It's Carl's first deathday so here's some grief.
The North Star
Her first memory is of his voice and the stars.
It's only about a snippet in her head, like so many others from when she was little- like of Aunt Maggie, before she stopped coming to visit, tickling her to make her laugh, or of her dad's scratchy beard as he kissed her forehead- but she still recognises her first memory best of all. It had been dark, and she was in his arms. They pointed up at the sky together, to the bright, flickering dots.
He was talking, she knows, but she can't remember most of the words. She's not even sure she truly recalls the part she does know, or if she only does because her mom told her about it afterwards. But she can still hear the sound of his voice- the softness whispering in her ear, and the memory is… good. Content. Peaceful.
She is afraid she'll forget her dad's scratchy beard and his warm kisses.
She is afraid she'll forget the softness of her brother's voice.
'He was showing you the stars,' Michonne told her once. 'I heard him telling you about the North Star, in case you ever got lost. He wanted to make sure you were always safe.'
But how would it keep her safe if she were trapped outside the walls, all on her own and surrounded by walkers? Judith doesn't understand at first, and it takes her a while to do so.
It isn't until she is eight and Michonne finally lets her go out scavenging with Aunt Rosita and Uncle Aaron that she begins to realise why it matters. They are cut off by a herd moving in from the east, and have to take a detour- a long one. The sight of them all, even at this distance, safely tucked away in the trees and beyond their scope, fills her with dread.
She can't remember the days on the road, when she was very little and they hadn't found Alexandria. She doesn't remember the people Michonne tells her about; Aunt Maggie's sister Beth, who used to watch over her when she was born, or Tyreese, whom Aunt Carol says helped to protect her when she was separated from her family. Sometimes Judith wishes she could remember being that small. There are so many names and so little to remember them by. Judith feels like she should know them, and the harsh world beyond the walls where they all died. She should remember what it feels to be out here, so as to adjust now. She wants to be as strong as they all were. And she hopes she can make it further than they could.
But it is fanciful dreaming of a childhood safe behind the walls, protected by loved and lost ones alike. The world outside is more than she believed it could be, and as she and the group hurry along a lesser trodden path through the woods, the reality sets in.
She is just a child. She's smaller and weaker than the rest of the group, and scared after all. Her original excitement at being allowed to come turns to exhaustion and fear. She knows her mom will probably send patrols out to look for them, and might not let her do this again.
And RJ? RJ will cry. He's still such a baby, even if he is four. He's started drawing with her recently, and once Uncle Eugene had shown them how to make paper aeroplanes, their home had been filled with them, whizzing down staircases and soaring out of open windows. Until one had hit RJ in the face, anyway. Then there had been a flood of tears.
But she won't see him cry tonight. Because Aunt Rosita is saying that they will have to camp out, and soon the group is trudging through the undergrowth towards a known cabin serving as an emergency outpost. Judith stays close, her hand never straying from the hilt of the revolver at her side. They only come across one walker loitering near a stream, and hear a few more in the distance along the way, but as the night draws near something about their presence becomes far more ominous than before. She tries not to stare at each tree as the sky grows darker and darker, because once they stop looking like trees and start looking like they could be anything at all, the outside world becomes all the more frightening.
She begins thinking about him. She wonders how afraid he was, during all that time on the road. He had been little too, when it all started.
She has been practicing for this moment, she tells herself. She has trained each day with the katana, ever since she was big enough to carry it and old enough to be careful not to cut herself. Her mom taught her how to be safe.
And he did too. He told her about the North Star, and how could guide her.
And so she looks up to the sky and peers through the canopy of leaves, hoping to catch a glimpse of it.
She isn't sure she spots it, for there are so many up there and the trees hide most of them, but the light brings her to that night in her brother's arms, pointing at the stars together, and she imagines his voice in her ear once more, leading her home.
They find the cabin. Judith feels strangely light and calm. Suddenly, things aren't so bad. The stars are easier to see in this small clearing, and as Uncle Aaron puts a hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze, she smiles.
It will be fine.
She is almost nine when Michonne tells her and RJ about Andre.
It is a slip of the tongue, one Judith has heard before. She knows everyone does it from time to time- they address those who are no longer here, or call people by the wrong names. She sees it in the days and weeks following a supply run gone wrong, and when an old man grows sickly and begins talking to a wife who isn't there. And she has seen her mom do it before, when RJ wouldn't stop running around the house as a toddler once and when she had been reading both children a bedtime story.
Sometimes, very rarely, their mom calls RJ Andre. And then she becomes very quiet, and doesn't say any more for a long time. Judith doesn't ask why.
'He was your brother. Before you were both born,' Michonne tells them one night, as Judith draws a picture of her family- her whole family.
'Where is he?' RJ asks.
Judith knows the answer easily enough. He must be where the rest of their family is.
'Heaven,' she tells him, and Michonne nods.
'Sometimes it's hard to talk about people,' their mom tells them. 'It can be very sad. But I want you to know. You should know.'
