so I finally went...
I finally did it. I got directions and decided to go to Alena's grave. It's been almost 15 months, and I just finally decided to go. I put on the same clothes I wore to my grandfather's funeral minus his red tie that I wore, got some gas and bought a bouquet of white/blue/purple/violet flowers and drove on out there.
I thought it was a pretty cool coincidence that to the second when I turned on 27 South and hit the "welcome to Lake Wales" sign, the song Angel by Sarah Mclachlan came on the radio. I thought "man what a sign," except I spent a half hour looking for her grave with no luck.
This guy was watering new grass on a grave marked "Jones," figured it was Amber, but couldn't find "Violette" anywhere around, so after looping the place at 7mph, I went back and asked him if there was a directory or something. He goes "sorry man, you're on your own. I only know of two people here, and I doubt it's them. What's the last name of the person?"
That's when I said "Violette," and he goes "oh, Amber's right here. Alena's just around the corner in the first row. Take a left then a right and another right, first row on the left." I thought that was an interesting happenstance as well.
When I started to round that 2nd turn, the name was pretty clear. It was a big solid block of black granite that said "VIOLETTE" in big letters. I drove around, parked and grabbed my bouquet.
I have always considered myself someone who knows what to do in any situation, but I was pretty much at a loss for actions and words. I had practiced things that I might say or do when I got there, and they just all felt mechanical and half-hearted. Amidst the tears that I didn't really bother to wipe away, I set the flowers down amidst the slightly winded and weathered fake ones, and kneeled down.
Right there was when I realized the lyric I wrote up a few weeks ago--I wanted more than anything to see Alena just once more. See her, Kiss her, smell her, hold her hand, anything. And the closest I'd ever be was those six feet. Six feet can be a lifetime.
I talked about singing the song I wrote on the Westcott steps at her vigil, and how even though I had dropped out, after she died I had begun to rethink my life and went back to school that fall. After struggling and almost failing out, I made a decision to change my life and get back on track and pretty much aced the Spring semester, 5 A's and a B. Then I told her how I was going back to FSU, and that when I got back up there, I'd go play for her from those steps again.
I told her how much she meant to me and how even after meeting her just once, how I knew it was something special from the first moment I saw her, because you don't feel that strongly for someone you only meet once in your lifetime. But I did, and still do. I told her how I think about her every single day, every night before I go to sleep, and how pretty much everytime I play guitar or piano or write, it's for her.
I walked around to the back of the grave, knelt down, and traced her the "VIOLETTE" etching with my right index finger, looked at it a minute, then went back around to the front. I saw three plastic yellow ducks in a row and thought about what life might have been like for her when she was little. I told her that there was so much about her that I didn't know, but that it didn't even seem to matter. I told her how I wished she could hear me, and how I wished I could just see her again.
I picked out a stem of white flowers from the bouquet I brought and kissed them, then put them back in left them. I remember looking down and tears kept falling from my chin into the dirt. I was thinking on the way over how I'd give every single piece of me just to see her again, except my tears, because I'd save those for when I was thinking about her. As it turned out, I kept every part of me except the tears. I couldn't seem to give those away fast enough.
When I was about to leave, I told her how I'd have to meet her family some day, and then go see that mural, too. I think I might have kissed the flowers again, or moved them or something. Then I got in my car, which was pretty well heated by the sun by then (about a half hour I think), sat there for a moment with the engine off looking at her grave again through the window, and I couldn't tell which was sweat and which was tears streaming down my face.
I put on my glasses, started the car, and slowly drove away. I let out a lot of grief that had been waiting for that day. I think I still have a lot more though.
And I want to say I feel closure, but I don't think I do yet. Maybe it will come. Probably it won't for a long time.
I thought it was a pretty cool coincidence that to the second when I turned on 27 South and hit the "welcome to Lake Wales" sign, the song Angel by Sarah Mclachlan came on the radio. I thought "man what a sign," except I spent a half hour looking for her grave with no luck.
This guy was watering new grass on a grave marked "Jones," figured it was Amber, but couldn't find "Violette" anywhere around, so after looping the place at 7mph, I went back and asked him if there was a directory or something. He goes "sorry man, you're on your own. I only know of two people here, and I doubt it's them. What's the last name of the person?"
That's when I said "Violette," and he goes "oh, Amber's right here. Alena's just around the corner in the first row. Take a left then a right and another right, first row on the left." I thought that was an interesting happenstance as well.
When I started to round that 2nd turn, the name was pretty clear. It was a big solid block of black granite that said "VIOLETTE" in big letters. I drove around, parked and grabbed my bouquet.
I have always considered myself someone who knows what to do in any situation, but I was pretty much at a loss for actions and words. I had practiced things that I might say or do when I got there, and they just all felt mechanical and half-hearted. Amidst the tears that I didn't really bother to wipe away, I set the flowers down amidst the slightly winded and weathered fake ones, and kneeled down.
Right there was when I realized the lyric I wrote up a few weeks ago--I wanted more than anything to see Alena just once more. See her, Kiss her, smell her, hold her hand, anything. And the closest I'd ever be was those six feet. Six feet can be a lifetime.
I talked about singing the song I wrote on the Westcott steps at her vigil, and how even though I had dropped out, after she died I had begun to rethink my life and went back to school that fall. After struggling and almost failing out, I made a decision to change my life and get back on track and pretty much aced the Spring semester, 5 A's and a B. Then I told her how I was going back to FSU, and that when I got back up there, I'd go play for her from those steps again.
I told her how much she meant to me and how even after meeting her just once, how I knew it was something special from the first moment I saw her, because you don't feel that strongly for someone you only meet once in your lifetime. But I did, and still do. I told her how I think about her every single day, every night before I go to sleep, and how pretty much everytime I play guitar or piano or write, it's for her.
I walked around to the back of the grave, knelt down, and traced her the "VIOLETTE" etching with my right index finger, looked at it a minute, then went back around to the front. I saw three plastic yellow ducks in a row and thought about what life might have been like for her when she was little. I told her that there was so much about her that I didn't know, but that it didn't even seem to matter. I told her how I wished she could hear me, and how I wished I could just see her again.
I picked out a stem of white flowers from the bouquet I brought and kissed them, then put them back in left them. I remember looking down and tears kept falling from my chin into the dirt. I was thinking on the way over how I'd give every single piece of me just to see her again, except my tears, because I'd save those for when I was thinking about her. As it turned out, I kept every part of me except the tears. I couldn't seem to give those away fast enough.
When I was about to leave, I told her how I'd have to meet her family some day, and then go see that mural, too. I think I might have kissed the flowers again, or moved them or something. Then I got in my car, which was pretty well heated by the sun by then (about a half hour I think), sat there for a moment with the engine off looking at her grave again through the window, and I couldn't tell which was sweat and which was tears streaming down my face.
I put on my glasses, started the car, and slowly drove away. I let out a lot of grief that had been waiting for that day. I think I still have a lot more though.
And I want to say I feel closure, but I don't think I do yet. Maybe it will come. Probably it won't for a long time.