Grasp

Noticing my concerned look, my father quickly wiped his tears away. I could tell he was thinking about my mother and questioning why she left so suddenly. On nights when he thought I was asleep, I could hear him calling his father and telling him about his only love that he lost. It seemed like every time he peeked through the curtains and spotted me walking into the trees surrounding our yard, with my guitar slung over my shoulder and me clinging tightly to my notebook and pen, he would yell the same words. "Rose, why do you spend your life friendless? You should invite someone over. Live in the present, for you never know when life will leave...I mean when life will pass you by." He tried to cover the lump in his throat by making up an excuse. He was sick, his throat hurt, or sometimes, he would lose control of his emotions and go back inside with tears flowing from his face.

I felt guilty leaving him like that, but I needed to be alone. He did so much for me and he was always careful to refrain from saying anything that might upset me. I always appriciated his thoughtfulness and I understood that, no matter how hard he would try, he could never take the place in a girl's heart where a mother is.

With my thoughts drifting, I eventually made it to the large mossy tree that I have always called my own. While tucking me in bed, when I was little, my dad would tell me about the days before my mom left, when the two of them would come out into the woods and "adopt" trees, compose melodic songs, and write poetry to express their feelings. Never once did I not wish that I could have been there and listen to my mom strumming her guitar and singing a beautiful melody.

Life's funny that way; when you least expect it, a tragedy can strike. Or maybe even a miracle. Ever since that day, July 8th 1996, when my mother left, I wrote in my journal everyday. Rain or shine, I would find my way to my tree and open a new page in my notebook and release all my feelings into the well-loved book. As I flipped open my journal, I found a page that had something on it that I didn't notice before. As I skimmed over it, I noticed that I didn't write it. It had perfect handwriting, almost as if it were typed. It read:

Dear Louis,

I know this is very hard on you. I know it's really selfish of me to take the easy way out and for me to just leave like this. You were my first love. I want you to keep that in mind and to realize that first love marriages don't usually work out. You'll always remain a part of me no matter what happens. As for the daughter we share, I want you to call her Trinity to symbolize the love we shared that she completed. You, her, and I. They say you don't know what love is until you pass it on to a child and that is exactly why I'm leaving you with our beautiful daughter. I'm having troubles right now and it's not my time to take care of another yet. Please, don't remember me by my leaving. Remember me and the love that we shared. Everytime she looks up at you, with her eyes full of curiousity, remember us.
~Lily

A wave of emotion rushed through my blood and I shivered from the realization that my mother once touched this book. She once held it in her hands with care. Questions soon overcame my amazement. I didn't know what to do next. I combed my hair out of my face. It wasn't until that moment when I touched my wet cheek that I noticed I was crying. Three deep breathes later, I rushed home. As I jumped into my comforting home and headed straight for my room, I could feel my dad's concerned eyes follow my steps. I stuffed my face into my pillow and just laid there until the door squeaked open and my dad popped hies head through.

"I found it," I answered. Even though he didn't ask, I knew he was wondering.

"What? What did you find?"

"The note she left. Her name was Lily?" I didn't wait for him to respond, "Why did you name me Rose? She told you to name me Trinity."
"Rose..." He couldn't think of anything to say. I didn't care. I needed to speak up for once.

There was a long moment of silence. We both opened our mouthes to talk, but when nothing came out, we closed them and tried again.

"Why did she leave?" I finally managed. "Was it because of me? Did she not want to take care of a child yet?"

He exhaled a long, deep breath. "I don't know why, Rose. I didn't want to name you Trinity because it...it would remind me too much of her. I named you Rose in her honor though. As you probably noticed, her name is a flower too." There was another pause. "I love you. I love her. I know she was your mother and... well still is. I', sorry she's gone. I should have told you this. I should hace shown you the letter before. I'm...sorry."

Adjusting his collar, he cleared his throat and made his way to my bed. He stroked my amber hair and asked me if I wanted to know anything else. I shook my head and he just continued to lie on my bed with me. I listened to his steady breathing and felt somewhat relaxed.

"You know, she had the same curly red hair as you," he suggested. I didn't want to encourage his small talk so I just sighed. For once, time just stopped. It was impossible to tell how long we were in my room just thinking, but I know our bond somehow beccame stronger.

***

With my dad whistling to the dog, I woke up. Wagging his tail, my ever-loving dog skipped into my room and licked my face. I rubbed my swollen eyes and made my way to the kitchen. My father greeted me with a teasing punch in the arm.

"You were asleep for a while," he noted. "Any special request for dinner?"