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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
It's a story based on true events. It is fictitious and somewhat non-fiction.
There was a woman, my stepmother, who had passed on November of 2013.
This is where I see myself ten years away from then.

RIP Vanessa Joseph

- Just to clarify some things, my mother is homosexual and her and this individual were to be wed before her death. -

Submitted: June 22, 2014

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Submitted: June 22, 2014



It's been ten years since her death, but I still can't seem to comprehend it. The funeral is as vivid now as it was when I was fifteen but...it's the denial. I haven't been to her grave since the funeral and in my mind she's alive and well, just distant. It might sound strange but that's how I coped with it, coped with my mother's death. 

She's not my biological mother. She isn't. Most people usually just think of it as the cliche of a child being forced to live with their evil stepmother; the thing about it is that she wasn't at all evil. I would describe her as a benevolent person with a strict way of doing things. Nothing could ruin her day, and she was always "feeling fabulous." She was my mother, my best friend in the world. I would talk to her about virtually anything and know that I was never going to be judged. And even now I still do, her voice in my head giving me advice. Her death was untimely, not to mention tragic.

Her family is in Macon and sometimes she'd go spend a weekend with them, which was a two hour drive from her home in Augusta, Georgia. My mom talked to her on the phone on her two hour drive all the way to her destination. My stepmother had really been looking forward to it, as far as I know, and she enjoyed being back down in her hometown. Soon, she had reached her destination and enjoyed her time spent. It was about 11:45, I think, when I felt that something wasn't right. I was in my house talking to a friend, when I instantaneously felt empty as if a part of my soul had been ripped out of me. Mom was asleep on the couch in the living room, snoring peacefully as if nothing happened. The movie Oliver!, the musical adaptation of the book by Charles Dickens, was playing on the TV; in my opinion, it is one of the best movies I have ever seen. I began to cry uncontrollably as Mr. Bumble complained at how such a boy could be so greedy as to ask for more gruel. Two days later, Mom and I had found out that she had died that night of an asthma attack. I refuse to watch Oliver! now.

Ten years is too long of an absense from her, and today I realized that I couldn't keep avoiding her forever. It was time to accept it. I drove through the Macon Memorial Park, my eyes watering the closer I got. It surprised me that I knew the exact route to get to it; I just needed to make this last turn. I pulled my car to the side of the small road, and took the key out of the ignition. A blue truck slowly drove passed my SUV; the driver and I exchanged a slight nod as he went on his way. After seeing that it was safe, I had gotten out of the car and opened the passenger door to help my kids out of the car. The kids varied in age and size: my son AJ had just turned four, and daughter Eliana was three.

"Right here, kids."

My children gazed at the headstone, holding each other's hands. "Mommy," AJ asked. "What does that say?" I wiped away a tear as I said her name out loud: Vanessa Gail Joseph. "Wait a second," Eliana said. "That's my middle name." I nodded my head. "Yeah," I whispered. "You're named after her, sweetheart." She was indeed named after Vanessa, and acts a bit like her too. AJ sighed. "Was she nice," he asked me. I nodded my head softly.

"Mommy's crying!"

"Mommy, what's wrong?"

"I'm just sad that she never got to meet her grandchildren and see how beautiful you are," I muttered. "That's all." After a few more moments, my kids became hungry. We walked together back to the car, where the children begged for a cheeseburger. After putting them in their car seats, I looked back as if to say goodbye and saw her standing there, smiling faintly. She waved as her spirit faded out; she was gone. I had realized that she wasn't gone after all; her body was gone but her presense would never leave. I had got into the driver's seat, smirking to myself, told the kids about the grandmother they never met on the way out of the cemetary. In her own words, that day was quite fabulous indeed.

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