Chapter 3: Letting Go (Or Trying To)

Three years passed like that.

Seasons changed, the oak tree by my grave shedding leaves in thick, crunchy piles. My patch of earth grew wild with dandelions and thistles, the grass taller each year.

One day, Mom brought a new man to my grave.

He wore work boots and a faded flannel, hands rough from carpentry. Mom clung to his arm, looking steadier than I’d seen her in years.

She gently plucked the grass from my mound, one blade at a time.

She worked slow, like it was a ritual, murmuring my name as she brushed away clumps of dirt. I watched her fingers, remembering how they’d braid my hair every morning before school.

When Mom came, I was so happy. She looked so much better—her spirit was brighter.

She wore a yellow sundress, her hair loose for the first time in years. There was color in her cheeks, laughter lines at her eyes.

I smiled and greeted her, “Mom, you’re here! I’ve been practicing every day.”

Sometimes I’d recite my times tables, or the lines from the school play I never got to finish. I wanted her to know I was still learning, still trying to make her proud.

“Mom, do you miss me? Should Ellie send you a dream?”

I’d slip into her sleep and show us baking cookies or running through sprinklers in the summer. I hoped she’d wake up with a smile.

“Mom, who is this man? Is he your good friend?”

He looked kind, his eyes gentle, the way Dad’s used to be. I wondered if he liked cartoons or pancakes for dinner.

“Mom…”

This time, before I could finish, Mom spoke first. She said:

“Ellie, Mom is going to leave here.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and final. Sunlight flickered through the trees like the world was holding its breath.

I was stunned and lowered my head. “Leaving is normal, Mom…”

My voice sounded small. I tried to smile, not wanting her to feel guilty. Maybe she needed to go so she could start again.

Mom took out lots of delicious food from her bag—so many lollipops.

Cherry, grape, lemon—every color and flavor I ever begged for in the checkout line. She lined them up in neat rows, her hands trembling a little.

Before, I could only have one a day. Now I could eat as many as I wanted. That was nice…

I grinned, thinking of how I’d sneak extras into my pocket when she wasn’t looking. She always pretended not to notice.

She placed the food in front of my grave, tugged on the man’s hand, and said:

“Mom is getting married… He’s a very good person. If Ellie were here, he would definitely love you too.”

Her voice was soft, shaky with hope. The man squeezed her hand, glancing at my grave with a respectful nod.

The man squatted down. He looked different from Dad—his hands were rough, his face was rugged, but he spoke gently:

“Ellie, don’t worry. I’ll take good care of your mom.”

His accent was warm, Midwestern maybe. He looked me straight in the eyes, or at least, where he thought my eyes might be.

I was silent for a long time, then squeezed between them with a smile and said:

“Mom, you two go ahead. Ellie… Ellie will take good care of herself.”

I tried to sound brave, to make her believe I’d be okay. I wanted her to feel free, even if my heart ached. I watched them walk away, wishing I could tuck my hand into Mom’s, just one more time.

Before leaving, Mom still cried. She said:

“Ellie, if you miss Mom, send me a dream, okay?”

She pressed her hand to her heart, lips trembling as she looked at my grave. I wanted to reach out, just for a second.

The only answer was the wild grass swaying in the wind.

A breeze picked up, rustling the leaves and carrying away her tears. The world felt quieter as she walked away.

The man hugged Mom and wiped away her tears.

He wrapped his arms around her, letting her sob against his shoulder until the tears finally slowed.

Two more years passed… No one came to my grave anymore, and the grass grew so tall.

Dandelions bloomed and withered. My grave marker faded, the paint chipping away until it was just a blank piece of wood, lost in the weeds.

My little mound was already hidden from sight.

The mailman would sometimes step on it by accident, never noticing. Kids on bikes zoomed past, never stopping.

So, when Dad and the lady next door walked by holding my little sister, they didn’t stop at all.

Their laughter faded down the road, and for the first time, I wondered if I was the ghost—or just forgotten.