If you haven’t read ‘The Mail Box’, please read it before you read this. If you have read ‘The Mail Box’, thank you for your comments.

The woman waited, almost lurking in the shadow as the mourners departed the grave site. Still as she watched the last mourner leave the carpeted grave side, she held her place. There were tears in her eyes and her vision was a blur. Knowing the impact of watching the ceremony from afar, she had chosen wisely to forgo the ritual of make-up.

Dressed in a rather thread worn dark dress and scuffed shoes, she looked left then right and stepped from her protected place. She walked hesitantly towards the shiny coffin. Any about would probably not notice a person as shabby as this one. That’s not to say that she was dressed shabbily, she was wearing one of her best. But best had several definitions and to the mourners that had departed, her ‘best’ was not. Still, it was her best and she wore it with dignity and grace.

Closing on the grave site, she noted the arrival of the cemetery staff. They smiled lightly and nodded to affirm her presence. The staff stood away allowing her a few precious moments with her thoughts. Thoughts were playing through her head as she gazed at the coffin. She placed an out-stretched hand on the coffin and ran her hand along its length. Bending slightly, she brushed her lips against the coffin, then stood and said “Sweet dreams, Daddy.” She turned and walked away, not noticing the occupants of the last car to leave the site or the startled look on their faces.

Tears streamed down her face as she walked to the cemetery entrance and waited on a city bus. Once on board, she wiped her eyes and began to apply a small amount of make-up. Life goes on she thought and remembered a verse from an old Doris Day song, “When I was just a little girl, I asked my mommy what would I be. Would I be pretty, would I be rich? Here’s what she said to me. Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be. The future’s not ours to see. Que sera, sera.”

‘Que sera, sera.’ She thought as she reached her stop. She stood and exited the bus, walking down the littered street to a worn building. Opening the front door, she climbed three sets of steps and paused. From her purse she took a key and opened the door, then walked in, closing the door behind her. She took a look around and set her resolve. She went into the closet and removed a worn shoe box. Pulling it down she carried it back into the kitchen and emptied the contents on the table. Sitting, she sorted through the spilled contents, finally finding a faded letter.

Holding the letter, her resolve began to fade, but she shook herself renewing herself to her task. She opened the envelope and read the few words within.

Dearest Daddy,
For that is what you are. I have completed my journey and long to come home. I have sorely missed both you and mama, yet have stayed away these years due to our mutual hurt. I apologize again that I cannot be the son you so desperately wanted. That is a path which I am no longer able to wander on. I have changed my body to conform to my minds’ image of who and what I am.

Your loving daughter

Crumpling the paper she said “I’m sorry, Daddy. I never mailed the letter. Please forgive me. I was just afraid.”