The Remembrance- By Caxton Valentine

It was a dark, chilly night of dread and turmoil. I was heading towards a familiar area amidst a pandemic. I remember being a wide-eyed 13-year-old the last time I was heading towards this destination. Now here I am- a 28-year-old who had been beaten down by life to the point I felt like a 40-year-old. I could feel the weight of something wanting to pull me from heading towards this area, but it was time to no longer hide.

Rain poured along the road while my rideshare driver maneuvered the multiple cars along the road.

“I am sorry, sir, but these drivers can’t drive worth a damn,” my driver said with a frustrated tone.

“No worries, traffic is crazy, and I honestly don’t want to even go where I’m heading, but something within myself feels this is the right time,” I replied solemnly.

“Why, what’s the issue, if you don’t mind if I ask?” he said.

“Before I potentially tell you, it would be rude if I did not ask for your name,” I replied.

“Richard,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Richard. My name is Alex,” I replied.

“I’ve known many people named Alex in my life, and they all seemed to have this look of holding something in,” he said. “Tell me, Alex, what is going on?”

Here I was heading to my destination, about to start a conversation with the driver. Usually, I’m a headphones-on kind of guy when I’m not driving, yet something about this individual led me to think differently.

“I’m going to meet an old friend,” I admitted.

“Then why so down?” he questioned, re-adjusting his glasses.

“Heading somewhere I wish to not go,” I hesitated to say.

“Wish to not go, well, why is that?” The rideshare driver seemed confused at my wording.

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable telling you the reasoning,” I became defensive.

“Is there something you’re hiding?” He replied

“Hiding is a strong word,” I said. I don’t want to hide a thing. I feel regret.

“Well, what do you regret?”

“Why do you want to know so badly?”

I was starting to get annoyed at his questioning, to the point that ending the ride early was on my mind. However, I couldn’t leave - memories kept returning to that moment at the destination to which I was heading.

“I only wish to help,” his voice became comforting.”

“I feel I was once in your shoes long ago. Dreading, waning, wanting to belong. Uncertain about the present, stuck in the past, worried about the future. More than ever, with our current state of events, it’s easy to lose yourself. I won’t tell you what and what not to communicate. Do what you feel is best.”

“My friend is why I am on this trip,” I said.

“Your friend?” “Coffee shop or cemetery?” he asked.

“The coffee shop nearby is open 24 hours and is across from the cemetery. You guess.”

“I know where you are headed,” He wiped his forehead during a red light. “I am sorry for your loss. I, too, lost someone close to me that we buried at that same cemetery.”

“How many years ago?”

“20 years ago.”

“Who?”

“Look at my ring finger,” he pointed.

“I see,” I said.

“We live life hoping to live many, many years. We try to eat right, exercise, sleep well, and do everything people are told to do. We work so hard at being safe, and yet in an instant, something can come crashing down, which changes everything. And then we are left with pain, regret, and remembrance.”

“How do you stay so grounded after your loss?”

“Because I have to keep going, Alex.” “Now tell me, what happened to your friend and why you have struggled to find acceptance.”

I felt my vocal cords wanting to tell him, and yet a weight in my chest was holding me back at the same time.

“I.... can’t tell you,” I mumbled.

“What is still holding you back?”

“My regret.”

“We all experience regret. When I lost my wife, I felt regret for a long time. Friends and family would tell me it was not my fault, and a part of me would take in what they were saying, but there was also a part of me that felt the car crash was all my fault.”

“Car crash? That is rough,” I said.

“More than rough,” he briefly showed me a scar above his head.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what year did this occur?”

“2016...” he replied solemnly.

“There was a news story about a crash along the lakefront that year.”

“Yes, that was the crash my wife and I were unfortunately a part of. We were going the speed limit after seeing a play, and the car that rear-ended us was going 30 miles over. Upon impact, I was badly injured, and my wife was ejected. She died instantly.”

“I couldn’t imagine how I would react to losing my life partner in such a way.”

“It never gets easier, Alex, but we do learn to accept grief, whether it's a quick acceptance or gradual.”

“I have no further reason to withhold my feelings, I admitted.”

“Whatever you feel most comfortable sharing,” the rideshare driver reassured me, as we were less than a mile away from the cemetery.

“My best friend since childhood, Jacob, joined the army ten years ago after high school. Before leaving, we got into a huge argument, essentially ending our friendship.” The argument was over a girl we both liked, and admittedly, I started the argument. We had not talked for a year, and the next thing I heard from his mother was that he had passed within the first 6 months of deployment in a bombing. My last memory of him was the argument we had, and ten years later, it still eats at me till this day.”

“You are brave to tell a stranger, and I am sorry you experienced such loss at a young age,” the rideshare driver said as we reached the destination.

“How do I move forward?”

“I ask myself the same thing daily, but my late wife told me something a long time ago, from when we first started dating many years ago.”

“And what was that?” I wondered.

“Remembrance.”

With those words, I felt a sense of acceptance, the feeling of my late friend and I finally at peace.