There's this great war between those who think that the pain of losing a parent, trumps the pain of losing your soulmate.
Okay, so there's no war and it's not all that great—it's pretty bleak actually—but, the different mindsets do exist. I for one, hold with the former of the two but perhaps, that's because I haven't found love yet or that I doubt anyone will be able to love me as much as my father has.
Had.
Whatever it is, I know one thing: The death of a loved one hurts.
On average, a bullet is about 9mm—that's really small—and when it lodges into someone's heart, there are no chances of survival. The vicitim feels the pain of course, but only for a few seconds. Then they pass onto the next life or heaven or purgatory or just darkness.
That bullet isn't done though. After it took my father from me, it clawed it's way out to me. My thoughts, my dreams, my energy. It all drained away pretty quickly.
That bullet has lodged it's way into my life now. It claws up my throat, suffocating me. It hurts me.
Us.
Looking around the grim room, I know I'm not alone in my grief. My father was a good man. He had friends and family and as if honouring that, little fragments of the bullet have found their way to everyone. Sharpnel.
I see it in the red rimmed eyes of my aunt, the bulge of tissues in some a close coworker's trousers and the badly covered sniffles coming from, well, everywhere it seems.
I see grief on the sombre faces of his family, the one with whom he does not share blood. Does grief have an expression, though? Sadness and crying?
I doubt people would see it on me. I've yet to see it myself. All in good time, I suppose.
How odd must it look to the guests as they come around to offer their condolences.
"How awful, it's the girl's father's funeral. Surely she could shed a few tears!"
"Maybe he beat her? I heard he was an awful drunk."
"That must be it! I went to this wedding last summer and you won't even believe me when I tell you the bride's father wasn't even invited!"
"Kids these days. They just don't care about us hardworking parents."
An excerpt from an actual conversation I heard. What's awful are the people who are here for some entertaintment. Whatta bunch of sociopaths.
I zoned back in when I heard the resounding thud of the casket being closed. I'm not stupid. I know I should be grieving and I know that internally, I am.
I also know, the real thing will hit eventually and until then, I stand here looking
like the perfectly poised daughter who most certainly is not screaming inside.
:)
𝕍𝕠𝕥𝕖. ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥. 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕖.
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Sinners and Saints
Teen FictionAlessandra Romano's life is turned upisde down after her father's passing. Suddenly having to move in to the gang house where her father previously worked, Alessandra learns to deal with her grief, surrounded by people who she learns aren't as cold...
