After Her

A/N: Warning, the content of this short story may be unsettling to some readers, since the topic is of death, and the after effects of what comes from it. This may trigger emotions for those with depression, or for those who are uncomfortable in reading anything about death. There is also a graphic scene when a body is found. If this may make you uncomfortable when reading, I have warned you, so please don't read ahead. That is all, please enjoy!

--Ilyssa

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Death is a strange thing. Its nature is quick, like the snuffing out of a candle, or the igniting spark of an ember. One minute, a person is whole and complete, and in the next minute, their body becomes a shell of the former person you once knew. When the night embraced my fears and selfish fantasies, I began to understand a volatile truth about death's gift. Even in the bright, hazy light left behind from the sun, there is no escape. Death will find you and it will come soon.

Normally, your rational mind will deny death's smothering embrace. Then, the brain will cling to the top-heavy emotions that keep unraveling inside of your heart. A range of emotions will keep anyone transfixed to the body and the life everyone would like to think of as everlasting. After that, the heart will pound harder, and despair will cloud your judgement. If numb, the tears will fail to escape your eyes, and the walls will become as blank as the body you saw being driven farther down into the earth.

You will never want to forget her, because when she's gone, all that will remain will be her memories left behind. The photographs you took of her on your cell phone will remain time-stamped relics. Every single detail regarding her identity will haunt you, from the way her smile would reach her eyes, to the scent of her hair; she will remain longer than you expect. At this point in time, she will have reached her departure beneath the earth, and you will never be able to understand where has gone because where she's going is somewhere you can never reach.

So, when asked about death, I avoid answering the question because then the guilt and the anxiety rush back to me. I am left with a numbing feeling that cannot be expressed. For, as long as my daughter is gone, a piece of me will be missing in her wake. I feel as if she stole a part of me and took it deep under the earth to lie beside her forever. At night, my mind will pass over every detail of the day she was stolen, and I will come to the conclusion again that I did something wrong.

I must have failed her somehow; I will continue to judge every detail, every mistake on my part, until I can't think straight anymore. In those last moments, I can't help but wonder if I did my job right as a parent, or if I failed miserably. I dream every night that I'm the superhero who saves her, only to wake up every morning to find her nowhere near me. Her bedroom is empty, and the cardboard boxes still remain untouched at the side of her bed. The pink bedspread is not creased, untouched as it were, and she is not here yet again.

Her doe eyes haunt me every day. When she screams, I scream. When she cries, I cry. I've come to the simple conclusion that I am broken; there is no one who can save me from this gaping black hole which has consumed my life. Sometimes, I feel like time progresses too fast for me and I'm stuck on rewind, I'm paused on death.

A year later, I finally went to visit her grave. The deathly silence of the cemetery seemed unusual to me; it left me to my thoughts and that path held no closure for me.

Lines of stone stretched outwards as far as the eye could see. Freshly cut grass sunk back into the dirt as my feet made contact with each skinny strand of green. The ground was still covered with early morning dew which almost seemed to sparkle with a little help from the sun. Near the edge of the cemetery, a small willow tree shook gently with the calm breeze. A stone gray brick fence covered the entire surface around the cemetery. Life managed to continue outside the fence, people paid no heed to the lives stored inside the fence.