A Woman Waiting to Happen Part Two
Chapter 10: Mike
Copyright© 2016 by qhml1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 10: Mike - The Sequel!
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa
I was stunned at how many were in the chapel. They parted as we entered, and we were ushered to the front row. The preacher was an old friend of the family, at one time our campers were side by side. It seemed like he preached the whole sermon straight to me.
He talked about love, loss, and overcoming tragedy. He talked about God’s will, and how mortals would never understand it most of the time. Finally, he asked for a silent prayer for the souls of my family.
I had been getting more and more agitated. Every face I saw triggered a memory, every hug or pat on the back seemed to bring more pain. It finally hit me. I’d never had a chance to grieve for my family. I’d had to jump straight in, arrange the funerals, deal with the insurance, and try to save the company. Plus, I never had anyone to grieve with. Every one close to me was gone. Kim acted sympathetic, but I could sense she never really gave a rat’s butt about it.
Now, twenty months later I sat here, surrounded by families I’d known since childhood, the friends I’d made here, the friends my parents had made. Plus I now had Carrie and Sarah. It hit me like a physical blow. I was with family now, and I could let my grief go.
So I broke down and cried like a baby, for my parents who never got to enjoy their golden years, for my brother and his wife who would never know the joy of raising a family, and finally, for my niece, a poor child who never got a chance to experience life. I cried for me, for the hole it had left in my life, that had been unfilled until now. The tears washed away most of my burden, and for the first time since I lost them I felt true peace.
My crying triggered off Carrie and Sarah, which triggered off Nat and Robbie, which triggered off Julie and her parents. The chain reaction rocked the building, until there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
I finally got hold of myself and walked to the podium. “Thank you. Thank you for sharing my grief, for making it bearable. My parents knew a lot of you, counted you as friends, even family in this environment. Friendships formed here, over a mutual love of the outdoors and community, have shaped countless lives over the decades. I know it shaped mine. It taught me how to share, how to respect boundaries, how to conduct myself as a decent human being. If the old axiom about it taking a village to raise a child is true, this place is living, breathing proof of that. We, the regulars of this campground, we ARE a village. Thank you again. For those interested, a meal is available in the community building. Please, in honor of my mother, join us. One of her greatest passions was preparing food and sharing it. This would have given her great pleasure, to see her friends gathered around, thinking of her, and sharing a meal one more time.”
It took me almost an hour to get to the community building, a scant hundred yards away. I had to stop and shake a hand, share a hug, listen to a story about how my folks had touched lives. I was surprised that no one started until I got there. The preacher said a short prayer, blessing the food, the ones who enjoyed it, and the memory of my family.