comparatively few new markers I could see in this more traditional place of rest. But I knew that Janet would have wanted somewhere close by to visit her son. The easiest way to find him would be to look for the best-maintained plot.
I didn’t have to look at many before I found what I was searching for. Just long enough to read half a dozen moving and heart-wrenching epitaphs as I walked among the granite headstones. DEAREST HUSBAND, BELOVED GRANDMOTHER, MUCH LOVED FATHER . So much grief, so many tears, the frozen soil was saturated with sadness.
Jimmy’s grave was slightly to one side, clearly newer than its neighbors. The headstone was sparkling white marble that seemed to glow under the winter moon’s iridescence. I walked around and steadied myself for a moment before reading his inscription.
JIMMY BOYD
LOST TOO SOON AT 18 YEARS.
CHERISHED SON AND LOYAL FRIEND.
OUR LOVE FOR YOU WILL LIVE ON FOREVER.
A sob broke from me, so raw with grief it sounded more animal than human. I felt my knees buckle and I sank onto the cold grass beside his grave. I had come here hoping to voice all of my feelings, but none could reach the surface through the molten lava of pain. I had believed that over the years I had finally accepted Jimmy’s death, but I realized now that all I had done was put a thin plaster over a gaping wound. I was incapable of words, only able to rock slowly back and forth on my knees, repeating his name over and over again.
It was too painful. I wasn’t strong enough, either physically or emotionally, to cope with this grief tonight. It was madness to have come. Still hiccupping soft sorrowful sobs, I started to get to my feet and then swayed forward, only stopping myself from falling by flinging out my hand onto the ice-slick turf. My head felt suddenly strange, too heavy for my neck to hold. Then, giving a small helpless cry, my supporting arm gave way and I fell forward onto the cold, unyielding ground beside the grave.
The pain from my head now encompassed my entire neck and shoulders, and I wondered if I had somehow struck myself on a rock when I fell. But the cold grass beneath my cheek was clear of any obstruction. Very slowly, trying to minimize each movement of my head, I inched back my arms until both hands were flat on the soil on either side of me. I tried to lever myself up but my quivering forearms would not comply. After several abortive attempts, I realized I wasn’t going to be able to get to my feet that way.
Suddenly the danger I was in was terrifyingly obvious. I was lying, sick and virtually immobile, in a deserted graveyard. No one knew I was here; no one was going to miss me—not until the morning at least. I could
die
here. The thought, so terrifying, managed to pierce through the viselike pain in my head. I had no idea how long it took to die of exposure, or hypothermia. But I did know that I wasn’t going to give up and lie down to die beside the boy who’d lost his life while saving mine.
Trying to ignore the agony in my head, I tried to roll gently onto my side. My progress was slow, each movement sending a paralyzing spasm from my neck. I stopped several times to gather my breath, finding the strength to continue not in my desire to live, but in the knowledge of what losing me would do to my father.
Eventually, when I had regained my breath a little, I gingerly raised my knees toward my chest. At least that area of my body wasn’t in pain, but it did feel oddly numb, which I supposed must have been a result of lying on the frozen ground. With my legs in position, I realized I couldn’t afford to tackle my next maneuver so delicately. I didn’t have much strength left and it felt very much like this would have to be an all-or-nothing attempt. I braced my arm to support myself, took a deep breath, held it, and rolled with Herculean effort onto my knees.
Bright spots of light pinwheeled behind my eyes; I felt the sway of an incipient faint, and bit deeply into my lower
I didn’t have to look at many before I found what I was searching for. Just long enough to read half a dozen moving and heart-wrenching epitaphs as I walked among the granite headstones. DEAREST HUSBAND, BELOVED GRANDMOTHER, MUCH LOVED FATHER . So much grief, so many tears, the frozen soil was saturated with sadness.
Jimmy’s grave was slightly to one side, clearly newer than its neighbors. The headstone was sparkling white marble that seemed to glow under the winter moon’s iridescence. I walked around and steadied myself for a moment before reading his inscription.
JIMMY BOYD
LOST TOO SOON AT 18 YEARS.
CHERISHED SON AND LOYAL FRIEND.
OUR LOVE FOR YOU WILL LIVE ON FOREVER.
A sob broke from me, so raw with grief it sounded more animal than human. I felt my knees buckle and I sank onto the cold grass beside his grave. I had come here hoping to voice all of my feelings, but none could reach the surface through the molten lava of pain. I had believed that over the years I had finally accepted Jimmy’s death, but I realized now that all I had done was put a thin plaster over a gaping wound. I was incapable of words, only able to rock slowly back and forth on my knees, repeating his name over and over again.
It was too painful. I wasn’t strong enough, either physically or emotionally, to cope with this grief tonight. It was madness to have come. Still hiccupping soft sorrowful sobs, I started to get to my feet and then swayed forward, only stopping myself from falling by flinging out my hand onto the ice-slick turf. My head felt suddenly strange, too heavy for my neck to hold. Then, giving a small helpless cry, my supporting arm gave way and I fell forward onto the cold, unyielding ground beside the grave.
The pain from my head now encompassed my entire neck and shoulders, and I wondered if I had somehow struck myself on a rock when I fell. But the cold grass beneath my cheek was clear of any obstruction. Very slowly, trying to minimize each movement of my head, I inched back my arms until both hands were flat on the soil on either side of me. I tried to lever myself up but my quivering forearms would not comply. After several abortive attempts, I realized I wasn’t going to be able to get to my feet that way.
Suddenly the danger I was in was terrifyingly obvious. I was lying, sick and virtually immobile, in a deserted graveyard. No one knew I was here; no one was going to miss me—not until the morning at least. I could
die
here. The thought, so terrifying, managed to pierce through the viselike pain in my head. I had no idea how long it took to die of exposure, or hypothermia. But I did know that I wasn’t going to give up and lie down to die beside the boy who’d lost his life while saving mine.
Trying to ignore the agony in my head, I tried to roll gently onto my side. My progress was slow, each movement sending a paralyzing spasm from my neck. I stopped several times to gather my breath, finding the strength to continue not in my desire to live, but in the knowledge of what losing me would do to my father.
Eventually, when I had regained my breath a little, I gingerly raised my knees toward my chest. At least that area of my body wasn’t in pain, but it did feel oddly numb, which I supposed must have been a result of lying on the frozen ground. With my legs in position, I realized I couldn’t afford to tackle my next maneuver so delicately. I didn’t have much strength left and it felt very much like this would have to be an all-or-nothing attempt. I braced my arm to support myself, took a deep breath, held it, and rolled with Herculean effort onto my knees.
Bright spots of light pinwheeled behind my eyes; I felt the sway of an incipient faint, and bit deeply into my lower
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