This vignette is for my own catharsis... I lost my father on October 19th of this year quite suddenly. He was only 62, but diabetic and after operations on his feet and complications with that for over a year, succumbed to sepsis. I am still trying to process it all... so this little story is one tiny step in that direction.
My dad was a US Marine Corps veteran. He was in the Honor Guard, and was always an optimist. He was buried with military honors on a beautiful fall day, and the casket was covered in lady bugs,a symbol of luck, happiness, and family.
They say people don't really die if you keep their memory alive... and it's only been a few months. I still hear his voice... and I still get the urge to call him on the phone. Anyway... here's my little story to try to sort out all of this. Please forgive any errors, as it has not been beta-read.
Takes place Season 5 of Smallville, Reckoning.
Reflections of Grief
Lois had been through it all before...
Well, maybe not all, but she was probably one of the few people there that knew what Clark was going through, what it was like to lose a parent. Only she had refused to go to her mother’s funeral, a scared child, trying to make sense of everything. Sure, Clark was older, but Lois understood the hurt, the loss… she faced it every day she wanted to share something with her mother. She was used to it now, of course, but there were still odd moments that would slam her in the gut, moments that she wish she could share with her mother.
Lois knew that there was nothing she could say that could help Clark through this. But she knew that it helped to have people around, to just be there. And while they weren’t exactly best friends, she did care for him. And she would be there for him, even if just in the background, part of the small crowd that buttressed against the cold winter winds and snow.
Lois had visited her mother’s grave, though she never talked to her sister or father about it. She had gone as a scared, angry teenager, after she had lost her virginity. She had wanted her mother. She needed to know that she hadn’t just made a huge mistake. She wanted her mother to judge her or forgive her – just anything. Anything was better than the void that had existed since the day she died.
She had been fifteen, and the cemetery was in the full bloom of spring. Lois didn’t even know where the grave was. She had asked at the small office by the front gate and then had to hunt among all the stones for almost an hour, her eyes blurry with tears.
At last, she had found it. She stood there, staring down at the finality of the headstone. She had fallen on her knees, her jeans smudging with green from the fresh cut grass, and just bawled. Lois let out almost ten years of pent up emotion… yelling and crying about all the times that she had wanted her mother there. She probably looked crazy to anyone watching, but it was a much needed catharsis.
After almost an hour, she had calmed down, though the tears didn’t stop… she wasn’t sure they ever would. She sat by the headstone, imagining her mother deep in the earth, away from all its troubles, and yet her beauty ravaged by the elements that eventually take us all… and she wept for the unfairness of it. The unpredictable unfairness of death, and how, even when we expect it, it still is devastating in all the hundreds of little ways a life affects loved ones.
That’s what Lois thought of as she stood behind Clark as they buried his father… all the moments Jonathan would miss, and that Clark would have to manage without him. And that’s what broke her heart. She loved and respected Mr. Kent, but it was always those left behind who suffered more.
She saw Clark’s shoulders shake with tears. She wished they were closer, that she could comfort him in some small way to somehow acknowledge that while their circumstances were totally different, she did know what it was he was going through.
Eventually it was time to go. Clark glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting Lois’s for just an instant, but it was enough. She knew that look of haunted loss; she had seen it in her own eyes many times when the grief of her mother had been too much to bear. Lois wished she could take that haunted look from him, knowing the pain that it represented, but she knew there wasn’t much she could do…
Chloe tugged on Lois’s hand, and Lois turned away, noticing that Lana hung back with Clark. Lana had lost her parents, after all. Yet Lois wondered if it would be easier for Clark to talk to her rather than Lana; everything seemed more complicated when it came to Lana for Clark. Lois didn’t dwell on that thought long, though. There were other ways she could support the Kents, and at the moment she needed to take over organizing all the food people had brought over for after the burial.
While others gathered in the living room, Lois went to the kitchen, sorting casseroles and roasts, knowing that no one would probably eat much today. Still, being busy was good. The look in Clark’s eyes kept coming back to her, and she purposely avoided looking at him again when he had entered the house. Her own grief hit her unexpectedly when the fridge became too full and she wasn’t sure where to put an extra pie.
Lois slammed the fridge door closed as tears cascaded down her cheeks. She wept for Mr. Kent, and her mother, but for Clark, too. Because it wasn’t fair that he would have to live on without his father… It wasn’t fair that Mr. Kent wouldn’t get to be Senator and do all the amazing things she knew he could have done. Life can be taken in an instant… and the wounds they leave behind will always stay fresh.
Suddenly, Lois needed air. She couldn’t bear the warm, cozy farmhouse, knowing how bereft it now was. There was a murmur of people talking in the living room, as if it could be any gathering the Kents would have now and then… and suddenly Lois couldn’t stand to be near it.
She didn’t even grab a coat, but just stepped out onto the porch. The cold air felt bracing, and she let out one sob, shaking her head as she wrapped her arms around herself. The sun was glistening off the snow covered yard, a perfectly beautiful winter scene… another inexorable step towards the close of another year… another day without her mother, another day without Clark’s father… Time would march on, but how do you deal with all the minutes, and hours, and days between without them there? How do you cope, when all you’d like is another hug or just a simple chat over coffee?
It was all so unfair…
Suddenly, movement caught Lois’s attention out of the corner of her eye. Clark was on the porch. She saw his mouth start to move as if to speak, but then he didn’t. Their eyes met, and she saw that same haunted look she had seen at the cemetery, and she wondered if he could see the same reflected in her eyes.
There were no words between them. Because all the words people try to say during these times are never enough, even though they always mean well. Clark and Lois seemed to acknowledge that… Lois couldn’t even get out, ‘I’m sorry,’ knowing that wouldn’t take the pain away.
They turned towards each other, and before either of them knew it, they were in each other’s arms, comforting each other in mutual grief. It was a show of solidarity, and acknowledgement that they knew things would never be the same. Lois wanted to say that she was there for him if he needed her, and yet, she thought he understood.
She felt him shake in her arms, and Lois knew he was crying; she only held him tighter. There was no place for ridicule or sarcasm or any of her usual walls of defenses against real feelings… There was only kindness, friendship, and trust.
Neither of them knew how long they stood like that, holding each other, buttressing each other from the cold and their grief, but when the tears subsided, their eyes met and held.
He still looked miserable, but there was a tiny glimmer of something more solid there, too. Lois took his hand and tugged him towards the kitchen. ‘Come on, Smallville. I’ll get you something to eat,’ she said softly.
She knew he’d eventually be okay.
And eventually, she would be, too.
Last edited by mozartmaid; 12/27/14 04:59 PM.
