Letter 7: January 14th

I found a grave
Brushed off the face
Felt your light and
I remember why I know this place

(Evanescence – End of the Dream)

A gust of cold winter wind wafted the scent of seasoned chicken from a nearby restaurant. Kurt shivered. Wasn't it absurd, and morbid, to open any sort of establishment of the sort right next to a cemetery?

The weather suited exactly Kurt's mood. It couldn't be more unpleasant; the snow had melted, leaving nothing but mud behind, clouds threatened with rain, and the wind kept on blowing and chilling all those forced to be outside to the bone.

Kurt wished he didn't forget his gloves; one of his hands had to be consistently exposed to the dreadful weather, occupied with a huge bunch of white roses. He hated cemeteries, hated every January 14th, and hated to come here alone. But this year Burt was held up at the tire shop, and called Kurt to apologize and tell him he had to do this alone.

And Kurt simply couldn't ask anyone else to come with him. Rachel and a cemetery? That wasn't a good idea, not at all. Mercedes? They grew a little apart since his transfer to Dalton. Blaine…? No, he couldn't drag the guy he was in love with around a cemetery! Especially, when he had no idea what was really going on between them, and there was a good chance he'd start crying like a baby.

Finally, he turned into the muddy alley he'd visited every year since he was eight. The headstone was there, the tiniest bit darker than the year before. Kurt took his hand out of his coat pocket, and swiped the top of the headstone with his palm. Dead, half-rotten leaves that had remained there since fall fell to the ground noiselessly.

Carefully, as if they were made of glass, he placed the roses under the headstone, reading once again the words he'd known by heart since the day of the funeral.

Elizabeth Hummel, died too soon, dearest wife and mother.

'Hi, mom,' Kurt muttered. As much as he felt silly doing this, he never failed to talk to her when visiting. It made him feel just for the few short seconds as if she was still beside him. 'I know you can't hear me, but… I love you. And I hope that if you were here- that you'd be proud of me.'

A lonely tear rolled down his cheek, soon to be joined by another, and yet another.

'Why did you have to die on me?'

He sobbed, his whole frame shaking violently, his face now completely drenched with salty moisture. His knees wobbled beneath him, almost causing him to drop to the wet, muddy ground.

'Young man?,' a frail old voice came from behind him. 'Is everything alright?'

Kurt rubbed his eyes to clear his vision and get rid of the remnants of tears. An old, slightly hunched lady was standing on the edge of the asphalt alley a couple of yards away. She must have stopped, alarmed by his sobs.

He nodded hastily.

'I'm fine. No need to worry.' He turned away, squeezing his eyelids shut to prevent another flood of tears. A squishing sound came from behind; the lady apparently wasn't convinced.

'Your mom?,' she asked quietly.

Kurt opened his eyes to look at her; she had an expression full of sadness and sympathy. He nodded, feeling his voice was too weak to deliver the answer.

'I lost my mom early, too, you know.'

'Really?' His voice trembled, barely audible.

'Yes. I used to cry every time I thought about her for the first ten years.'

'Why are you telling me this?'

A small mournful smile stretched the wrinkled face.

'Because at some point I remembered all the good things that had happened. How she taught me to bake, and how she used to play with me, and how she cheered me up after my dog died.' The woman patted him gently on the arm. 'She gave you the greatest gift anyone can give. She gave you life. And she might be gone, but remembering her for the good she left behind here is the best way to commemorate her.'

With a last pat on his shoulder and a smile, the woman left.

And having breathed in deeply and wiped his eyes one more time, Kurt headed to the main gate.

***

Even though an early afternoon sun was shining brightly on the pale blue sky, everything around Kurt felt gloomy.

He had spent the beginning of the year busy with work; he finally managed to sit down at his desk and start preparing his fall/winter collection for the next season. For months he barely even visited his office, not to mention actually doing anything useful. The tiny prod Blaine gave him in the New Year's Eve letter motivated him enough to take this small step forwards, towards some sort of semi-normalcy. Because it was clear that nothing would ever be truly normal again.

But today he couldn't focus on anything, and drinking one coffee after another only made him fidget. So, without a word of explanation to his employees, he rushed out, slamming the door, and went straight to the Cyprus Hills Cemetery. It was January 14th, he was in New York, with no chance of getting back to Lima, once he'd gone back to some kind of regular schedule of his everyday duties. Anything of the sort would only disturb the precarious order, making it tumble to the ground all over again.

So he went to the only other place he could think of.

Kurt hadn't come back there since the funeral. What was the point, really? A bunch of flowers that would wither in a couple of days wouldn't make a difference to someone who couldn't enjoy them even for a second anyway. But despite the fact that he'd been there just twice – and both times stuck in a hazy, desperate disbelief – his feet found the way as surely as if they were led on by a magical force.

The headstone looked exactly the same, save for the ethereal layer of snow topping it. Kurt's breath hitched, as his eyes fell again on the words chiseled in marble.

'Hi, honey,' he choked out, feeling tears coming up into his eyes. He blinked to push them back. 'I know you can't hear me. I just had to come…' A small sad smile arched his mouth. 'But you know all that.'

Kurt's hand instinctively wandered towards his chest pocket, where the latest letter was placed, right over his heart.

'What wouldn't I give to get you back here.' His voice sounded just a little louder than he'd intended.

Suddenly, he realized someone was standing close behind him, and he turned around with one hasty movement.

For a second he thought he was transported back in time to that one afternoon thirteen years ago, in another graveyard, another town, another state, over another grave… A couple of yards away a frail elder woman was standing, rubbing her gloved hands together for warmth and watching Kurt with a compassionate expression.

'A loved one?,' she asked in a small voice that suited perfectly her delicate figure and the wrinkled, dried up skin.

Kurt turned to face the grave again, and gave a short nod.

'My husband,' he added quietly after a few seconds.

A delicately trembling hand grasped and squeezed his for a moment. He raised his eyes on the woman.

'Life goes on. Don't dwell on the past.'

A bitter laugh escaped Kurt's mouth.

'He said exactly the same.' Kurt shook his head. 'But it's not that easy, you know?'

'I do. It's painful and it's hard, but- You have to remember you're still here.'

And with that, she left him standing over the snow-sprinkled grave.

***

Darling, darling Kurt,

I know this is a tough day for you. And I wish I could go to Lima with you, and hold your hand, when we go to the cemetery. You need a rock, honey, don't try to deny that. And it's killing me more than that damn thing in my head to know that I won't be there to be your rock.

Of course, you're strong. You're probably one of the strongest people – if not THE strongest person – I've ever met. But it doesn't mean you don't have moments when you need a shoulder to cry and lean on.

Just hang in there, okay?

You survived losing your mom, you'll survive this. I wish you didn't have to, but well, what do I have to say about this? Not much. No matter how much I might try not to die, die I will. This much, I guess, is already settled.

And, please, remember, this is not the end of the world. It might seem like the end of your world, but it's not. Things change, worlds change. So will yours. But it will not end. It'll go on turning, just like it had before we met. Only now it will be richer with thirteen years of love, friendship and devotion.

I love you,

Blaine.