My first attempt at something a little meatier than my usual light hearted fics. my main worry is that it just doesn't make that much sense so please let me know what y'all think. As always i think this could to with a little tweaking but you guys are the real judges.
It was spring and spread across the churchyard lay pink petals, scattered by the wind from cherry trees that stood watch over the grounds. The air still carried a hint of winter crispness but the skies were clear that day and the sun shone onto the peaceful graveyard. Among the pink and green that pocked the ground, grey gravestones rose above the lawn; indicators of long lost loved ones now faces vanished into memories.
On the north edge of the cemetery, however, stood a new tablet, the ground still bare from the recent burial and a multitude of flowers rested beside the deceased's marker.
John Smith stood in front of the grave with his hands firmly in the pockets of his coat. Beneath, he wore a simple white shirt and suit pants. His hair, which had grown longer than his usual well kept length of late, fell forwards, the fringe just reaching his eyes as his head dropped down and he stared at the ground by his feet.
He carried the look of a man uncertain of what to do with himself as he sullenly remained glued to the same spot on which he has been for the last few minutes. In that time, his eyes had avoided contact with the stone before him, instead choosing to focus on the surroundings such as the clock on the church tower or the pattern of his shoes laces. Anything to prevent himself from seeing the name and thinking it should be his instead.
He had cursed himself for letting his mind wonder in such a direction, resorting to such petty thoughts. But try as he might, he couldn't ignore the notion that had it have been him, things could have been so different and in the end he would not have to be in that churchyard, avoiding eye contact with a grave.
A wave of emotion swept through his body, forcing up the lump in his throat that he had been trying so hard to keep down. A sharp breath left his mouth, taking with it the faintest of whimpers. And slowly, a cold, solitary tear trickled down his cheek, finally falling on to the collar of his shirt.
In an attempt to distract himself from the aching he could feel building in his chest, he fingered the contents of his pockets. In the right pocket was the photograph he had picked up that morning with intentions of placing on the grave but now found himself unwilling to part with. In the other was the letter he had received only a few days before telling him he was to be shipped out to Vietnam.
As he gripped the letter tightly in his hand, he finally looked down at the name carved into the rock. At that moment, he was surprised to be met with not the overwhelming grief that he had expected, but instead the realization that 'Smith' never deserved to be in the place of 'Harmon', because as much as he loved her and as differently as things would have been, it wouldn't have ended any happier for either of them. His duty to his country would have come first, just like before and her heart would have been broken.
With a sense of understanding he lowered his head and moved towards the headstone. Placing his favourite photograph of the two of them amongst the flowers, he looked one more time into her eyes and turned to leave.
He had been bitter to begin with, but now as he left her behind he felt certain that in choosing Jack, she had made the right choice all along. And even though her son would have to live the rest of his days without a mother, at least he would have his father there to look after him, which is more, John thought ashamedly, than he could ever have offered.