Page 75 of Over Her Dead Body
‘I don’t want you to think that I’m ever going to forget you. And I just hope that if you can hear me…’ I let out a small, teary laugh, ‘wherever you are, you know just how much you were loved, and will always be loved. By me, by Chlo, by your family.’
I had always thought this grief was something quite terrible, something I wasn’t meant to hold on to as much as I did, but I didn’t think like that anymore. Maybe grief wasn’t all that bad. Maybe this heartbreak would never really mend but maybe that was okay, it was always meant to be with me.
I scoffed softly, wiping the tears from my cheek, laughing at myself a little. I could practically see her rolling her eyes at me, fake vomiting in mock disgust, calling me cheesy and corny before giving me a playful slap on the arm and telling me how much she loved Obama.
‘The thing is, I don’t want to forget you… everything, this grief just keeps you alive for me for a bit longer and I just want you to know how much I’ll always love you,’ I said, adjusting the flowers for her to make sure they looked nice before rising to my feet.
Down the hill, I could just about see the figures of Ben and Bill waving at me again as they saw me look in their direction. I was meant to drive them both home; good luck to them. But I had asked them to come just to make sure I didn’t back out on the way.
Something felt different inside me since that night where I met Jago at Sabroso, as if things were just a little bit lighter, a little bit easier. I think I knew now that the pain wouldn’t ever really go away, and somehow, I was feeling pretty okay with that. Greta lived a life full of moments that mattered so much, because they ended.
Nothing lasts forever, right?And that’s the point.Wabi-sabi, just like Greta had told me on the day that she died.
Be brave, that’s what Greta had once told me. What she had always told me, right from the beginning, when she had given me those words of encouragement on the stage of the school play. Be brave.
‘Right,’ I muttered to myself, letting the teeniest, tiniest, smallest amount of hope creep in as I watched a ladybird drift down onto the flowers I’d brought for Greta, slowly making its way across them.
‘What next?’
*
