Brian Anderson

Memories of him came and distorted my mind, ruined my thoughts. My eyes landed on a quaint wooden picture frame that laid on the ground enclosing an old yellowing photo of a young couple in their twenties. I stared few seconds longer, almost imprinting the lines of the two in my mind and recalling the effervescent laughter that filled my ears. I closed my eyes and reminisced the sweltering summer days that we spent together. Fingers intertwined with the heat pressing against us, we would stroll into town with smiles on our faces and laughter bubbling up in between words. I would occasionally look up at him and he would turn to me. My eyes would scan over his countenance and I would see his dark brown hair slightly overgrown but pushed aside away from his dark brown eyes. Flashing a crooked smirk, his hand held my hand tighter and my heart fluttered. Our feet knew just where to lead us and when we reached the--
I stopped myself before the tears fell. I opened my eyes and stared up at the sky to stop the tears that signified my weakness. I promised myself that I wouldn't do that again: recall memories that had ended years ago, think of him when he was so far away from my reach, fall into a phase of nostalgia. Just for a moment though I felt young again. My hands now covered with wrinkles and spots rose to fold over my lap as I stared off to the side at a nearby family of four. I sat for a few moments longer under the shade of a strong oak tree and heard a voice calling my name. I looked over my shoulder to find my young granddaughter calling me. With great effort and the help of my cane I stood, my eyes fell to the words engraved on a slab of polished stone "Brian Anderson, Beloved Son and Husband April 11, 1920 - March 24, 1944". My throat was choked with tears, still I managed to murmur ever so softly, "Goodbye, my love," as I turned to depart.