With you...not after.
With you...not after. romance stories
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fiafrex2001
fiafrex2001 Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   3 months ago
Is it always better-to go "after" you...than with you?

Especially when it's a place-you can't come back from?

With you...not after.

This event happened a few years back, but to this day-every time I think about this, it brings tears to my eyes.

A tale, of a love that really didn't follow the "Death do us, part" line.

A tale...that's too pure for this world.

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It started since the death of my mother, ten years after I was born. She was killed in a car crash- an intoxicated

truck driver rammed her car, causing it to spiral off the road and crash into a tree.

It was on their anniversary...seems funny doesn't it-the day you're supposed to celebrate the ring on your finger,

was also the day, that ring was crushed to smithereens, in more ways than one.

They declared her dead, along with the passenger in her car, as soon as they were taken to the hospital, and that broke him.

For as long as I can remember, my dad had always been a robust, tough-as-nails man...he was our support. The person who reassured us, every time we felt scared...

who fixed us, whenever we broke apart...who held on to us, when we felt like falling.

But who was going to support him now? Who was going to be the shoulder for his tears?

Me and my brother tried to fix him, but the pieces that he had broken into, were far too many and far too small to reattach.

My dad was never the same.

He had met my mom in college, on his very first day. They had stood together, waiting to enter the college campus for the first time, and friendship blossomed.

Pretty soon, they realized that they needed to be "more than friends" and never looked back since.

Ironically, the street which killed my mom, was the very same street that had seen my dad propose to my mom.

The best day of his life, and the worst day of his life...happened at the same place.

My dad never believed in the "Till Death Do Us Part" line, and neither did my mom...they were so much in tune with each other's

existence...that it was unthinkable for them, that one day...they might not hold hands in this world at least.

He was living his worst nightmare right now...and it was killing him every single day.

My brother and I saw him getting older, weaker...we tried to help him, but he suffered in silence-crying himself to sleep, tears shining yet

not falling from his impossibly sad, blue eyes.

But everyday...he would go to that spot, on the street and wait...wait for my mom...wait for someone who's never coming back.

And he believed she would.

It wasn't that he just cared about my mom...he had just spent the most time with her...and when you know everything about a person...down to their likes and dislikes...

to not have them anymore in this world...to not feel confident about the fact that she will like your surprise because it's her favourite dish, dress, colour...

when you can no longer hear her critiquing you, about your version of her favourite song...

when you can no longer see her blush, when you say something about her-that warms her heart like no other...when you even know a

person inside and out....

And when that person no longer breathes in this world.

The very same knowledge that you had about her...that knowledge becomes cursed...cursed with pain, anger and heartbreak...but you're addicted to it...

you can't let it go, it's not just some information any more- it's a part of you now.

And you can't lie to yourself about someone you're not.

My father died that day...with my mom and her passenger...he was just in to much pain, to register his demise.

He never smiled nor spoke more than a few words in front of others. At home, he would not cry anymore, just sit silently and look at two pictures...one of my mom, and the other of...

another person, whom he missed just as much.

So it went on...day after day, night after night, season after season, year after year...he would stand at that spot, without fail...waiting.

My brother, now a young man, would try to console him saying that they wouldn't want him to do this to himself.

Every time, my father would refute his statement saying that, "I just...I just need one glimpse of them...just one".

My brother would then ask, "Dad...they have gone to a place they can never return from...you will see them one day...!"

My dad would just look at my brother, for a few moments and then turn away.

But one day, he finally broke his silence, "She-she would ask me to wait for her, whenever we arranged to go somewhere-she would tell me to wait, she never was very punctual, your mother!

", smiling sadly he would continue, "I know they have gone but that's not why I'm standing there....".

The next words that my father spoke, will be forever etched in my mind.

"This time I am the one who is late...she has already reached the destination...I am going there every day to tell her to wait for me!".

My father died at the age of 85...my mother died when she was 34 and when my dad was 36.

My mom had waited for him, for 49 years.

My brother, now an adult with a family, had, never abandoned his dad...choosing to stay with him, till his final years.

"I always believed, that dad was...well, the only reason he was living, was to look after me. He never failed in his duties as a father...

despite the fact that he was no longer a person who felt anything but sad since...they passed away.

Till his final breath, he would stand there, on that street, in the rain, in the snow, in the cold...He had nothing holding him back, but yet he stayed for me...watched me grow, helped me grow...

."

"When I was playing at my friend's house, he would cry himself to sleep...when I was dating my current

wife, he was lying in bed, holding their photographs...when I was living...he...wasn't. If I can ever hope to be half the man he was, pushing the pain aside for his duties...I will be thankful."

My brother never told anyone that my dad had collapsed of a heart attack...on that very same stretch of road.

In a way, his death was poetic-dying on the same road that had been the final resting place for his beloved and the one who was born of her.

The cobblestone and gravel on that road-saw the beginning and the end of their union...at least, on this world.

But the moment he finally met my mother, both the same age as the day they had been torn apart...his suffering and pain seemed like nothing compared to his happiness.

We are now waiting for my brother to reach us...to finally become a full family again.

My mother and I have waited for a long time for my dad to arrive...we can wait a bit more.

After all, it's better to go WITH you than AFTER YOU!

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