I wonder how you will feel, when your life is over. Your spirit will linger long enough to see the footprints you have left throughout the lives of people ‘close’ to you.
The day is cold, your soul wanders the cemetery grounds, looking at the faces of those that surround your coffin. The ones that will look down at you, saying goodbye as they lower you into the ground.
But I’m not there.
Wandering further still, you come across me at my apartment. I’m going about my day as though this is no tragedy. There is nothing wrong with this day for me, nothing that will cause a tear to roll down my cheek. The phone rings and I answer it.
Arguing. I yell and tell that person that I don’t care, and I won’t go.
To that cemetery.
Why? Because I have no good memories of you left. The few that I had have long been replaced, by your anger, your desolation, your leaving. All the years of my life, and I have no good memories of you. And the only thing I will remember you by is a little girl’s tears.
The tears of a little girl who sat in the shadows of her doorframe as you yelled, and threw things. A little girl who couldn’t sleep through it. In her nightgown, she hugged tight on her teddy bear, wondering when all would be peaceful and the love would come.
A little girl who shed tears of disappointment when a night later, the love still wasn’t there. A little girl who grew into a young woman with the tears of a little girl on her soul when the love never came.
With puffy eyes and sniffles, she woke her sister as she climbed into bed with her. They cuddled together, her sissy running soothing fingers through her hair as she tried to tell her that all would be ok. And then, once settled and sleeping, her sister just a little girl herself, sat up and cried as she looked on at her little sister.
Because she too was just a little girl. A little girl only two years older who heard the yelling, and waited for love that never came. One who was forced to comfort her sister because she didn’t know what else to do, even though she wasn’t strong enough…
Two little girls who cried tears of pain to themselves, never wanting anyone to see and never knowing when the stream of tears would end.
Older now, she had thought she had wiped those tears off her soul. She wouldn’t cry for him now, she wouldn’t let herself.
He would be remembered for nothing, nothing but the tears of two little girls. Such a thing to be remembered for. Opening the eyes of little girls far too young to understand, opening them to the pains of the world far too young, and giving them nothing else in the whole of their lives but tears.
And she couldn’t bring herself to forgive him for that.
So how will you feel as a father, when your life is over? And all the one’s you claimed to hold close in life can remember you for are their tears? And the things you never did, the promises you never kept, and the love you never gave?
What will you be remembered for?
For her and her older sister.
For a little girls’ tears, the tears that forever stained their souls.