You sat in the car far longer than you meant to– you hadn't even remembered getting into it, but apparently, you had. You felt empty, as you knew who the funeral had to be regarding. Thinking back to your interaction with Kazuki he had said, "I just was reminded of the life I abandoned, and I realized that, I too, can make amends. And you know– about the thing."
The thing he had been implying had to have been– but it could not– she still had so much more to do. You had been tough, but you wanted her to grow into something, become something great. But– she was gone.
Miyuki.
You reached out to the steering wheel, long gone cold, and used your other hand to change the car to reverse and backed out of the driveway, before switching it to drive, and went on your way to the funeral home for answers, how had Miyuki died?
The note must've been intended for you to see far earlier, before Miyuki's funeral. It had been intended to inform you, the only way they knew how as you had erased your previous life and chosen to forget your disowned daughter. You hadn't entirely expected the grief that came over you when she died.
I hadn't expected it either. I now know that you did care, even if you didn't show it, and maybe didn't even know it. It pains me to see you in such sadness, but it will all be over soon.
The drive was a blur, you couldn't remember, forgetting had always been your way of coping. So, you began to forget. You couldn't remember Miyuki's sweet childish voice, or the way she looked at her brother with kindness. You couldn't remember how she had turned cold and distant, her tone becoming sharp, and how she backed away, respecting the wall you had put up, both for her own sake and yours. By the time you reached the funeral home, your painful memories of her were gone, but you clung onto the joy, the emotions, at least the ones which you decided were good for you.
The way your subconsciousness attacked you, driving your denial I always found interesting. You had forgotten all that could bring you pain and only chose to leave yourself with what you could cherish and use to help cut through the grief. Maybe, it wasn't a bad habit, but a skill. It always depends on the angle.
Reaching the door to the mortuary, you reached out towards the cold door handle, opening the door without entirely realizing it. You glided into the lobby, and arrived at the front desk.
The receptionist looked at you with pity, reading your drooped shoulders and lowered head as he probably had thousands of times, "How can I help you?"
You glanced up, pausing, before taking a deep relaxing breath, trying to ground yourself with that tether which was always seeming to fray.
"When and how did Miyuki Yamashita die? It should be recent, maybe in the past few months."
He nodded, and entered something into his computer, the clicking of keys filling the silent, empty room. He tilted his head, reading the screen and taking on a somber expression.
"I'm sorry for your loss. She died February 12th of this year. A drunk driver hit her, he was underage, only nineteen, and she died immediately. They held a small funeral, with her dad, boyfriend, and a few friends. Her mother never came, they had a falling out, and only her father was notified, he was her emergency contact."
He would look you up and down, shaking his head at himself.
You would stand there in pure shock, blinking at the information. Her father had been her emergency contact? Not you? But you had done as best you could as a mother, you never hurt her. Long forgotten memories flashed, her crying, protecting her brother, you, towering over them, a slam of a door.
Can you see now? It was never her, it was never Ryuzen, it was never me. It was always you.
"Sorry. I'm her mother, I was informed today," You could hardly choke out an explanation before drifting back out the door, heading towards the cemetery.
The grass was neatly kept, a vibrant green, and there were ordered rows of tombstones. But, you knew where Miyuki would want to be buried. There was a tall maple, right at the top of the grassy hill, and there was only one tombstone there, isolated from all the others. It wasn't extravagant, but simple.
It read:
Miyuki Yamashita (November 5th, 1993 – February 12th, 2018)
"You were the only one who stayed."
The grave had shriveled flowers which clearly had been left a long while ago, as if Miyuki was already forgotten, fading back into the background. And there, at her grave, there were her little shell earrings, resting there as if an homage to better times.
You wept, crumpling to the ground.
You reached out a trembling hand— wait.
You stopped.
You didn't have the right.
You had abandoned her, just like all the others.
Laying by her grave, your hands sunk into the cold dirt, which was left muddy after the torrential rain the night before. You pressed into the soil, your fingers digging in, as if it could make her forgive you, make Miyuki realize from wherever she was right now that you held regret deep in your heart.
The image which you had maintained for so long, deceiving yourself, crumbled. You had known for a long time that you were not a perfect mother, not the one which Miyuki and Ryuzen deserved, but this showed it to you, it held it right in your face in a way which could not be ignored.
Suddenly, your sobbing stopped and you sat up, gathering yourself. You no longer knew who you were, you had so long defined yourself as the careful protector, mother of your two children, the strong one who left a failing marriage to protect her children and herself. But now, with that story gone, lost to the wind of truth, sweeping away the corroded lies you told yourself, you no longer knew who you were, and you now were lost in the dark, with not a light telling you where to go next.
You had abandoned your daughter, and she died alone and afraid, not knowing who to love. The memories you had just relived now flashed before you, but this time, you saw them in their true light. You saw not only the good times, but the bad which you had masked and chosen to forget.
At the beach, a cold wind. You had not been a good mother, you had screamed and raged when you grew frustrated, leaving no patience for your children. Only now could you remember the fear they had written all over their face, so obvious, but you never stopped to think. You could now see the monster you were, what you had become.
You heard her voice ringing in your ears, not how it had been after everything had gone so, so, devastatingly wrong, but before, when she was just a small innocent child, the soft warm tones that reminded you of yourself, "Love you, Mom."
In the new apartment, your son, tentatively asking if he could go to the park. The way you snapped, grew enraged without an explanation, without even a cue to your children. You remembered how your daughter had protected your son, how she had been "the only one who stayed".
You could see how she had been so gentle, when she was so little. You remember her chubby baby cheeks as she giggled and smiled, her single toothed grin as you sung her a lullaby, wishing it would remain like that forever.
Leaving your home, looking back on it for what you thought would be the last time. Only now could you use that memory, not as fuel for your disgust towards Kazuki, but as a way to reflect on how your children saw you. You were not the strong protector you saw yourself as, but somebody who ruined their lives, ending the period of joy and quiet laughter that sung throughout that house.
You remembered how she had played with her baby brother when he was born. She had not turned away with jealousy that other older children might, but instead, she welcomed him with warmth and curiosity, teaching him how to play and sing and love.
Now you can see that revisiting those places had not been a mistake, but a way to see what you could not before, released from your shield by your delusions, you could now accept that although there were good times, you had done unforgivable things. You had been a bad mother, but now you were ready to grow, and Ryuzen would come back, after you rescued him, and he would rejoice at your new kindness.
This was a crucial point. Although I grieve Miyuki's death, I know that you could not have become a better person without it, it was an important eye opening moment for you. If only you didn't realize too late. That is why I must do what I will, because you were too late, too late to save Miyuki.
You slowly rose, grief and guilt twining together in your heart. She had died because you had built those walls, and you had built them too well, to the point where you, yourself, couldn't see over them.
Looking back at Miyuki's grave, you realized how well placed it was. Alone and isolated, yet tall and proud, just like how she lived her life, caring for her brother through her own pain.
She had become his mother, but now that she was dead, it was time for you to become his once more.
You would find him. You would show him who you'd become.
And this time—this time—you would not lose him too.