my memory. We had the impression that the world had stopped and that we were trapped in a nightmare that would never end.
The physicians started treating right away, but I believe we all knew in our hearts that it was a lost battle. As much as Dad fought, cancer ultimately prevailed.
Mom called me from our hometown that day when I was at home in the city.
Normally so powerful, her voice broke as she broke the news.
“Penny… he’s gone.”
After that, I don’t recall much. Tears and hurried packing fill the scene. When my husband Andrew drove us to Mom’s house, I couldn’t help but think that Dad would emerge through the front door, arms flung out, ready for a hug.
However, he never did.
As I stood with my family during the funeral, I could still feel the emptiness in my heart.
I felt as though I had detached myself from my body. Once they started lowering the casket, I could see myself crying.
It was as though I was being buried with a part of myself.
Although they say that time heals all wounds, I’m still in pain from losing my father. Even though it has been two years, it seems like I just answered that horrible phone from Mom yesterday.
I was unable to function at first. Every night, I would cry myself to sleep while thinking back on my dad.
He taught me how to ride a bike, sneaked me an extra scoop of ice cream while my mother wasn’t looking, and grinned proudly when I graduated from college.
The pain was so severe that I began to doubt everything. Why me? Why should we? Was it a curse for me to be the happiest person on the planet?
I was no longer able to go to our hometown. Every familiar face on the street brought up memories of my father.
I therefore immersed myself in my work in the hopes that spreadsheets and meetings would help me forget my sorrow.
Mom started coming to see me instead of me traveling there, and I was happy about the arrangement.
However, remorse has just lately begun to consume me. I was aware that I had to return and confront the memories I had been avoiding.
Thus, Andrew and I drove back home last week.
As we drove toward my hometown, I couldn’t stop chewing my nails and tapping my foot.
Familiar landmarks started to materialize, and I had the impression that an unseen hand was squeezing my chest.
I had to do this, though. I owed it to myself, my mother, and my father.
First, we made a visit to the cemetery, and I have to admit that every step we took toward Dad’s grave felt heavier than the last. By the time I got there, my knees buckled.
Tears were streaming down my face as I sat there, writing his name on the chilly stone.
I muttered, “I miss you so much, Dad,” hoping to feel his arms envelop me one final time.
I was so engrossed in my regrets and recollections that I couldn’t even remember how long I sat there. Andrew’s soft touch was the one that got me back to earth.
He murmured, “Look over there, Penny.”
My heart stopped as I met his stare. There was another headstone a little distance away, and my name was written there.
It said, Forever in Our Hearts, Penelope, and included a picture of me when I was a tiny child, smiling at the camera as if I knew everything there was to know.
“WHAT THE HECK?” I let out a gasp. With my eyes wide open, I stared at the headstone, convinced that this was a nightmare. I tried pinching myself, but it didn’t wake me up. This was authentic. My grave was actual.
I took out my phone, trembling, and dialed Mom.
On the first ring, she responded.
“Mum,” I said at the outset.
“I’m at the cemetery, and I can see my name on a grave there. What is happening?”
There was a silence, and then Mom’s voice emerged, hauntingly serene.
“I didn’t think you’d ever come back to see it,” she replied.
“What do you mean?”
She said, her voice trembling a little, “I felt like I’d lost both of you after your father passed away. You stopped making calls and stopping by. I required something to be grieved for.”
She held back.
“So, I bought the plot next to your father’s and had the headstone made,” she said. “It was the only way I could cope.”
Mom, how could you do that? I pondered.
I was shocked to learn that, despite my being well, my mother had been grieving for me. I was unsure of how to feel at that point—angry or heartbroken.
But the more I considered it, the less it made sense. Why had she never brought this up when she was there? Why not act like nothing is out of the ordinary?
Then something clicked. The visits, her persistent concern for my well-being, and her demand that I return home… She wasn’t merely in mourning. She was getting ready for another thing.
Recalling the drugs she’d tried to give me for a cold last year, a shiver went down my spine. Not that I gave it much thought before, but now she might have been attempting to…
I required clarification.
Before she could answer, I responded, “Mom, I’ll be over soon,” and disconnected up.
Andrew gave me a glance. His level of worry was evident to me.
He said, “Penny, what did she say?”
“Andrew, I believe she’s lost it. We have to visit her home. Right now.”
It felt strange driving to Mom’s house. The parks and streets brought back memories of my time spent there with Dad, but they also served as a reminder that he was no longer with me, so it was bittersweet.
that when I got home, he wouldn’t be there to give me a hug.
I nearly forgot why we were in the driveway as soon as we pulled in. Nearly. Up until my mother appeared at the door.
“Hi, sweetheart!” As I got out of the car and headed over to her, she grinned at the door. “How are you?”
Although it seemed like she was overjoyed to see me, there was a peculiar satisfaction in her eyes that led me to believe she had been waiting for us the entire time.
As we sat in the living room, I realized that everything had remained exactly as I had remembered, with the exception of a tiny shrine that held fresh flowers, candles, and my photo.
My stomach turned over.
“This needs to stop, Mom,” I murmured, straining to maintain my composure. “What made you do it? Why act as though I had passed away?”
She let out a sigh.
“I was unable to let you go the way your father did. Penny, I needed to hold you near. I knew of no other way to do this.”
I was feeling ill.
This was more than grief, I knew. It was more of an obsession, and if I allowed Mom to carry on like this, I knew I would never be allowed to live my own life. I could see how she wanted to have complete control over my life, to keep me imprisoned in this town, in her home, and in the warped reality she had constructed.
I had to stop her, I knew that.
I said to my mother, “Mom, this isn’t normal,” and got up. “I believe you should speak with someone. Perhaps a specialist who can guide you through this.”
She gave a headshake.
“Mom, please,” I sobbed. “I’ll get you the best therapist in town, and you’ll be fine in no time.”
“Penny, I’m not leaving,” she declared, casting a glance down at her hands. “And neither are you.”
I took a deep breath and urged myself to stay calm, Penny. I knew it wouldn’t work to push her or argue with her.
“All right, how about this?” I asked, hoping she would give it some thought.
“How about moving in with us? I’ll locate a lovely home close by so we can see each other every day.”
Mom gave me a sidelong glance.
“I mean…” I went on, “I’ll be able to take care of you in this way, so you won’t have to be alone. How would you respond?”
At that moment, Mom’s face lit up with a gorgeous smile.
“You’d really do that for me, Penny?”
“Of course, Mom,” I responded, holding her hand.
“We are related. If you’re on board, though, I need you to give up this memorial you’ve constructed. It isn’t genuine and it isn’t healthy. Alright, how about we pull it down and start over?”
After a moment of hesitation, she nodded.
“All right, Penny. I’ll do everything if it means getting closer to you.”
A week later, my mother and I saw the cemetery workers gently remove the headstone bearing my name.
It was then time to take down the shrine in the living room.
We soon started getting ready for Mom to move close to our home.
It hasn’t been easy, to be honest, but I feel this is the right move. I’m very happy that I made the decision to go to Dad’s grave that day because I never would have known about the peculiar world Mom was living in.
It feels like we’re finally moving in the right direction for the first time in years. We will always have Dad’s memories, but they bring us more strength than sorrow.
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