CATEGORY: Drama
SPOILERS: none
SEASON / SEQUEL: anywhen
RATING: PG
CONTENT WARNINGS: none
SUMMARY: Sometimes everything is wrong.
DISCLAIMER: This story is written entirely for entertainment and is not intended as an infringement against the copy written material that belongs solely to Showtime, MGM/UA, Gekko Films, et al. I'm only playing with their characters and will return them as soon as the story is finished. The following story is the property of the authors and is not to be copied, or published without the express, written consent of the authors.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Dedicated to Ferdinand. And to Monique. We will never forget you, my dear.
Don't let yourself go
Cause everybody cries
And everybody hurts
Sometimes
- The Corrs
It was a sunny autumn day. The trees were preparing to lose their leaves, the colors having changed from fresh green to yellow, reddish and light brown.
There wasn't much wind, and the sunbeams felt warm on the skin, making coats or sweaters unnecessary. It was a beautiful day, a perfect way to remember the summer and to enjoy it for as long as it lasted, before the cold, rain and wind would come, preparing the world for the upcoming winter.
A beautiful day.
Except for Jack O'Neill.
First, this was the third and therefore last day of the short leave SG-1 had been given by General Hammond after that long, dreadful mission to that planet with the promising naquadria but unexpected army of Jaffa, keeping them away from the gate for two weeks.
Second, it was the first day of his leave that he'd finally managed to be alone. His team had kept him company until last night, figuring he'd needed it, no matter how much he objected. Guess the medication Fraiser had given him to get over that nasty cold, - threatening to become pneumonia, Doc had called it - had something to do with Daniel going into full mother hen mode and Sam hovering around him, making sure he ate and slept.
All well-meant attention, but he really, really needed to be alone.
Alone, because of the day that had passed while they were trapped on that rotten, stinkin' planet. The day he remembered his son all by himself. It wasn't Charlie's birthday or anything, those days he would spend, if possible, with Sara and they would visit the cemetery together.
This day, however, was more private. It was the date he'd taken Charlie to his first hockey game, eight years ago. A special day, a day for father and son, something he'd promised his son for a long time, but after other dreadful missions hadn't been able to live up to, until then.
God, how much Charlie had loved it. He remembered the enthusiasm, the eyes filled with joy and excitement, as the moment was finally there for them to get into the car and drive to the stadium. The kid had even forgotten he was mad at his dad, for not being able to go the last time they'd planned.
A giant bag with salty, buttery popcorn, two cokes and hotdogs. Jumping up together, clapping hands, when a goal was made. Arms raised above the head, hollering, when their team won the game. Memories of his son, good memories, of a night out, just the two of them.
For all those years since Charlie had passed away, Jack had been visiting his son alone on that day, remembering the good times, embracing the silence at the grave yard. He would stand there for a long time, lost in his thoughts until finally he would drop to his knees with tears rolling down his cheeks.
He couldn't break down like that when he went to the grave with Sara. He just couldn't. He'd always believed the man had to be strong, where the woman was allowed to show her emotions and cry on his shoulder. It was an example set in the family by his father, and his grandfather and generations of O'Neill's before.
That's why he'd picked that particular day, to be with his son alone, and grieve without an audience. It was his way, the only way he could give in to his emotions.
This was the first time in all those years that he hadn't been able to make it on that special day. He'd always managed before, to get some time off, to switch missions, find legitimate excuses to postpone some, but this time while they were supposed to be back on Earth in time, a troop of Jaffa had prevented their return. He'd been restless since the day had passed, subconsciously believing Charlie would be mad at him once more for missing out on something that was so special to the both of them.
It hurt.
Another promise to his son he couldn't live up to.
He was late again, and had no excuses. Like so many times before, he'd failed his son. He'd never been able to explain to his kid that work sometimes comes between a dad and his son. Wouldn't it make the child believe that he was less important than a job? How could he explain that there are people in the world that are so bad, doing things so horrible, that someone, somebody has to put a stop to it? That dad hadn't been able to come home because some madmen were keeping him imprisoned, torturing him for just the fun of it?
It was a dirty job, his job, but it was the only job where he could mean something to the world. That was his goal, his challenge, his ideal, to provide his son with a better world to live in.
Only Charlie wasn't allowed to live on.
It hurt. After all those years, it still hurt. A lot.
Standing at the foot of the grave, Jack sighed heavily. He'd already given his excuses for being a couple of days too late and could only hope Charlie would accept them. Now, his mind was searching for good memories, for times where they were having fun as a family, and the image of his son celebrating after scoring a goal playing soccer or hitting a homerun in Little League made him smile.
It was a rueful smile, though.
His son was supposed to be with him, driving him nuts maybe, as a teenager, but he wasn't supposed to be dead. It just wasn't right. A parent should be able to raise his kid, and watch him grow up before slowly letting him go. The fact that Charlie was just ripped from his life was still unacceptable to O'Neill, something that shouldn't have happened at all.
It just had. Sometimes everything is wrong. Cause no parent should have to outlive their own child. It just wasn't right.
Still he had.
He didn't recall actually dropping to his knees, nor did he have a clue how long he'd sat there, sobbing over the loss he couldn't and wouldn't ever get over with. His attention was slowly drawn to some other visitors of the grave yard, a man, a young boy and a baby carrier dangling on the man's right arm.
Without meaning to pry, Jack watched as the man stood, also in front of a grave, while the little boy was playing with the gravel on the path. The boy couldn't be any older than three or four, the baby, as far as he could see was only a couple of months old.
The man placed the carrier on the ground, folded his hands behind his back and stood, silently, with his chin dropped to the chest.
Not wanting to invade on the man's privacy, Jack bowed his head again, and tried to concentrate, but he couldn't stop thinking about what he'd seen. Although he knew there were many people grieving on the world, the fact that he'd seen somebody, that close, made him realize he wasn't hurting alone.
Everybody hurt.
Either because of some tragedy, or loss, or maybe some sickness or relationship problems.
Sometimes everybody cried.
It didn't make things easier, it didn't make him miss Charlie less, or lessen the feelings of guilt, but it helped him deal with his grief.
He wasn't alone.
Looking up, without knowing how much time had passed, Jack realized that the man and the children were gone. A quick glance at his watch told him he'd sat with Charlie for almost two hours. It was strange, it didn't feel that long at all.
With a silent promise he would be there on the precise day next year, O'Neill gave a weak smile towards the grave. He softly said goodbye to his son, and, with one last look over his shoulder, he walked away.
He strolled through the paths between the graves, and unconsciously took a detour, then came to a halt by a relatively new grave. The stone at the head of the grave was made of dark red granite with a pattern of black dots making it look like marble. It was a heart-shaped stone, and it contained only a name, the name of a woman. At the foot of the grave, made from sort-like granite but then black, lay a teddy-bear, its cute little face directed towards the heart. The inscriptions quickly told him that a woman of barely forty years old was buried here.
What struck him, however, were the words at the bottom. Gracefully written, in gold-shiny italic, was engraved: Goodbye dear mama Monique.
Oh, dear God. This was the grave where the man he'd seen earlier had been standing. The man, with those two little kids.
So... this must be his wife, and the mother of those children.
Closing his eyes tightly, Jack breathed in and out, slowly, in order to control his emotions. He then gave a respectful bow towards the grave, walking a few steps backwards before turning around.
Everybody hurt.
He knew from first-hand experience that no parent should have to outlive their own child. It was unnatural, unfair and devastating.
Walking away he realized however that no child should have to outlive their own mother either.
THE END