Wings

Recovering

~~"If you're still hanging onto a dead dream of yesterday, laying flowers on its grave by the hour, you cannot be planting the seeds for a new dream to grow today." ~Joyce Chapman~~

I laid two red roses at the base of the grave and admired the way they stood out against the white snow. A tear fell down my cheek as I read the names of the couple who died in the tragic fire only three years ago: Linda and Joshua Morgan. My parents.

It seemed surreal seeing their names engraved on a headstone, as if that couldn't possibly have been their names because they couldn't possibly have been gone. I still refused to say it, dead. I just couldn't. They could be gone or, pushing daises but they could not be dead. No, death was like being wiped off the face of the earth and forgotten forever. My parents could never be forgotten, they couldn't be dead.

Even the word gone seemed harsh, like they'd left me. But at least with, gone there is always the possibility of coming back. But I hated the word dead. It was too harsh, too powerful, too real...

Looking up at the sky I realized the sun was gone, replaced by the shadow of the moon. I knew I should be heading back, especially since it was winter and the darkness would soon surround me without a trace of light.

I let out a depressing sigh and turned around, following the pathway out of the cemetery.

I used to be scared of walking the streets by myself, but that was before my parents had died, when I had actually worried about things like that. After they died I didn't care what happened to me because nothing could compare to the constant pain that was always in my chest. The pain refused to go away, even for a momentary second. I was told the pain would go away with time and, at first, I believed what I was told. But it's been three years since my parents died and, if anything, the pain has only gotten worse. I was always constantly reminded of what I had lost and I knew it was a hollowness that would never be filled. My body and my mind were numb. Always.

Unfortunately, life had to move on, even if I hadn't wanted it to. My brother, Jack, and I were forced to move into my Aunt Maggie's house. I had been fourteen at the time, old enough to know that I was not wanted at that house. Sure, Maggie was my aunt and a blood relative, but she acted as though Jack and I were a constant burden pushing down on her life.

Moving to a new high school I had become known as, "the kid whose parents died in that tragic fire." Needless to say, I wasn't exactly someone you wanted to hang with. I repelled most people, as if I carried some disease that would make them die. Still, I preferred those people much more than the fake people who pretended to feel sorry for me. I would rather have someone cringe and run away from me screaming than get sympathy from someone I don't even know.

At first it really angered me when a student I didn't even know would have the nerve to come up to me and say that they were, "so sorry," and that my parents, "would be missed." These people didn't even know me, let alone my parents. Who were they to give me sympathy?

However, I'll still take those annoying people over my stupid counselor asking me how I feel every session, wondering if I've improved since my parents died. This was all Maggie's fault. She was upset that I didn't have friends and so she forced me to sit and talk to some strange lady for two hours every other week. I didn't know why Maggie cared about my social life so much; it wasn't like she cared about me. She was rarely ever home to know me.

And this counselor didn't care about me either. I was just another client to her; another paycheck. She hardly ever looked up from her laptop during our sessions. She probably didn't even know what color my hair was.

Thinking about my life was making matters worse. Instead, I focused my vision on the ground as I walked with my hands in my sweatshirt pocket and my hood pulled over my head. I listened to the sound of each footstep; the crunch of the snow beneath my shoes. It was a comforting sound, really. I would watch how the snow squished down with each step I took.