Dear...

Dear Universe,

A/N before I start this note I want to urge anyone who knows me to be happy and put-together, to scroll onto the next one.
 
I didn't know who to address this letter to because I'm so very confused. I don't understand anything right now and as someone who always understands everything it is very hard.
13days and approximately 11 hours, 59 minutes ago my life was perfect. My best friend and I had plans to see each other, I was in another friends Quince, I'd just fallen in love for the first time, my grades were the highest they've ever been, I was just about to see the boy of my dreams. Everything was perfect. Everything was okay, there was a little more money in the house, my parents seemed to have rekindled their love, my sister had been accepted into 3 colleges.
But approximately 13 days and 12 hours ago my dad fell off of a roof and injured his spinal cord.  It was a Tuesday and I was at lunch when I got the call from my uncle about what happened. He said he hadn't gotten ahold of anyone else. So I with my fifteen years of life called my sister and everything started to fall around me.
Someone finally called my mom and she got up from work and stormed to the hospital. I sat for almost 3 hours with zero information. 

Finally at the hospital I learned he was carried by chopper and had a gash on his head the size of a Ritz cracker. Then they told us he had a spinal cord injury and that if they didn't do a surgery he'd probably be paralyzed forever. He did the surgery the next day and it was from 930 Am to 420 pm. It went well all should be fine.

He has to relearn how to walk and situp and eat and everything he's ever learned. His motor skills his hands though might never come back. Perhaps inklings that stay frozen hanging on his arms.

I know that I should be so grateful that he is okay that he didn't die or hit his head lose who he is. And I am, so grateful. But at this moment I am also so selfish. Anyone else I wish so hard it should have been anyone else. He was up for a promotion at work about to start a business and build me a bookshelf.

And I know that I should be so grateful for all the people giving us prayers and trying to help. And for the most part I am, so grateful.  I know he would've died in that surgery had the prayers not been there. But I don't know how many times I can hear someone say "well it'll be fine were all praying for you" because it's not okay and no one can make it okay. People drive me places and pay for my lunch and cut me slack on homework and tests and it only makes it evident how real this is. That it won't go away.

So please stop asking me how my dad is because I don't want to talk about it. Please stop telling me you're praying because I've heard it a million times and it only makes me angry with God. Please stop offering me he'll be okays and everything will go back to normal because nothing you say or do will make this okay. Please stop talking about "this obstacle " in my life. It is not an obstacle right now it is my life. Sleeping at the hospital, not having Christmas, not going home, clapping because my dad sat up today that is my life. And it will be for at least the next six months.

It's surreal and it won't go away and I am trying so hard to see it.  To believe that there is some good explanation that an accident changed my life so quickly and dramatically. But I can only come up with a quote from a terrible movie that goes something like "when I was 15 my best friend decided she was drowning" (Freebirds)

I have been drowning in my thoughts for a couple days now. But I can't explain it to anyone I can't make it okay in my head.

4 days ago they told us that he had shattered his knee cap and ankle bone and that it would be so much harder for him to walk again.

My mind became a hurricane angry at the universe and everyone in it. My dad and mom are supposed to grow old together, and now she is being trained to be his caregiver, to watch him grow old. He is supposed to walk me down the aisle to ride bikes with me. To drive me to prom and watch my sister graduate. He's supposed to train the dogs and put up Christmas lights and play with my kids.
He's not supposed to be paralyzed. He's not maybe supposed to walk maybe supposed to move his hands. He makes model cars and drives me to the book store. He is going to hate being in a wheel chair or not being able to feed himself. 

I don't want your pity or your empathy or your sympathy or whatever the fuck you want to call it because it only makes it worse.

I know you're just trying to help but it's not working and I want it to.

Two days ago an insurance woman came in to speak with us and my dad explained that he didn't like people to screw him over, he worked for 25 years and he'd worked his ass off, the woman understood and she left, setting out to help a family.

I have only seen my dad cry twice in my life and that was at my infant cousins funeral and yesterday afternoon.

I hate being angry and I hate being sad and I hate being selfish but I don't get it. My brain and my heart have always worked against each other my optimism and my logic. My logic is starting to win this one.

This is not a cry for help, this is not an invitation to ask me how I'm feeling (the answer is not well but I will lie and say okay) this is me pleading with God and the universe asking desperately for this nightmare to end. To wake up tomorrow morning and have my dad in his room and my perfect life back to the way it was. To be in love with a boy, to still have the greatest friends to believe in the world.

Sincerely,
The girl who wanted a bookshelf