I thought I was visiting Dad’s grave to make peace with the past, but seeing a photo of myself on a nearby tombstone sent a shiver down my spine. I had no idea that this eerie discovery would lead me to a life-changing truth about my mother.
It’s been two years since I lost my dad to cancer. Two years, four days, and a lifetime of heartache, to be precise.
I still remember the day we found out he had stage IV lung cancer. It felt like the world had stopped, and that we were in a nightmare we couldn’t wake up from.
The doctors began treatment immediately, but deep down, I think we all knew it was a losing battle. Dad fought hard, but in the end, cancer won.
That day, I was at home in the city when Mom called from our hometown.
Her voice, usually so strong, cracked as she delivered the news.
“Penny… he’s gone.”
I don’t remember much after that. It’s all a blur of tears and frantic packing. My husband, Andrew, drove us to Mom’s house, and I kept expecting Dad to walk out the front door, arms wide open for a hug.
But he never did…
I remember the empty feeling in my heart as I stood with my relatives at the funeral.
It was like I had dissociated from my body. I could literally watch myself weeping as they began to lower the casket.
It felt like a piece of me was being buried alongside him.
They say time heals all wounds, but the pain of losing my father is still fresh. It’s been two years, but it feels like I answered that dreadful call from Mom just yesterday.
At first, I couldn’t function. I’d cry myself to sleep every night, replaying memories of Dad in my head.
The time he taught me to ride a bike, the way he’d slip me an extra scoop of ice cream when Mom wasn’t looking, his proud smile at my college graduation.
The pain was so intense that I started questioning everything. Why me? Why us? Was I cursed to be the unluckiest person on Earth?
I couldn’t bear to visit our hometown anymore. Every street corner, every familiar face reminded me of Dad.
As a result, I threw myself into work, hoping to drown out the grief with spreadsheets and meetings.
Since I had stopped going there, Mom began visiting me instead, and I was grateful for the arrangement.
But recently, guilt started gnawing at me. I knew I needed to go back, to face the memories I’d been running from.
So, last week, Andrew and I made the drive back home.
I kept tapping my foot and biting my nails as we drove towards my hometown.
It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing my chest as familiar landmarks began to appear.
But I had to do this. I owed it to Dad, to Mom, and to myself.
We stopped at the cemetery first, and honestly, each step towards Dad’s grave felt heavier than the last. When I finally reached it, my knees gave out.
I sat there, tracing his name on the cold stone, as tears streamed down my face.
“I miss you so much, Dad,” I whispered, wishing I could feel his arms around me one last time.
I don’t know how long I sat there because I was so lost in memories and regrets. It was Andrew’s gentle touch that brought me back to reality.
“Penny,” he said softly, “look over there.”
I followed his gaze, and my heart stopped. A few yards away stood another headstone, and on it was… my name.
Forever in Our Hearts, Penelope, it read, with a photo of me as a little girl, grinning at the camera like I had the whole world figured out.
“WHAT THE HECK?” I gasped. I looked at the headstone with eyes wide open, thinking this was a nightmare. But when I pinched myself, there was no waking up. This was real. My grave was real.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and called Mom.
She answered on the first ring.
“Mom,” I began.
“I’m at the cemetery, and there’s… there’s a grave with my name on it. What’s going on?”
There was a pause before Mom’s voice, eerily calm, came through.
“I didn’t think you’d ever come back to see it,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“After your father passed,” she explained, her voice quivering slightly, “I felt like I’d lost both of you. You stopped visiting, stopped calling… I needed something to mourn.”
She paused.
“So, I bought the plot next to your father’s and had the headstone made,” she continued. “It was the only way I could cope.”
How could you do that, Mom? I thought.
I couldn’t believe that my mother had been mourning me, even though I was alive and well. At that point, I didn’t know whether to feel angry or heartbroken.
However, when I thought more about it, something didn’t add up. Why didn’t she mention this during her visits? Why pretend everything was normal?
Then it clicked. The visits, her constant worry about my health, her insistence that I move back home… She wasn’t just grieving. She was preparing for something else.
A chill ran down my spine as I remembered the pills she’d tried to give me for a cold last year. I didn’t think much of it, but now… Could she have been trying to…?
I needed answers.
“Mom, I’ll be over soon,” I said and hung up before she could respond.
Andrew looked at me. I could see how concerned he was.
“Penny, what did she say?” he asked.
“I think she’s lost it, Andrew. We need to go to her house. Now.”
The drive to Mom’s home felt surreal. It was bittersweet because the streets and parks reminded me of the time I spent there with Dad, but they also reminded me that he wasn’t with me anymore.
That he wouldn’t be there to hug me when I entered home.
As we pulled into the driveway, I almost forgot why we were there. Almost. Until I saw my Mom at the doorstep.
“Hi, sweetheart!” she smiled standing at the door as I got out of the car and walked towards her. “How are you?”
She sounded like she was so happy to see me, but her eyes had this strange satisfaction that made me think she had been expecting us all along.
We sat in the living room, and I noticed everything was just as I remembered, except for one addition: a small shrine with my photo, candles, and fresh flowers.
My stomach churned.
“Mom, this has to stop,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Why did you do it? Why pretend I was dead?”
She sighed.
“I couldn’t let you leave me like your father did. I needed to keep you close, Penny. This was the only way I knew how.”
I felt sick.
I knew this wasn’t just grief. It was more like an obsession, and I knew Mom wouldn’t let me live my life if I let her continue this. I could see how she wanted to control my life, trap me in this town, in her house, in the twisted version of reality she had created.
I knew I had to stop her.
“Mom, this isn’t normal,” I said as I stood up. “I think you need to talk to someone. Maybe a professional who can help you through this.”
She shook her head.
“Mom, please,” I cried. “I’ll get you the best therapist in town and you’ll be fine in no time.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Penny,” she said, looking down at her palms. “And neither are you.”
Stay calm, Penny, I told myself as I took a deep breath. I knew pushing her and arguing with her wouldn’t work.
“Okay… how about this,” I began, hoping she would consider my suggestion.
“Why don’t you come live near us? I’ll find you a nice house nearby, and we can see each other every day.”
Mom looked at me with a blank face.
“I mean…” I continued, “You won’t have to be alone and I’ll be able to look after you this way. What do you say?”
That’s when a lovely smile spread across Mom’s face.
“You’d really do that for me, Penny?”
“Of course, Mom,” I said, taking her hand.
“We’re family. But if you agree, I need you to let go of this… this memorial you’ve built. It’s not healthy, and it’s not real. Let’s take it down and start fresh, okay?”
She hesitated but eventually nodded.
“Alright, Penny. If it means being closer to you, I’ll do it.”
A week later, I stood beside Mom as we watched the cemetery workers carefully remove the headstone bearing my name.
And then it was time for the shrine in the living room to be dismantled.
Soon, we began preparing for Mom to move near our place.
Honestly, the transition hasn’t been easy, but I know it’s the right one. I just feel so grateful that I decided to visit Dad’s grave that day because if I hadn’t, I could’ve never learned about the strange world Mom was living in.
Now, for the first time in years, it feels like we’re finally heading in the right direction. Dad’s memory will always be with us, but it’s more of a source of strength rather than pain.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Source: Amomama
