Never Close Enough

August 19, 2025

She sat in the car.

Waiting.

Too long not to be noticed. Not long enough to resolve her conflicts.

Conflicts that may never be resolved.

It began to drizzle.

It always drizzles on days like this.

After today, she thought, it may never drizzle again.

The walk through the cemetery was long, borderline arduous. The light rain was insufficient to wash away the grime and oil only a midtown cemetery could offer. Perhaps it was the ever-present exhaust from the parkway that made the path the way it was. Her heels offered no protection against the slipperiness. Her lack of an umbrella afforded no protection against receiving an impending cold.

She did not want to be here. If the well wishers and mourners knew, they would not want her here. Not many would recognize her for what she had become. She did not recognize herself for what she had become. None-the-less, she was here, when it counted most.

She heard the priest say a few words. She heard her grandmother say a few less. “No one should outlive their children”, she repeated. Stern at first, almost a dampened drone to finish. How ironic the metaphor of her voice resembled that of her life.

So many wore black. So few jockeyed for a better position near the casket, near the canopy near the casket.

One by one they laid a flower or sifted a handful of dirt before turning to walk away. She overheard a child ask to go home. An insurance agent whispered to another about why they needed a policy. A pair of teenage girls checked their phones. They might be cousins, by blood.

Not by disposition.

Usually in the movies, someone of diminished consequence lingers in solitude as the grave diggers refill the hole they created the night before. Today, no one volunteered for the position. By default, her life was default in every way possible, the task fell to her.

The priest, assured that the cinematic streak would continue, left for the next scheduled funeral. He was already wet. Might as well earn a little something extra for the orphans.

She placed her hand on the shovel’s shoulder, silently asking for one more minute. His indifference proved he was an hourly worker. She could take as long as she wanted.

It was now or never. He wanted a family he always dreamed about. She wanted, well, she never really knew what she wanted. After running away from home, she took the time to once a year see if he still remembered his dream. Pink was her favorite color. Pink ribbons adorned the trees in the front yard on her birthday. Every birthday. He made the effort. He laid out the welcome mat. She could have accepted such a generous offer. But she didn’t. Year after year, she came close, but never close enough. She always thought she had time.

She was wrong. It was the only thing she ever was good at.

The shoveler gave off a small cough. Even the drizzle beckoned her to return to a safer shore lest the oncoming torrent touch her.

No one had ever touched her. He tried, when she was young and innocent. He did all he could to keep her that way. If only he held her one more time.

If.

The path back took longer than the path forward. Now she had to dodge rapidly filling puddles. The rain on her face masqueraded as tears.

Maybe it was the other way around. She would never know.