I Thought I’d Be Alone at Graduation After My Parents Passed Away – Then Someone Covered My Eyes
She reached across the table and took my hand. Her skin felt like tissue paper.
“You worked four years for that diploma.”
“I worked four years for Mom and Dad to see it. They won’t.”
“I know.”
“So what’s the point?”
“The point,” she said quietly, “is that you finish what you started.”
I pulled my hand back. I didn’t mean to. It just happened.
“Everyone’s gonna have somebody, Nana. Parents. Brothers. Aunts holding up signs with glitter on them.”
“And you’ll have me.”
“You can’t even walk to the mailbox without sitting down twice.”
The words came out sharper than I wanted. I watched her flinch, just a little, and I hated myself instantly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did. And you’re right.”
“Nana, please.”
“I can’t sit through a two-hour ceremony, baby. My knees won’t let me. I wish to God they would.”
“Then why are you pushing me to go alone?”
She was quiet for a few seconds. Her eyes drifted toward the cookie tin on the counter, then back to me.
“Because some things you do for the people who can’t be there.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t either, honey.”
I stood up and walked to the window. The neighbor’s kid was practicing his cap toss in the driveway, and his mom was laughing.
“Everyone’s gonna look at me, Nana. They’re gonna see I’m the only one without anybody.”
“They won’t be looking at you.”
“They will.”
“Emily. Turn around.”
I turned around.
“Your mother picked out that gown color the day you were born. Did you know that?”
“What?”
“She held you up and said, ‘My girl’s gonna wear navy and gold one day.’ I remember it like yesterday.”
“Nana, stop.”
“And your father saved every report card. Every single one. They’re in a shoebox under my bed.”
My throat closed up. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because you think walking that stage is for nothing. It’s not nothing. It’s for them.”
“They’re gone.”
“Love isn’t.”
I sat back down. I didn’t know what else to do.
“Just get your diploma, sweetheart,” she whispered. “One last day. That’s all I’m asking.”
“One last day, and then what?”
