After experiencing a life-altering tragedy, Emersyn feels as if her world has collapsed. Attempting to accept her new reality, Emersyn wonders how she can possibly keep going when it feels like her life ended months ago. Until she meets Haven, and s...
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As a little girl, I used to dream about things like high school homecoming dances. I mean, what girl doesn't at some point in life?
I'd think about the dress I would wear, the boy I'd go with, the way my parents would fawn over me and would want to take a million pictures to preserve the moment forever. However, it seems as if all of my childhood dreams for this upcoming moment have shifted. Now that my first-ever high school homecoming dance is just around the corner (at my old school, only juniors and seniors could attend–just like prom), I find myself thinking differently. I no longer picture myself wearing some glamourous dress; instead maybe a two-piece or suit of some sort. I don't fantasize over some boy on my arm, though this has been something I have come to terms with already, having known I was bisexual since middle school years. A small piece of my heart shatters at the realization that my father will not be here to awe at my presence, or get to know my date, or be present in any of the photos that will be taken.
It is small realizations like this that make his loss so much harder to accept. All of the moments of my life I had once fantasized about are turning to reality, and he will now never get to be a part of them. All of the memories we were supposed to create have been stolen. My father will never share in my excitement over school dances. He will not be in attendance during my graduation. He will not get to walk me down the aisle at my wedding one day. Now, the only way he can witness my life is from up above, somewhere in the stars.
As much as I try to pretend to be okay with how my life has turned out, these thoughts are deeply troubling to me. Especially with the homecoming dance creeping up so soon. It is a bitter pill to swallow, having to watch all of my childhood dreams shatter before my eyes.
I shift in bed as a soft knock on my door echoes around the quiet space. I know it is my mother before the door even cracks to reveal her presence.
"Hey," she murmurs softly, cautiously stepping a foot into my room. I know she can sense that there is something bothering me, and I am even more certain that she knows exactly what it is. After all, she has to be thinking the same things I am.
"Hi," I mumble back. I have spent the better half of the evening curled up in bed, despite all of the assignments I need to complete before Monday and the fact that homecoming is tomorrow.
"Mind if I come in?" Mom questions.
I shake my head in response. She crosses the room slowly before taking a seat on the edge of my bed, frowning as she eyes me with concern.
For a moment, nothing but silence spans between the two of us. It is soon broken, not by sound, but by my mother's hand gently caressing my hair. The action alone brings tears to my eyes. It is the way my father would stroke my head in his final moments at home, back when he could no longer do much besides sit in his recliner. I would curl up in his lap and he would stroke my hair and we would not speak. Just absorb one another's company. I think we both knew deep down that the end was coming, even before the doctors confirmed as much.
