Hey Ma,

“Sorry I haven't been by in so long.” I reach up and coddle my chin with one hand before pushing it hard right, getting a pop out of it. A sharp snap of my wrist sends my head in the opposite direction. Two pops. “I guess your passing didn’t make me any better of a son, huh?” Wind sweeps over the graveyard. Some trees sway in the warm breeze. 

Overhead somber clouds mosey around in layers. They sift all life from the light so what tumbles out is dull, lifeless. I lean over in preparation to sit down, holding her headstone to steady myself. It's in the shape of a heart. In the left corner is cut, and colored, Tinker Bell. I don't think she cared for the Peter Pan stories, but she adored that little fairy. 

The granite grave marker was expensive. Don't know how much, but take whatever Grandma and Grandpa could afford at the time and multiply it by four, that'd be the ballpark price. 

“Dad's doing good. Or at least he tells me he is. I love him, but being at the old house… you'd understand. I imagine you hated that place more than anyone. Anyway I don't see him in person much these days.”

The grass is taller than last time I came. I cross my legs. It reaches into my pants cuff to scrape my ankle. 

“So… I came out here… well I guess… fuck it, we'll start with this. I had a dream about you last week. There've been others, I'm sure everyone dreams of their lost loved ones every now and again, but this one, it was special. It started in Grandma's trailer. 

God, I loved that trailer. When I was a kid, well more of a kid than I am at 22, and we'd move a lot, I'd daydream about it. Even with everyone packed in, it felt like home.” 

I clear my throat. 

“I appreciated your attempts to make each motel and friend's spare room feel like ours but… anyway the trailer. The backyard specifically. I walked out from the kitchen door and there you were. Sitting at the grey picnic table made from thick, grainy plastic. You had Teddy. 

How's he by the way? Dad was torn up when he passed, haven't seen him like that since you kicked off. I'm sure you were watching us, in case you weren't, I helped pops bury him behind the shed. I was still cool going around there back then. Still too young to be fully separated from that part of myself.”

The grass tickles. I reach out to run my palms on its green bladed fingertips. 

“So I joined you at the table. We talked, I don't remember what about, but for the rest of the dream we talked. I know one thing we didn't talk about though. Two things. 

First I didn't ask you how you came back. I didn't care. Why would I? You were there, healthy, happier than you really ever were when I saw you in the waking world. Pale and boney.”

Spanning up my arm, little hairs stand up on bumps. I rub them in a self-hug. 

“That's what lupus and drugs do for you though. I should have known, should have tried to understand what you were going through. But I never did. No no no, I's far too selfish to think of such matters.

I cried and complained no matter what you did. Even when it wasn’t your fault, you got stuck dealing with my bullshit. There's this one time that really sticks with me, when I stayed with you in fourth grade. 

It was either the weekend, or the summer after the year ended. Dad was supposed to visit and I was so goddamn excited to see him.”

I sigh. 

“I got excited to see you like that too, just so you know. Anyway… he didn't show.”

My tailbone is starting to hurt so I lean forward, setting my chin in my palm. 

“Big shock on that front ‘local coke head, unreliable?’ Ha. Little me didn't understand that though, that pops had his own stuff going on behind the scene. I took his absence to heart. God, reckon you remember how long I bawled ‘Daddy doesn't love me.’ 

Ahh, I was so dramatic. Through the whole fit, You put up with me, tried to soothe me even. Thanks for that. You could've just gone into your room and closed the door on me. It would've been easier. It's what everyone else did to you.”

When I look up, I find the clouds are darker than when I got here. How long has it been? It takes a great groan to get me back on my feet. My limbs are so tight that stretching feels more like shredding as tingly pops go off around my body. Yikes. 

After that, I stand, hands crammed in my pockets for a while. I came all this way, and already went through the trouble of making an ass of myself talking to a granite heart since I got here, I might as well finish what I started. 

“I don't remember the last conversation we had. Maybe you do. I've tried to recall it. Sat in quiet rooms staring at walls for hours just fucking thinking about that phone call.” 

I take a few steps left. A few more back the other way. 

“But all those afternoons add up to nothing, because I still don't got it. I remember where I was, what grade I was in, time of year, who was in the room with me, I remember screaming, yelling, crying. But goddamn it, I can't remember why.”

The smooth top of the granite heart is cool when I put my hand on it. 

“I'm sorry Mom. I hope you know I love you.”

I shudder, wipe my eyes and turn around. 

“Thank you for loving a bastard like me.”

The clouds find new homes as I walk away. It was still day out. Just before I got in my car, a bright ray of light came down, and heaven gave me a goodbye kiss.