Page 79 of Endurance

26

Sloan

Ididn’t know what compelled me to do it, but two hours after leaving Kallie’s house, I found myself pulling through the tall black wrought-iron gates of Oakwood Hills Cemetery. I drove through the narrow winding roads toward the back, heading to the gravesite I’d visited only once before.

When I arrived at my destination, I turned off the car engine and stepped out into the bright sunlight. A sense of serenity surrounded me as I looked around. A few groundskeepers milled about, and I could see a family of mourners off in the distance as they bid a final farewell to their loved one. Everyone was quiet, respecting this place of soulful reflection with calm tranquility.

Walking over the gravel path, I passed gravestone after gravestone. Some had sunk into the soil, their engraved words weathered over time. Others boasted fresh flowers or small American flags, symbols of the connection people had with those who had passed on.

Coming to the end of the path, I moved across the grass and stopped to read a small headstone engraved with the name of the person I’d spent a year trying not to think about.

Charlotte Marie Atwood

September 7, 1962 – March 30, 2020

“Hi, Mom,” I said to the stone slab, a symbol of the end to her life’s story. I kneeled and pressed my hand over her name.

I sat there for a long while, not sure what else I should say as memories of my childhood flashed before my eyes. After my father’s passing, it was almost as if my mother felt she had to make up for what I’d lost—for what we’d lost. My father had left behind a sizable chunk of change, and she had invested wisely. She’d budgeted, and we’d lived modestly, allowing her to devote her time solely to me as a single stay-at-home mom.

I could still hear her laughter on Christmas morning. It had been her favorite holiday, and she always went over the top with presents. Her eyes would light up with delight as I opened my gifts, more excited to see my pleasure than to experience her own. I also remembered her disappointment when I’d acted out, and she would have to tan my hide. Looking back, I wasn’t sure who suffered more from my punishments—me or her.

I recalled her encouraging words as she taught me how to ride a bike. Those words weren’t all so different from when I’d decided I wanted to race just like my father had. And when I became of age and entered the racing circuit, she was there every step of the way. She never missed a race and rarely missed a practice, her unwavering support making me believe I could be anything I wanted to be.

“Take it to the moon, my boy! Don’t let the sky be your limit!” she would say.

However, the thing I remembered most about growing up was hearing her tears late into the night. She had missed my father something fierce. He had been her soulmate, her world—her checkered flag. By day, she had tried to hide her sadness from me, her sole focus being a single mother doing her best to raise a man. She had never known how many nights I had lain awake listening to her cry through the thin walls of our apartment.

I buried my face in my hands, shocked to discover wetness on my cheeks. I blinked back the tears, trying to remember the last time I’d cried—like actually fucking cried. Sure, I had cried when my dad died but I hadn’t cried when I learned about my mother’s death. I’d been too angry. The last time I shed real tears had to have been back when I was about ten years old and fell off the swing set and skinned my knee.

My mother had been there for that too.

Keeping my face in my hands, I let the tears fall freely, realizing that I’d been too hard on her.

“I understand now, Mom. Really, I do. I know why you couldn’t stay, and I forgive you. You showed me what it means to love, and I know you loved Dad with your whole heart. After he was gone, you gave all that love to me, and when you thought I wouldn’t make it…” I trailed off, taking a moment to wipe my tear-stained cheeks. I glanced over to my left to where my father’s headstone sat alongside my mother’s. “I met someone, Mom. I think you would like her. Her name is Kallie, and she’s amazing. Because of her, I now know what it means not to be able to live without somebody. It might sound crazy, but I can’t imagine my life without her. This girl is the real deal. I want forever with her. The problem is, I screwed up, and now I don’t know if she’ll have me.”

Rising to my feet, I scanned the row of headstones. Fresh cut flowers adorned most of them, but my father’s and mother’s graves were bare. A pang of guilt tore at my heart, and I made a silent promise to do better. My mother didn’t deserve to be among the forgotten—she deserved to be remembered for the strong woman I knew she had been. For too many years, she’d played the part of Wonder Woman, giving all of herself and never asking for anything in return. She had coped with loss and balanced the strains of being a single parent without complaint. She was stronger than she’d realized. My only regret was not telling her that before it was too late—before she thought she couldn’t endure the burden of her sorrows any longer.

I began to wonder if she would approve of me trying to race again. She knew how important racing was to me, and I had to believe she had been looking down on me as I worked to overcome the injuries from my crash. Hard work and perseverance were how I got through it—all lessons I’d learned from her.

But this was different.

The pain in my hip had steadily gotten worse with each passing day, and the recovery time was becoming longer. Instead of spending an hour alternating cold and heat, the pain remedy was now continuing well after the sun had gone down. I was beginning to think that what I was doing now had nothing to do with perseverance but more with foolish determination to see it through. After all the agony I went through during my recovery, the last thing I wanted to do was cause more damage.

I thought back to what Kallie had said to me about my attempt to push through the current pain.

“I just hope you don’t kill yourself in the process.”

I knew her words were rhetorical, but they gave me a reason to pause. I couldn’t help but think that was exactly what I was doing. Causing myself permanent damage was not the way to honor my mother’s memory. She would never approve of that—just like she would never approve of me putting my love for racing ahead of my love for Kallie.

I looked over at my father’s grave once more, realizing why I’d come to the cemetery in the first place. Before I could move forward, I needed my parents’ approval.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I have to give it up. It’s not just about my hip injury—it’s about what would happen to Kallie if I got hurt again. She’s too important to me. She deserves a whole man, not a broken one. If that means I have to give up racing and find a new path, so be it. I can honestly say, though, I don’t think I’ll ever be far from the track. I just can’t be behind the wheel anymore. I don’t know… What do you think about me consulting? Or maybe I could try my hand at being a crew chief?”

As if he were sending me a message from the heavens, the California sycamore trees began to sway. The slight breeze seemed to inject a sense of balance, giving me the courage I needed to embark on a new path.

Smiling to myself, I took a few steps to my father’s headstone and placed my hand on the top. Giving it a gentle pat, I whispered, “Thanks, Dad. I’ll take the wheel from here.”

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