After a pause, my mom’s voice, eerily calm, replied, “I didn’t think you’d ever come back to see it.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, confusion washing over me.
“After your father passed, I felt like I’d lost both of you. You stopped visiting, stopped calling… I needed something to hold onto.” She paused before continuing, “So, I bought the plot next to your father’s and had the headstone made. It was the only way I could cope.”
I was torn between anger and heartbreak. But something didn’t add up. Why hadn’t she mentioned this during her visits? Why pretend everything was normal? Then, it hit me—her frequent visits, her constant worry about my health, her insistence that I move back home.
She wasn’t just grieving; she was holding on to something more. A chill ran down my spine as I recalled the health advice she’d given me over the past year. Could she have been trying to…?
I needed answers. “Mom, I’ll be over soon,” I said, hanging up before she could respond. As we drove to her house, the streets that once held fond memories now filled me with unease. When we arrived, Mom greeted me with a smile, as if she had been expecting us.
Inside, the house was just as I remembered, except for one thing: a small shrine with my photo, candles, and fresh flowers. My stomach churned. “Mom, this has to stop,” I said, my voice trembling. “Why did you do this?”
“I couldn’t let you leave me like your father did,” she replied. “I needed to keep you close. This was the only way I knew how.”
It was clear this wasn’t just grief—it had become something else entirely. I knew she wouldn’t let me live my life if I didn’t step in. I suggested she move closer to us so we could see each other daily. She hesitated but eventually agreed. A week later, we watched as cemetery workers removed the headstone bearing my name, and I helped my mom dismantle the shrine in her living room.
The transition hasn’t been easy, but I’m grateful I visited Dad’s grave that day. It allowed me to uncover the troubling world my mom had been living in, and now, for the first time in years, it feels like we’re moving in the right direction. Dad’s memory will always be with us, but now, it serves as a source of strength rather than pain.