Judith adds another face to the picture that night. Up in the clouds, above the drawings of her, RJ and their mom, of Aunt Maggie and Hershel, Aunt Carol, Uncle Daryl and many more, she puts a little boy who looks like RJ next to that of her other mom, who died so she could be here, her dad, and the boy with her hat and an eyepatch, who always smiles in her pictures.
(She remembers him smiling, even when there were tears. Even when he said goodbye.)
Michonne lets her leave again with the groups who go outside the walls. And again. And again. Judith learns not to fear the dark as much, for they usually make it back before the sun sets. And although her stomach still twists in fear when the night does fall, or when a walker emerges from the shadows, rasping and gurgling as it staggers towards the group, she holds her head high. She will get better at this. She will never feel safe out here, but that's fine. She has a home waiting for her, and stars to guide her.
Even if she doesn't know which way to go, she feels them all watching from above, beaming down at her.
'That one,' Judith says when RJ turns five, 'is Dad.'
She points up at a dot in the sky, shining brighter than those around it. Uncle Aaron says the ones that are brighter are closer, or so big that they outshine all the others. She can't remember which one this is- maybe Sirius?- but it's close, she thinks. Closer than most of the others, anyway.
'Dad?' RJ asks, lifting his head up from her shoulder. The two are curled up in the rocking chair on their front porch, and Judith feels an odd tingling in her chest each time she points at a different star and RJ copies her.
'Um hmm,' she says. 'Rick. Like you.'
She says this to make him smile, because ever since RJ was old enough to know that he was named after their dad, he has been happy about it. He never got to meet Rick, so Judith guesses this helps him feel close to him anyhow.
A star nearby glistens and she looks to it next, her fingers threading through and twisting the curls of RJ's hair absent-mindedly. She isn't sure how to tell him about this one. 'That's Lori,' she tells him.
'Who?'
'My- our other mom.' RJ won't get it. She can hardly go explaining it all to him now- that Lori wasn't ever his mother, and that she never got the chance to be Judith's either.
'There's Andre,' she continues as another star catches her eye, and RJ squirms happily beside her. She tries to imagine this long gone brother of theirs, a brother she knows deep down isn't hers by blood, and an image of another RJ jumps into her head, just as it does in her drawings. She understands these things now, but also that it doesn't matter. She has family in many places; all around her and up above.
'That's Uncle Glenn,' she says next, pointing at another. She thinks she might be able to remember him- just possibly- as one of the shadowy figures at the back of her head, carrying her or watching over her. But there are so many of them, and she's never quite sure.
She picks out a few more, all of them random and unknown to her. As long as they shine brightly and RJ can spot them too, that's all that matters.
'There's Hershel.'
RJ twists around to squint at her. 'He's not in heaven.'
'Not him. Aunt Maggie's dad.'
'Oh. I don't remember him.'
'Of course you don't,' Judith says. 'You never met him.' She doesn't mention that she can't remember him either.
RJ rests his head against her once more, pointing his finger and choosing stars for her.
'Who's that?'
'That's Sasha.'
'And that?'
'Tyreese. And that one's Beth.'
The two go on and on, picking out stars and naming them. Judith's throat feels tighter than before, and Michonne's words echo in her head; sometimes it's hard to talk about those who are gone, and it hurts. She can feel how it starts to burn, and she understands. But her mouth still stretches into a grin. She remembers another face that once smiled through all the sadness, one eye shining at her in the darkness of the tunnel just as the stars do in the sky, and her own eyes begin to blur.
'What about that one?' RJ asks, and Judith blinks the tears away.
He's pointing at one she does know. It isn't as bright as some of the others they've picked out, but RJ must recognise it from some of his sister's drawings. She likes to sketch out the constellations she learns about, and she always makes the curling end of the Little Dipper a different colour to the others- sometimes blue, sometimes purple, sometimes red- so that it looks special.
She remembers something as hazy as her sight when the tears form again. Something deep and flickering, like the dots of light above. In it, she is very small, pointing just as she and RJ do now.
And in his embrace, her elder brother points with her.
His voice is soft and warm. She feels safe.
'That's the North Star,' she knows he is saying, and she repeats the same to RJ. 'If you get lost at night, just find that star.'
'Why?'
'Because it's special,' Judith murmurs. 'It helps guide you home.'
The two rock back and forth slowly, quiet for a little while. They both watch the glimmering star.
'Does it have a proper name?' RJ asks eventually. 'Like a person?'
Judith nods, and keeps smiling as she lets the tears fall.
'That one,' she says, 'is Carl.'
My personal blog: rezeren . tumblr . com
My Walking Dead blog: judithasskickergrimes . tumblr . com
Proof that I lost my mind a year ago: iscarlgrimesbackfromthedeadyet . tumblr . com
I wrote this instead of sleeping a few nights ago and decided to add it to the list of shit I'm doing for Carl's first death anniversary. In case the blog I run in which I document his continued demised daily hasn't emphasised enough how much I miss him.
Hope you enjoyed, and that Judith's perspective wasn't too mature. I mean she's still a little kid, even if she's growing up tough in the zombie apocalypse.
Thanks for reading, and remember to review!