Page 189 of The Secret We Keep
Beloved daughter and friend.
Taken too soon.
August 15th2004 – August 1st2022
“Hi.” I tear my gaze off the writing.
“Morgan,” Pete says. “How are you?”
“Pete,” Christine scolds him, looking at me nervously.
“It’s okay, Mrs Danford. I’m okay.”
Christine sniffs and Pete shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “That’s so good to hear.”
Smiling at me with sorrow in her eyes, I look down at the headstone. “May I?”
They both take a step to each side.
In my hand are some sunflowers. “These are my favourite.”
I hear Pete choke back a sob. “Holly’s too.”
I know, I think to myself, laying the flowers next to the bright bunch of daisies Pete and Christine presumably have just laid. I then rest my hand flat to the cold stone, reading the inscription over again in my head. “Can I ask you both something?” A lone tear hits my cheek.
“Anything,” Christine tells me.
I sniff but leave the tear exactly where it is. “How did she die?” I swallow harshly, unable to remember.
My family have told me that Holly simply didn’t come into school one day. No one knew what had happened to her, only that her illness was untreatable.
I stand, taking Christine’s hand in mine when I see her sobbing.
Pete comes to her other side to console her, and she leans into him, still holding my hand as she tells me how I lost my best friend.
“Holly was one of the unlucky ones,” she starts by saying, trying her best to smile at me. “She caught meningitis which wasn’t treated in time.”
“Meningitis?” My voice cracks.
Christine nods, her lips rolling in on each other. “She had life-threatening sepsis which caused damage to her brain.” She sucks in a breath before continuing. “We didn’t notice the signs until it was too late. By the time the ambulance came, she was in shock. They couldn’t resuscitate her. One day, she was with us. The next, she was gone.”
No.
Life is incredibly unfair.
Choking on my sob, Christine pulls me into her arms.
Pete remains close but steps back a little, giving us room to embrace. Deep in my heart, I know she’ll be missing her daughter. Her touch. Her smell. The way she laughed.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell them both, hoping more than anything that they accept my apology. That they know how truly sad I am that their pain was dragged out because of me.
I was so ill I couldn’t let any of those things go. And until my medication begins to be lowered, if it ever will, I’ll never know what damage the loss of my beloved friend has truly caused.
The pain. The anger. The ache in my chest. They’re all still there. All still present. But lately, when I think of Holly, I don’t think of her as here with me. I think of her as I should. Gone, but absolutely never forgotten.
Giving my back a rub, Christine lets go of me, eyes running from my head to my feet. “You have nothing to apologise for.” She then dries both her eyes with a tissue hidden up her sleeve. “You look well.”
Checking my attire, I’d say I was presentable, but in no way dressed to properly say goodbye to someone like they do at funerals. “I’m not sure about that.”
