Cemetery Tour.

Memories pull at the green of the grass, fading the bright color that stood not too long ago. Laughter and tears. Memories we want to hold onto, the ones we want to forget…the silver wisps circle around together, tangling in the entryway of the afterlife, greeted by Persephone and her flowers.

Cracked and overturned headstones make it hard to move, but still, we push forward. We always step carefully, my dad and I. One foot here, the other there, careful not to disturb those around us.

The first one he takes me to is the saddest. She was too young. Way too young. Standing and looking at the marker, the life that could’ve been feels so out of reach. We wonder where she is. What she is feeling. What she is seeing.

I hope she sees my dad. I hope he sees her.

The car ride is silent as we go to the next one. Our necks crane up as we look at him. Almost ten years and it’s still not easy. Dad leaves me alone to talk to him, but I don’t know what to say. I tell him I’m doing well. About all the things I wish he was here for.

I can’t find my dad after - he tends to disappear.

But there he is, on the other side, looking at red and green balloons tied to a bench that says Mom. She was my age, he says. His eyes are locked onto the birth year before we head back to the car.

Across the street, we look for the marker. The last name of a stranger that helps guide us to the last stop. Dad introduces me, telling the stone that he would be very proud of me if he met me. I don’t know him, but the thought brings a lightness to my chest.

A few rows back, Dad takes me to just one more. Neither of us knew her, she was only six years old. But her marker shows our original last name. The last piece of Poland we have. The name is beautiful, as I’m sure she would have been.

Outside of the car door, Persephone’s gift waits for me. The fabric of the petals is faded, but I take it anyway.