I erased the message and put the phone down slowly as I leaned
back on my pillow, folding my arms across my chest. With all of the
craziness going on with De Alexia I had completely forgotten that the
anniversary of Dad’s death was in two short weeks. I hadn’t thought about
it once. Angry with myself for not realizing it was so near, I looked at
my calendar. Thankfully, the day was free of any meetings or trips.
I could continue our family tradition unencumbered.
Every year
on the anniversary of Dad’s death, my brother and I would meet at Dad’s grave
in Cincinnati, no matter the cost or inconvenience. We hadn’t skipped an
anniversary once in almost fifteen years. In the early years, as a couple
of lost preteens, we would stand in front of his grave and mourn for an hour,
trying to figure out how to remember and celebrate our dearly missed dad.
As we grew older, however, our visits turned into a glorified tailgate of
sorts, complete with food, beer, and music.
Now, every
year at noon on April 21st, my brother and I would plant our lawn
chairs next to Dad’s headstone and crack open some beers. Rain or shine,
our visits usually lasted for hours, rendering both of us way too drunk to
drive home. There were a couple of years it was so stormy that we had
almost given up. But no matter what the weather, we always pulled through
for Dad.
Sometimes we
would reminisce about him, sharing our favorite memories until we were too
tired to laugh or cry. Other times, we would chat about what was going on
in our own lives, catching up as if we had met for coffee on a random
afternoon. Our tradition was actually a great way for us to spend some
uninterrupted time together. And I liked to think that Dad enjoyed the
time we spent updating him on our lives.
Mother had
participated in the early years – mostly out of necessity because neither
Michael nor I could drive. But as the years passed and Michael and I were
able to operate a car on our own, Mother ‘moved on’ and stopped coming
altogether. I doubt she had been to Dad’s grave for nearly a
decade. Although I liked visiting Dad without her, I had a hard time
forgiving her for forgetting him. It was like she had tossed that part of
our lives aside while she was busy becoming Mrs. Whomever whenever the mood was
right. To date, she had been married and divorced three times since Dad’s
death.
The first
marriage came only five years after he died, to a man she met during grief
counseling. She told me she would never remarry, only to renege on that
promise when I was seventeen. Their wedding invitations featured the
catchphrase, “It’s never too late for happily ever after.” It made me
sick. Watching her marry man after man then toss them aside left me
wondering whether she would have done the same to Dad had he lived.
Buy the Book!
About the Author:
After practicing
law for nearly three years, Jennifer Vessells decided to leave the practice to
pursue her dream of being a novelist. After an intensive year and a half of
writing, Ms. Vessells is proud to finally present her debut novel to the world
- a story that's been marinating since her early college days.
Passionate about
women's fiction and children's chapter books, Ms. Vessells plans to enjoy a
long writing career. Keep your eye out for more exciting publications from this
author in the future!
Connect with Jennifer at:
Thanks for sharing!
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