Epitaph

A life of service. Lived for family. Dreamed of peace. Hoped enough for all. Dared greatly. A gypsy's soul. Gave endlessly. Cherished all. Loving mother.
I wandered the graveyard looking for the tombstone. I hadn't been at the funeral. It was too much to ask of myself. I knew I wouldn't do it justice. Each tombstone was a testament to the person who rested there. So filled with love and memories. So many lies and so much glossing over the truth. We're all human. We decorate the tomb with words to describe each others' best moments and we try to remember each other that way. Of course some deserve the kind, loving words, and for some it's an outright lie that we tell ourselves we are safe telling now that they are gone.
Up and down the rows I wandered, not entirely sure I even wanted to find the grave. I was so filled with mixed feelings. I was hurt and angry and there was an empty space inside. Odd that I would go through the stages of grief.
And finally there it is. Your resting place. I did not love you. I am glad you are gone. I regret not being able to see you dead and convince myself that you are really gone...that I am free of you. I am angry that I did not get to either deliver your death or see it dealt. Years of abuse at your hands and you die and leave me nothing but empty. There is no resolution. There is no closure. Someone had a sense of humor though, twisted though it might be.
Your epitaph. He left a mark.