Destiny

Chapter Two: Dean

Dean

Soggy leaves and brittle twigs crunch under my Timberland boots as I take my walk to the waterfall. Today is Julia's death day and nature is making a mockery of me.

The sun is hanging low on the horizon and the small beams of light float through the thick and thin stumps of the forest trees. Frostbitten greenwood gleam almost golden and the vinca that somehow survived the winter laugh at me.

I expected today to be cold and cloudy and dark, but it is more beautiful than ever. The soft howl of the wind serves as an insulting whisper in my ear.

I don't even feel upset. The absolute beauty of today only makes a bittersweet smile ghost on my lips and the weight of grief dissipates in my stomach.

"Lord," I let out a rueful laugh.

She must have asked God for a favor. There is no way that today could coincidentally be so serene. Maybe she knew how sad I would be if today was as dark as it was three years ago.

I walk the trail I'd worn with only my boots, weaving in and out of trees just as I've done before. All of the wildlife is hibernating or possibly in the tropics of Mexico. It is just me and the forest.

The path trickles through the forest and winds into my favorite tree. I had the tree shipped from Japan and grown by the best gardeners I could find. It is odd seeing its large branches and pink petals in the thick Arizonian forest of all places, but that is why I had planted it.

Waving in the wind and wrapped perfectly around the large trunk of the tree, a yellow ribbon shines beneath the sun. My fingers graze against the dark, rough bark and my throat closes up.

I wish she were here instead of this tree.

I rest my forehead against its trunk, feeling the cold wind lick at my face. My arms come up around the tree and I imagine that this hard, scratchy bark is actually the soft, supple skin of my wife. My mind works to make the straight log into gentle curves.

I wish I could hug her again.

Tears finally break free from the dam I have worked months on building. They rushed through the barrier like it was nothing. They flow freely down my face and water the ground surrounding the tree.

I slouch down to the earth, letting my work jeans get soggy and muddy, and I wail. My voice no longer sounds human as I let out all of my emotions. It mimics the sounds of the animals in the night.

I allow myself to cry.

I allow myself to feel.

After a life of bottling every emotion up and never letting it release, I allowed myself to mourn, to feel grief, to hate the way life played out.

One thing I have learned after all of the death that has stained my life is that grief never ever goes away. It stays. It blotches out the happiness of life. It sneaks reminders into items you never knew had memories attached to them. It rips out pieces of your heart and makes a promise to never return with the pieces for all of eternity.

Grief is a horrible thing. Even worse if you never allow yourself to feel it. So I cry. I wail. I beg God to bring her back, even though I know He is caring for her in heaven. I get angry that she was taken and pound my fists into the cold, uncaring ground, wishing it was the man who stole her from me.

Then, like every other time, I gather my composure because I remember who I am supposed to be. I wipe the tears from my tired eyes and wipe the snot from my running nose. I pick up my walking stick, stand beneath the tree, say a prayer to God, and continue to the waterfall.