Whimsical

My mom, Peter, L and I went to Rose Hills today; I had been wishing to go since we were there last in October. As soon as we got off the freeway, my mom said she wanted to get Alice flowers, that she had forgotten to pick roses from the garden for this occasion.

I stopped the car at a florist along the route, and as we stepped out of the car, my mom remarked that she wanted to get a pinwheel for Alice. She chose 3, and at $1.75 each, I was relieved that the shop didn't overcharge us because of their proximity to the cemetary.

When we got to Alice's grave site, I saw that her tombstone had been set. It read:
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Cherished daughter
sister, aunt
ALICE CHAHINIAN
1970 + 2006
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Where the + sign is actually a cross. I stared at it, as if the longer I looked, the more real this shocking event would feel. We planted the pinwheels in the grass, and I adjusted them so that they could catch maximum wind and spin jovially for Alice. They did, and the sight of the three together was rather whimsical.

The number three could represent the number of children my mom has had, or it could be for the father, the son and the holy ghost, it could also be that this was the number of different colors of pinwheels the florist carried.

I wept for the emptiness inside my being, for the relentless pain that I'm left with, for yearning so damn much to be with Alice.

Alice. Dear, Alice.