A Tear for Every Tear

Part 1

Chapter 1

       As I lie trying to find a way to get my ass out of the terribly uncomfortable bed, I think of ways today might go. Could I choke and fail miserably? Could I suddenly be a natural? A million thoughts run through my mind. As many scenarios as I could think of I didn't expect what was going to happen.  

       Eventually I had to get ready and please the judge that will sit before me to crappily judge my butt to the ground. I lazily walk into the bathroom to swish the makeup across my face. The mirror is dirty and I can hardly see detail but, hey, whatever, right? I hear the phone ring from in my mom's room and suddenly my heart dropped and my stomach got twirled into one of those impossible-to-untie knots. I hear the quiver and shakiness in her voice and feel the tear gently roll down her cheek. It was freaking 7 ish o'clock on a normal Saturday. Who the hell was calling her??? She didn't say much other than "okay" and "mhm". I left the bathroom and headed straight for my room to put the finishing touches on my not-so-glamorous but very fashionable outfit. Except for my shoes, which I couldn't decide on, I was pretty much finished when my mom gradually appeared in my doorway and tried to explain without a teary mess that my siblings and I were needed in the living room. Once again it was a shitty time to wake up my siblings because other than my odd brother we aren't morning people. I drag my way tired butt to a chair in the empty and filled room. My mom explains words I still can't get through my mind.

     "Your dad... He w..." She stumbles through her words as if she didn't quite understand what was coming out. "He was rushed to the hospital!" 

     In my mind I knew that this would happen. He had recently been in the hospital for a month, but he had gotten better and was on the way to healthy again. I wasn't about to worry... until my mom mentioned 4 words... "He. Didn't. Make. It"

Nothing. I felt nothing. No tears. No feels. 

My brother. Oh. My brother. Burst into tears that second and didn't stop the flow for hours. I couldn't breath. Not at all. The dump my stomach felt and the heartache that not even Hercules could bare is the definite most overwhelming feeling.

My sister. The poor thing still laying on the couch from her deep, peaceful slumber. She didn't show her face. Not a peep. The detail in the room suddenly became real. I studied every single nook and cranny in the living room, trying to decide if I would one day actually need any of this crap. 

And then, oh my Zeus, the littlest one. He is only six! Never will he barely remember the amazing times that he and my dad had. At one point (a few minutes later) we were laying in my hell of a bed and I was thinking. What ran through my mind was that I read a science article that said you start actually remembering and retaining shit at age 7. I didn't feel my tear ducts get wet or poisonous. They just... were.