I thought I was visiting my dad’s grave to make peace with the past, but seeing a photo of myself on a nearby tombstone sent shivers down my spine. I had no idea that this disturbing discovery would lead me to a truth about my mother that would change my life.
It’s been two years since I lost my father to cancer. Two years, four days and a lifetime of anguish, to be exact.
A woman looking out the window, thinking | Source: Midjourney
I still remember the day we found out I had stage IV lung cancer. I felt like the world had stopped and we were in a nightmare we couldn’t wake up from.
Doctors started treatment immediately, but deep down, I think we all knew it was a losing battle. Dad fought hard, but cancer won in the end.
That day, I was at home in the city when Mom called from our town.
A woman about to answer her mother’s call | Source: Midjourney
His voice, normally so strong, cracked as he delivered the news.
“Penny… is gone.”
I don’t remember much after that. It’s all a blur of tears and frantic packing. My husband, Andrew, drove us to Mom’s house, and I waited for Dad to come out the front door with his arms open to hug us.
But he never did…
I remember the empty feeling I had in my heart when I was with my relatives at the funeral.
People at a funeral | Source: Pexels
It was like I had dissociated from my body. I could literally see myself crying as they began to lower the coffin.
I felt like a piece of me was buried next to him.
They say time heals all wounds, but the pain of losing my father is still fresh. It’s been two years, but it feels like I answered that dreadful call from Mom just yesterday.
At first, I couldn’t function. I cried myself to sleep every night, replaying memories of Dad in my head.
Close-up of a woman in bed, thinking | Source: Midjourney
The time he taught me how to ride a bike, the way he gave me an extra scoop of ice cream when Mom wasn’t looking, his proud smile at my college graduation.
The pain was so intense that I began to question everything. Why me? Why us? Was I cursed to be the unluckiest person on Earth?
I couldn’t stand visiting our hometown anymore. Every corner, every familiar face reminded me of Dad.
People at an intersection | Source: Pexels
So I dove headlong into work, hoping to drown my grief with spreadsheets and meetings.
Since I stopped going there, Mom started visiting me instead, and I was grateful for the arrangement.
But recently, guilt began to eat away at me. I knew I needed to go back, to face the memories I had been running away from.
So last week, Andrew and I made the trip back home.
I kept tapping my foot and biting my nails as we drove toward my hometown.
A man driving a car | Source: Pexels
It felt like an invisible hand was pressing down on my chest as familiar landmarks began to appear.
But I had to do it. I owed it to Dad, Mom, and myself.
We first stopped at the cemetery, and honestly, each step towards Dad’s grave felt heavier than the last. When I finally got there, my knees gave out.
I sat there, tracing his name on the cold stone, tears streaming down my face.
A woman sitting near a grave | Source: Pexels
“I miss you so much, Dad,” I whispered, longing to feel his arms around me one last time.
I don’t know how long I sat there because I was so lost in memories and regrets. It was Andrew’s gentle caress that brought me back to reality.
“Penny,” he said softly, “look over there.”
I followed his gaze and my heart stopped. A few feet away was another tombstone, and on it was… my name.
A woman in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
Forever in our hearts, Penelope , it said, with a photo of me as a child, smiling at the camera as if I had the whole world figured out.
“WHAT THE HELL?” I exclaimed. I stared at the gravestone with wide eyes, thinking this was a nightmare. But when I pinched myself, I couldn’t wake up. This was real. My grave was real.
With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and called Mom.
He answered on the first ring.
“Mom,” I began.
A woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“I’m at the cemetery and there’s… there’s a grave with my name on it. What’s going on?”
There was a pause before Mom’s voice came in, eerily calm.
“I thought you’d never come back to see her,” he said.
“What do you mean?”.
“After your father died,” she explained, her voice shaking slightly, “I felt like I had lost both of you. You stopped visiting me, you stopped calling me… I needed something to cry about.”
He paused.
A woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“So I bought the plot next to your father’s and had the headstone made,” he continued. “It was the only way I could cope.”
How could you do that, Mom? I thought.
I couldn’t believe that my mother had been mourning me, even though I was alive and well. At that moment, I didn’t know whether to feel angry or heartbroken.
However, when I thought about it more, something didn’t fit. Why didn’t he mention it during his visits? Why did he pretend everything was normal?
