Hey, all. So I just submitted one of my college applications, and one of the required essays asked to write about a person who had greatly influenced your life. I chose to write about my Nana, who, as those of you who read Vigil might possibly remember, passed away back in Frebruary. Well, I was really feeling that loss again after I wrote it, so I wrote this piece to recover. Hopefully you all enjoy it.
Strength
Dick stood by his parents' graves on the grounds of Wayne Manor, the mid-November chill forcing him to wrap his small arms around himself. It had been nearly nine months since they had fallen, their wires snapped by Tony Zucco's acid, but the time did nothing to heal the pain that was inside of him. If anything, it only made their loss seem more real.
They had been the greatest people he had known. Their strength was one of the many qualities that had given them their world renown. But it wasn't just their strength on the trapeze that Dick thought of when he thought of them. It was their strength in life. Circus life had not been easy, moving from place to place constantly, often times living in near-poverty when the circus wasn't doing well.
But his parents never let it show when their living conditions were less than ideal. They kept smiles on their faces at all times, even during the worst of times, for the benefit of those around them. When things were at their worst, especially when things were at their worst, they would go out of their way to do something nice for the entire circus, their family, as if it was no struggle at all.
Dick sank to his knees, his hands resting on their headstones, sobs shaking his shoulders. His parents had been the greatest people in the world, they had lived the fullest lives of anyone he knew, and, most importantly, they had loved him. They had been there for him during all the times in his life that he had needed them, except for this. He couldn't go to them for advice on how to heal from the death of loved ones because it was their deaths that he needed healing from. He could go to Bruce or Alfred or even Uncle Clark, he knew, but it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be them.
Dick stood and took one last moment to stare at their graves, his sobs quieting. "Would you be proud of me?" he asked them aloud. "Are you proud of me, up there with God? Are you proud of what I'm doing with my life in your absence?"
He smiled then, knowing what their answer would be even without their verbal confirmation. And for the moment, that was enough for him. He knew he would see them again someday, many years in the future, and that thought brought him comfort.
Dick turned and walked away from their graves, a small smile, but sad, smile on his face.
Thank you so much for reading this.
~Red~
