Tara Fitzgerald

By Tara Fitzgerald 2018

I walked quietly down the cobblestone path. The sun shone high in the sky. Daisies, daffodils and tulips swayed from side to side in the gentle breeze. A decaying smell filled the air. The overgrown grass tickled my legs as the path ran out and left me in a field. I ran over to our usual spot underneath the apple tree. The earth around it was loose, dry and slightly raised. Apples were scattered around the tree. I waited for half an hour but when he still didn’t show, I began to panic. He was never late. I reached for my phone, there was no answer; the call went straight to voicemail.

My chest was pounding. I searched in the long grass and around the oak fence for traces that he had been there.  There was nothing. I gazed at our tree, our named carved inside a large heart. The sight of the heart filled me with hope. That hope lasted very little time. Shortly, after I noticed a heart, his named engraved inside it, above the heart was R.I.P. A downward arrow followed the heart pointing towards the raised soil that I was standing on. Tears welled up in my eyes. I didn’t want it to be true. I began to scoop away the soil with my hands. All of a sudden, I hit something hard. My heart was in my mouth. I slowly and carefully removed more soil, only to reveal my father’s lifeless body staring up at me.