《and peggy》

《32》

teach 'em how to
say goodbye.

■

Peggy didn't know how to say goodbye to people.

She wanted to believe that once someone entered your life, they were there forever. She wanted to believe that no one died, no one just left, no one would just be up and gone when she woke up in the morning.

But as the years in her life ticked on, all she did was lose people and all it did was hurt her.

She didn't know how to leave someone with final words; she didn't know what phrases she could possibly piece together that would have so much significance that she could leave someone in their coffin with them as her finality.

But the guilt of not saying anything was eating her alive, and it hurt more than saying the wrong thing to a dead person.

That's why she found herself in front of her mother's grave for the first time ever, rereading the letters carved into the stone that stood perched on the ground above her wooden casket.

If she was going to heal, she needed to let go of her guilt, of her fear that lingered each day due to her mother's passing.

She was silent.

She had written down what she had wanted to say. She had been through rough draft after rough draft and wasted an entire notebook and scribbled through the ink of two pens until she thought it was perfect.

But standing there now, with the paper etched between her fingers, none of it seemed right.

She folded the paper into fours and stashed it away in the back pocket of her jeans, letting out a shaky sigh as she bent onto her knees, only inches away from the tombstone.

She wore a yellow silk long sleeved shirt, the sleeves wide so they flowed when the wind played with her hair. It was her mother's favorite shirt. She hadn't taken it off the hanger since she had heard of her death, but she had found the strength today, with the help of Alex and John.

They actually stood a few feet from Peggy, their hands interlaced as they watched their friend lean her forehead against the cold stone.

Tears pricked the corners of Peggy's eyes as she closed them slowly, tracing her fingers over her mother's name.

"I'm sorry for not listening to you before." She whispered, her voice shaking. "But I am going to now, I promise."

She couldn't find the strength in her voice to say anything else. She stayed there, her knees buried in the dirt and her forehead pressed against the grave stone as she let soft tears paint her cheeks.

In this moment, she felt okay. She felt at peace, and she felt the hope of her mother's heart next to her own.

In this moment, she believed that she could suceed. She believed that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. She believed that she could be enough. It would take work, but she could fix herself. She could.

Her mother had believed in her, so she would believe in herself.

"I love you."

(526 words)