Missed chances
by Belladonna
A young man entered the cemetery
through the huge iron gate. He wore dark clothing, just like everybody who'd
visit the graveyard. He knew exactly where he was going for he had gone this
way many times before, right on this day. But this year, on this day everything
was different. For on this day it was so much harder for him to walk this way,
like it had been all the years before. This year he knew the truth, a truth he
hadn't known before and never would have thought possible, never imagined it to
be like that.
It rained, but that didn't matter to
him, he didn't even have an umbrella with him. It rained, just as if heaven
itself would cry, mourn for all the dead beneath it and the man, who walked
over the cemetery on this special day to a special destination could not banish
the deep and endless sadness and sorrow out of his eyes that was within him.
He walked along rows of gravestones,
many different colours of stone and numerous forms, crosses, angels or simple
stones, but the man didn't notice, he didn't look at them, his thoughts far
away. It was not the gravestones of others that they were directed to, no his
goal was the gravestone at the end of the row, set apart a little from the
others. And it just was a simple stone, without a cross or an angel, just
greyish marble with writings on it. It was this simple stone, the man stopped
in front of and he felt his heart beat rising, beat faster and how in his inner
self something knotted.
In one hand he held a single red
rose, in the other a crumpled envelope. The man simply stood there, he didn't
say one word just glared down silently at the gravestone, for he didn't know
what else to say.
The rain was still falling from
heaven, as if heaven itself would still show its grief for the many deaths,
maybe even for this one and the man that stood there and mourned for him.
It was a special day for him. Every
year on this day he came here to visit this grave, for it was on this day many
years ago that his father had died.
The man didn't know how long he
simply had stood there, in the rain and looked down to the grave he visited
every year this day. He had come here every year, but never, in none of the
passed years he had felt such pain and sorrow while standing here.
Never before in the passed years he
had regretted so dearly standing here and looking down at this grave. Never
before had it hurt that much.
On the gravestone the name of the
deceased had been chiselled into the stone.
The inscription of the name was
Jonathan Boyle.
~/~
I don't know
why I have come here all the years, why I did come here all these years on this
day before and I don't know why it is so hard for me to do so now. I don't know
why it is so much harder for me now like it had been all the other years
before. But I do know the answer, do know the reason for it, 'cause I hold it
in my hand now. It is your letter, your final letter to me, that I am holding
in my hands now and only have found the courage to open and read recently.
The truth is, I was afraid to open
and read it. I was afraid of that what might be in it and I'd rather not wanted
to read there. For all of my life I have believed to have known you. I thought
to know who you were and what kind of man you've been, only to find out that
I've been wrong, that I've made a mistake in thinking I'd knew you.
I've been mistaken in you, even more,
all of my life I have hated you and felt nothing but disgust for the things you
have done to us, what you have done to me. I have hated you for what I thought
your job and alcohol had made of you, and I could never forgive you for these
things. At least not until now. I believed you a bad person, more, a monster
that hit and abused his family when having too much alcohol. A monster that hit
his son when drunk.
What would I have given for hearing
you say one time that you were proud of me, that you loved me for what I have
been and become. But you never said it, these simple words never left you lips
and I hated you for this even more, for these rejections were much more painful
than each of your blows. I only wanted you to be proud of me, I never wanted to
fail you, to disappoint you but you've always given me the feeling that I did.
I wanted nothing more than you to be proud of me and to say it, at least once.
I've always thought you never loved me and never wanted me anyway.
But now I had to realize that I was
wrong, that I was wrong in things concerning you and for all this I am so
terribly sorry. I am so sorry that we never had the chance to get this mistake
out of this world like you wanted to. I know that now, now that I have read
your letter. I am sorry that we never had the chance again to talk with each
other, at least for a final time. I would've so much wanted to have this one
chance and I'd give anything for it now, to tell you how I felt and how I feel
now.
I have read your letter and I have
understood.
For the first time in my life I have
the feeling to really know you and to have understood you. I understood why you
did some of the things you have done, but I so much would want to understand
the rest, to talk to you about it. I have now seen the real man you have been.
I so much regret that we didn't have
the chance for a new beginning or would never have, I would have so much wanted
it; and I know from you letter that it had been your wish, too.
I know now how much you loved me,
how proud you have been of me and I hope that you can still be wherever you
might be watching me right now. Even if you never told me, for this we never
got the chance, I do know it now and I want you to know that I am proud of you
too, that I'd always been. I miss you, Dad, and I would wish for a second
chance for us, for a chance to clear out all the differences we'd had.
I always wanted to be like you,
you've always been my role model, the man I wanted to be when I'd grow up, no
matter what you did and I so much had hoped for you to say it at least once, to
say that you loved me and that you had been pleased with what I had done and
what I have been, that you had been proud of me.
But you always have been that and
you did love me, I only have understood it now. But I'd really wish for a
chance for us, a second chance we never had. I truly miss you, Dad.
~/~
Nick Boyle put the rose down on the
grave and stood up again. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, tears of sadness,
grief and loss but also of love, of love for the man on whose grave he stood.
He hadn't noticed to have spoken the last words aloud, but nobody had heard
them. He was alone on the cemetery.
It was still raining and heaven's
tears mixed with his own salty ones. The letter in his hand was even more crumbled,
unconsciously he had held it closer to himself. In his eyes there still was the
pain of loss, mourning of the many missed chances in his life, of which he
especially regretted this one, the chance to talk with his father for a final
and last time and to clear everything out. But he had never gotten this chance
and he wouldn't get one. Nick glanced one final time down on the grave, then he
turned around and left the cemetery.
~/~
He had been wrong, for he hadn't
been alone on the cemetery. Except him there had been one other person on the
graveyard with him, one that had watched him. It had been an older man and he'd
stood a bit away from him, so he wouldn't be seen. The younger man had not seen
him, but now the man stood where Nick had stood a while ago. He stood in midst
the rain, but he didn't got wet by it. He simply stood there now and as the
rain was falling on him, while standing at the grave, it became clear that he
wasn't physically there. The older man watched Nick leaving the graveyard, just
glared after him and in his eyes there was the same sadness recognizable like
it had been in Nick's. This man also regretted so many things in his life,
especially this one. He regretted too, not to have had the chance to express
his true feelings, to have been able to say what he had felt and it pained him
deeper than one could imagine. He regretted no to have had the chance for a
last talk, for the last talk he wanted to have, before he had died.
"I am proud of you, my son", he said
silently, his voice filled with pain. "I have always been, I only have been too
much a coward to tell it loud. I am sorry for so many things in my life, but
the most for hurting you. I never wanted to hurt you and I regret it dearly. I
have always loved you but I could never say it, I wasn't able to. I don't even
know why exactly and I am sorry for it. I am so proud of what you have become
and of the man you have become, son. You have never failed me, how could you
ever do it, you are my son and I do love you."
~fin~
Missed chances
By: Belladonna