Before you go... //h.s

River Flows in You

I feel guilty for sharing so much happiness and pleasure with Harry on my mother's funeral, but I want to think she would have been happy. I've spent the past few weeks mourning her and so now surely she'd want me to move on, and only remember her in happiness. She'd want me to stop crying over her.

Or at least that's what I'm telling myself to stop the guilt from overwhelming me.

As I approach our house, I can hear the tinkling of the piano drifting out of the doors of my mother's favourite piano piece: River flows in you. I had to agree with her, this soulful, beautiful music truly was a gift to the world.

Harry and I had decided today would not be the day for him to meet my family. It would be unfair on them and so we were going to wait until the days had passed and the memory of my mum's funeral was no longer a recent, blinding pain and more of a gentle ache.

Suddenly I was aware that I must look like I'd just had sex with my messy hair and lust glazed eyes and panic hit me. Everyone would notice. Everyone would see. And there was no way in hell I could explain this one.

My breathing became deeper, heavier as I tried to stop overthinking. The very last thing I needed on my list right now was a panic attack, especially with all these people in the house. My heart continued to leave bruises on the inside of my ribs as it thumped hard enough to hurt.

I tried to breathing in for four...hold for two....out for six. I repeated it again and again, like a mantra as I prayed for thumping in my chest to slow. For once it didn't matter if I was crying, people would just assume it was about my mother.

My breathing evened slightly, my heart still thumping but at a more normal rate and I took my first brave step into the house, running my hands through my hair self-consciously.

I walked slowly through the front door, welcoming the warmth of the house. I hadn't realised I was so cold until the heat had hit me and it was only then that I realised I'd been shivering. I walk down the hallway to our kitchen, and see my dad sitting in there alone.

'Dad?'

'Oh hi Iris? Have you been here the whole time? Sorry I just...I just needed a moment to myself,' he stumbles over the words, clearly out of it then he returned to staring blankly at the wall. This was affecting him more than anyone else, understandably.

My parents had had those great loves – the kind that films were written about and novelists could only imagine writing. The kind where you never grow bored or annoyed with each other no matter how much time passes and how many conversations you share.

My heart not only ached for myself and my loss, but for my dad and everything he'd lost with the death of his wife.

Although I'd been in a similar state to him at the start of this day, I was feeling much better now. I was well aware this was a day for mum and I respected that but getting back with Harry had blinded the sadness out of me. The only good thing from his dazed state was there was no way I would be busted for sleeping with anyone because he was too zoned out to notice.

Honestly with the amount I was worrying about this you'd think I was creeping in at 2am when I was sixteen.

Of course I would still miss her, there would always be a hole in me that no-one except my mum could feel but I'd spent long enough mourning that I truly felt it was time to just remember her light and stop moping.

So as I nodded sombrely at my dad and headed into our sitting room, bracing myself for the annoying well-wishers, I had to remind myself not to smile. Remind myself to put on a pained face and gloss my eyes over in tears.