FanStory.com - Just A Memory!by Begin Again

Tammy's voice cracked as she hurled the words into the wind, her fists clenched. She trembled with rage, mirroring the rolling thunder clouds swirling above. A Bible, her wedding Bible, the one she and Jason had held in their hands as they spoke of love, commitment, and promises of togetherness forever, rested on the ground near her feet.

She bent and picked up a handful of smooth stones, worn over time by the water flowing by and left behind, forgotten and alone, like her. She angrily skimmed one stone after another across the river's surface — unsure if her words were directed at God or the man who no longer stood by her side. All she knew was that the emptiness inside her felt too heavy to bear, and someone had to answer for it.

Her tears, silent drops of salty grief, rolled down her cheeks, each one a cry for his return. This day, like so many before, would be no different. Her pleas would go unanswered.

As she stared at the rippling water, her angry thoughts shifted like sifting sand, and memories of times spent with Jason flooded her mind. Closing her eyes, she could see him — not the handsome, breath-taking guy on a magazine cover — those men were for fantasy dreams and flights of imagination. In her heart and mind, Jason's chiseled jaw, blue-grey eyes, and thinning silver hair encouraged any woman to take a second look. Still, his easy smile, robust laughter, and kindness sealed the deal, like the sweet taste of melted honeyed butter on freshly baked bread as it crossed your eager lips. He'd been the foundation she'd built her future on — now he was gone.

Tammy collapsed onto the cool grass beneath the oak tree — their favorite spot — where he'd held her hand, whispered words of lasting devotion and promised a million tomorrows.

As the wind whipped through her hair, unruly and out of control, it mirrored the chaos swirling inside her. She hugged her knees, staring at the river as it churned angrily against the rocks. But slowly, the wind died, and the water's surface softened, its ripples smoothing like silk. She hadn't noticed the clouds parting, the soft glow of sunlight breaking through. It was as if the world was urging her to let go of the storm inside her, a stark contrast to her inner turmoil.

Like a soldier's last stand, she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper, "You promised."

She reached for the Bible, caressing the white leather cover, where their hands had folded together and where they had exchanged vows. "We promised, Jason. We were supposed to grow old together," she rasped, fingers gripping the grass as though she could anchor herself, losing the pain. "You said — you'd always be here." But here she was, sitting alone beneath their tree. He wasn't here, and it hurt more than any pain she'd ever known.

A vision of him holding her close, whispering in her ear, as they danced their wedding dance exploded without warning, momentarily pushing her grief aside. A voice — Jason's voice — drifted on the wind, murmuring, "Just a memory."

Startled, she looked around, but no one was there. She cried, "Even my mind can't accept you are gone. Is it you or God that plays these cruel tricks?" She angrily brushed her tears off her cheeks and demanded, "Go away! You'll not return, so leave me to tend to my broken heart."

She tucked her legs against her chest, wrapping her arms around them, lost in her pain. Weary, she closed her eyes and suddenly saw him as clear as day — Jason, in that faded old T-shirt he wore on lazy Sunday mornings when they would sit together on the porch, drinking coffee and watching the sunrise. His hair would be a mess, but his smile — oh God, that smile. He would look at her with those laughing blue-grey eyes, teasing her about something small, pulling her into his lap as they laughed together. "I love you, Tammy," he'd say softly, his lips brushing her ear. She could almost feel him there, whispering it again. Almost.

Failure to diagnose the damage to a heart valve in an otherwise healthy young man had silently claimed Jason's life. Doctors had fought to save him, but it wasn't to be. Their attempts to explain and their words meant to console only deepened Tammy's sense of isolation. To her, their words were empty, void of feelings — how could they understand her life ended on that operating table, too?

Tammy clutched the Bible with trembling hands as her tears blurred the sky. Her voice quivered as she stared at the heavens, silently pleading for answers, "You said you would always be here, but I don't see you or hear your laughter. I don't feel the safety of your arms. Where are you?"

The voice, his voice, like fingers stroking her body, gently whispered, "I'm here. Open your heart, and you'll see."

A flutter of movement caught Tammy's eye — a tiny blue butterfly, its delicate wings shimmering in the fading light. It danced across the grass, drawing closer. Her throat tightened. It landed on a wildflower, and she blinked back her tears. Jason had loved wildflowers. He'd always picked one and tell her it was a token of his love. She held out her hand, and it joined her. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to believe in signs. But the warmth that blossomed in her chest wouldn't be ignored. Her anger melted away as memories flooded her thoughts.

Her breath slowed as she watched the butterfly flutter away, its tiny wings carrying it back toward the river. She looked down at her hand where it had rested, and she didn't feel the cold for the first time in what felt like forever. Jason was gone, yes — but his love was still here. She pressed her hand against her chest, feeling the steady heartbeat, and for a moment, she swore she could hear his laughter in the wind. She smiled and whispered to the breeze, "I hear you."

With the memories came the realization that Jason was not just a memory separate from her —he was and would always be a part of her. He would never be truly gone if she carried him in her heart. His love would continue to ripple through her life, constantly reassuring her of their love. She placed her hand against her heart, felt its rhythmic beat, and whispered, "You're not just a memory. You're part of me — forever."