A Birthday and a Death Day Part 2

While dad was downstairs feeding Sebastian, I was still in the bathroom, bawling my eyes out. It hit me that I'd never lost anyone close to me before, and I wasn't real sure how to deal with it.

Then I heard dad call downstairs. "Savannah!"

When I went downstairs, I knew without knowing.

The look on his face said it all. He was going to the cemetery.



And he wanted me to come with him. He would leave mom at home with Sebastian. He needed to do this, after all, Aunt Margaret was his sister. And he wanted me along.



It was a drive neither of us wanted to make, a ride neither of us wanted to take, but both of us knew we had to do it. I couldn't bear to tell him about the fact that I had grandma's journal. Or the fact that I'd been going to the cemetery nearly every night in hopes of seeing her ghost. I couldn't bear to mention those things. Not now. Now, though, he wanted me there with him. Not mom. Not Noah. Not Billy or Nicholas. Me.



"Hey, dad, wait up!" I called to him in the thick soupy night air. At this time of the night the fog starts to roll in from the sea to our southwest.

I pretty much had to walk dad into the cemetery once we finally did meet. The poor guy, cemeteries are sooo NOT his thing.

We stood there, just the two of us (and the ghosts emerging from their slumber), contemplating on what had just happened. Dad had placed Aunt Margaret's tombstone right next to the graves of his parents.
Right then, dad reached over and grabbed my hand. His was a simple gesture, yet it meant so much. He didn't have to say anything.

"Dad," I whispered, "I miss her too."

And we both stood there and sobbed.

What comes next, I have no idea. Who's writing the obituary for the paper? Believe it or not, probably mom or me. I'm not sure dad has the strength to compose this. His strength is music, not words. When is the public funeral service? We don't know. Noah's wedding? That's up in the air, too.
All we knew was that at that moment, we were united in our loss.