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Grief was a funny thing—it held no mercy. It rattled my bones and left aches in my gums. It cracked through my ribcage in a fist of fury, tearing out the thumping flesh. Bloody and broken in its hand. It laughed in my face, watching me sink further into the depressing cocoon of my mattress.
Thick duvets, the color of ripe apricots, nestled me deeper into the fabric—I was tempted not to leave this bed if my life depended on it. But I had to.
Today, I send you to lay beneath my heavy feet, succumbing to the soil. Pushing up daisies in Honey Grove's cemetery, buried right next to Mama—just like you wanted. How sad to be an orphan at the age of twenty-five. Sure, I had grown into the strong woman I knew I was, but I still had so much to learn from you. A girl always needs her daddy. Too bad I won't ever have you again.
My palms brush against the satin fabric of my slip dress, a shining yet faded black with few burnt orange florals. It's soft, airy, and clutching against my skin. Flutter sleeves that tickled my shoulders and a neckline that dipped deep between the valley of my breasts. I could only thank my genetics for blessing me with a well-endowed chest that undoubtedly helped the look of the dress.
It was superficial of me to be thinking about the way I looked on the day of my father's funeral. But I'd be dead in the grave next to my parents if I let anyone see me at my worst.
My garnet-tipped nails gripped the shoes I had chosen for the main event—a pair of black block-heeled mules. An undeniable staple in my everyday closet. And one that reminded me of Lorelai Gilmore from the show Gilmore Girls.
I took one last look into the vintage mirror I balanced in the corner of our bedroom. Golden hoops dangled from my ears with the dainty necklace Daddy gave me. My fingers find the pendant, a heart-shaped locket that holds a picture of him and Mama—engraved on the back in a small font. You are my peace—a testimony to the ulterior meaning behind my name.
