Loving Olivia

Chapter 19 - Not Enough

Olivia

Three days is not enough.

Three. Three fucking days. Three shitty-ass days. Three worst-of-your-life days.

It's the amount of time you get off for so-called bereavement. Who came up with this number? Who decided that three days is enough? Someone who has never experienced the loss of a loved one, that's who.

Three days and you're supposed to get back to your regular life, as if nothing happened. As if everything is fine. As if your entire world wasn't just turned upside down. As if your father didn't just die.

It really is unbelievable how they don't prepare you for this. We go about life pretending like it's never going to happen. No one likes to talk about it yet it's the one thing that people fear the most. I wish there were a subject about it I could take in school. You know, just to learn a little bit more about it.

We prepare for everything else in life. Birthdays, reunions, engagements, marriages, births. So why not death? It's as natural as any other stage of our lives, but we prefer to ignore it. Just leave a will and everything will be dandy.

Let me tell you something. It doesn't work like that. Not even close.

My mom says I need to work on my anger. I told her I'm allowed to feel this way, courtesy of stage two of the Kübler-Ross model of grief. She told me I would be better off moving on to the next one.

So I guess I should start bargaining now. I just don't know how to avoid the grief. It's way easier to be mad.

I don't remember much about the funeral. That particular day was a blur for me. I remember being in my room beforehand, having a temper tantrum because I couldn't find a proper dress to wear. None of my dresses seemed good enough, and I hated the fact that whichever dress I chose would forever become my "funeral dress", and it would serve no other purpose than to bring bad memories. After I threw half of my closet onto the floor, I ended up picking out the nicest one I could find, and decided I wouldn't be wearing it ever again.

I remember standing outside of church after the service ended and being bombarded by people I'd never met before offering their condolences. I know they meant well, but trying to keep it together while getting pity looks from strangers was one of the most overwhelming experiences of my life. Nico would squeeze my hand when I didn't know what to say, and eventually began responding for me before he pulled me away into the safety of his arms. He stayed with me that night until I fell asleep, and every night since then.

I spent the following days accompanying my mom all over the city to do paperwork related things, like obtaining my dad's death certificate, closing his accounts, and settling his final bills. For days it seemed like that was all we did, going from one place to another, and back again. My dad had left everything we needed in a single briefcase with detailed instructions, and it was chilling to see all his meticulous notes and how much he had planned for this years ago. Cleaning out his room at the nursing home was the hardest. I wished he had left instructions for that too, but sometimes the directions you want the most are the ones you don't get. I still don't know how my mom survived that. I barely did.

I give myself a week before returning to school. It feels like an eternity has passed, almost like I'm returning to a previous life. Everything is the same. The hallways, my classes, my professors. But it doesn't feel the same.

Nico picks me up from my class right before lunch in the same manner that he deposited me here. His concern for me can only be described as saintly. Because he is a saint. Saint Nicolas, look him up. Otherwise known as Santa Claus.

He leads me to the cafeteria, and I'm already dreading all the people that will be there together with the food. The people because I really don't want to speak to anyone, and the food because I'm already running on a questionable appetite when the food itself is questionable.