Missing Her

Dedicated to: Everyone out there who has had someone die, and most of all to my Grandfather Stan. I wish I had known you better and that I had more time with you.
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He was no stranger to death. He had dealt with it before, several times. People he cared about and who cared about him, people he knew well and people he didn't, people he had loved and people he didn't, people he had killed and people who had died for him. But he had never expected it to feel like this. All week he had kept himself busy with the funeral plans, but now the planning was over and the funeral happening. Now he had no choice but to face his worst enemy: his head.

There weren't as many people there as he would have liked. Then again though, even if the entire world was there it wouldn't be enough. She still wouldn't be there, and that was all that mattered.

Some classmate of theirs whose name he couldn't recall was talking to everyone about how seriously she took her schoolwork, how upset she was if she didn't get anything but the perfect grade. The classmate wasn't the only one: most of the people had commented on something about her work. He wanted to shout at them that there was so much more to her. How much she cared for and felt for the world around her, how she'd take things so seriously and yet at the same time be care-free, how she loved cooking even though she was horrible at it, how she always knew the exact right thing to say to him to make him feel better, how all he had to do was look at her and his heart would melt, how she made him feel like the luckiest man alive. And especially how no matter how much time he spent with her or how well he knew her, she would still regularly find ways to surprise him. He could go on forever and ever about her, and it still wouldn't be enough. There would still be things about her they (and he couldn't even really say who they were) wouldn't know, that even he wouldn't know. No one knew her completely, he doubted even she did. He didn't know what made him sadder: thinking of what had been, or what could have been. It wasn't supposed to be like this. They had plans, they were supposed to grow old together. Now all those plans would go to waste and he would grow old alone. Time would move on, even if it didn't have the right to without her in the world. Life had no meaning without her.

Suddenly he realized that all eyes were on him, expecting him to say something. He couldn't speak, though, for there was a huge lump in his throat, and even if he could say something he wouldn't have. It just didn't feel right. What he would say would be for her alone. So he stood there silently, saying nothing. Eventually everyone left, going on with their lives and their days, but even then he stood there. All he had to look forward to was life without her, and everyone saying the dreaded, "I'm sorry for your loss." But when something is lost, it can usually be found or at the very least replaced, and no matter what he did she wouldn't come back. And there wasn't a single person in the world who could replace her. She was unique.

He would come back again later to visit her. He would come forever.

His Hermione.

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