A woman in a car, smiling | Source: Midjourney
Then it hit me. The visits, his constant concern for my health, his insistence that I come home… he wasn’t just grieving. He was preparing for something more.
A chill ran down my spine as I remembered the pills he tried to give me for a cold last year. I didn’t think much of it, but now… Could he have been trying to…?
I needed answers.
“Mom, I’ll be right there,” I said and hung up before she could respond.
A woman looking at her phone | Source: Midjourney
Andrew looked at me. I could see how worried he was.
“Penny, what did he say?” he asked.
“I think she’s gone crazy, Andrew. We need to go to her house. Right now.”
The drive to Mom’s house was surreal. It was bittersweet because the streets and parks reminded me of the time I spent there with Dad, but they also reminded me that he was no longer with me.
That he wouldn’t be there to hug me when I came home.
An elderly man at his home | Source: Midjourney
As we walked into the driveway, I almost forgot why we were there. Almost. Until I saw my mother standing in the doorway.
“Hey, sweetie!” she smiled, standing in the doorway as I got out of the car and walked over to her. “How are you?”
She sounded like she was very happy to see me, but her eyes had a strange satisfaction that made me think she had been waiting for us all along.
A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
We sat in the living room and I noticed that everything was just as I remembered, except for one addition: a small altar with my photo, candles and fresh flowers.
My stomach turned.
“Mom, this has to stop,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Why did you do this? Why did you pretend I was dead?”
She sighed.
“I couldn’t let you leave me like your father did. I needed to have you close, Penny. It was the only way I knew how.”
I felt bad.
A woman in her mother’s house | Source: Midjourney
I knew it wasn’t just grief. It was more of an obsession, and I knew Mom wouldn’t let me live my life if I let her continue this. I saw how she wanted to control my life, to trap me in this town, in her house, in the twisted version of reality she had created.
I knew I had to stop her.
“Mom, this isn’t normal,” I said as I stood up. “I think you need to talk to someone. Maybe a professional who can help you through this.”
A woman talking to her mother | Source: Midjourney
She shook her head.
“Mom, please,” I cried. “I’ll get you the best therapist in town and you’ll be fine in no time.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Penny,” he said, looking at his palms. “And neither are you.”
Stay calm, Penny , I told myself as I took a deep breath. I knew that pushing her and arguing with her wouldn’t work.
“Okay… what do you think about this?” I began, hoping he would consider my suggestion.
A woman sits in a living room, talking to her mother | Source: Midjourney
“Why don’t you come and live near us? I’ll find you a nice house nearby and we can see each other every day.”
Mom looked at me with an expressionless face.
“I mean…” I continued. “You won’t have to be alone and I’ll be able to take care of you. What do you think?”
It was then that a charming smile appeared on Mom’s face.
“Would you really do that for me, Penny?”
A woman sitting in her living room, looking ahead | Source: Midjourney
“Of course, Mom,” I said, taking her hand.
“We’re family. But if it’s okay with you, I need you to let go of… this monument you’ve built. It’s not healthy or real. Let’s take it down and start over, okay?”
She hesitated, but ended up nodding.
“Okay, Penny. If it means being closer to you, I’ll do it.”
A week later, I was standing next to Mom as we watched the cemetery workers carefully remove the headstone that bore my name.
A woman standing in a cemetery, smiling | Source: Midjourney
Then it was time to dismantle the altar in the living room.
We soon began preparing for Mom to move close to our house.
Honestly, the transition hasn’t been easy, but I know it’s the right thing to do. I’m so grateful that I decided to visit Dad’s grave that day, because if I hadn’t, I would never have known about the strange world Mom lived in.
Now, for the first time in years, it seems we are finally headed in the right direction. Dad’s memory will always be with us, but it is more a source of strength than pain.
A woman holds a photo of her father | Source: Midjourney
If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: When Abi’s mother is admitted to the hospital due to severe pain and a high fever, she is told that her mother needs surgery. Abi is willing to play the supportive daughter until her mother makes a strange request: that Abi go home and burn a notebook. What is in the notebook and why is it so important?
This work is inspired by real people and events, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not guarantee the accuracy of events or the depiction of characters, and are not responsible for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and the opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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