Being discharged from the hospital came a couple of days after the accident. The ambience of life was nothing like it had been. My mom spent every spare minute of her time, planning the funeral. When she wasn't in hospital, -which is when the whole thing started- she was out making arrangements for it she would step out of the room and speak in a hushed tone.
My dad would just give a small faded smile, as if he was pretending that he wouldn't be burying or cremating, his own son in a few days. They would discuss the funeral among themselves, and I would just stare blankly at the wall still trying to accept this new version of reality. I wished desperately that I would wake up. My forearms were riddled with red marks from pinching myself so many times when the idea of all of this became too overbearing. As the days passed that wish seemed less, and less likely to happen. My school had been notified of the accident and they had been generous with my leave of absence from attending.
The idea of college didn't even seem remotely appealing. The effort in getting up didn't even seem worth it. Everything was just pointless now, and that void would always be there.
I couldn't help but spend my time rethinking all the ways that morning could have gone differently, all the ways he might have still been alive had I told him to ride in the back seat. How he would still be here had I decided to make him late again, had I waited a little longer to leave the house. Some would say it was fated to happen. Even then I couldn't help but rethink it. I felt guilty for being the cause of my brothers death. His death was my fault.
No one would ever know or understand, and no amount of therapy would ever make me feel otherwise. His funeral service date was set, for October 23 even though we'd already gone ahead and had him cremated. I remember having breathed a little heavily when my mother told me as she set a mug of hot chocolate down in front of me. I stared at the table this was one of her last resorts to get me to eat something.
She had spent the week after I had been discharged taunting me to eat by cooking my favorite dishes. Baking my favorite cookies, or desserts making anything that would make me take a bite of food. Every time I went to bite into it I would remember one of Cole's jokes, or a remark on how he hated a specific ingredient and I would drop the fork and push the plate away.
I spent most of my time curled up in his room in the dark. Taking in the comfort of how his presence resided so strongly in the room. I would hug his pillow, and remain quiet. I didn't want to move or deal with life. I didn't care anymore.
I could feel my parents lives falling apart, my dad wouldn't come home early anymore he would spent most of the day at work drowning himself in it. My mom would buzz around the house keeping herself busy cleaning everything, once, twice, even three times.
She would eventually randomly stop and start crying. She began catching herself when calling me down to dinner and stopping herself mid-way from saying Cole's name.
The first couple of days without him were the hardest as I had predicted. At his funeral I had to withstand staring at his Urn the thing that confirmed his death.
I stared at his friends, who stood there and shook crying at the reality of their friends death. I saw his teachers and other family members. The world just seemed to break apart without him.. I knew soon after the funeral, I would have to face reality:
People would expect me to move on. Although, the grieving process never ends, because the gap where they are missing is forever there. The world is littered and scattered pieces of whats left of their souls. In songs, in movies, in stores, there will always be a moment where their presence is recalled. To be told to move on is cruel. There is simply no moving on from it, there is no true healing because once loved.. it never dies, even when he did. Our love hasn't, nor will it ever die... it will be here in our hearts forever.
His photo was set up next to the Urn with flowers, he was smiling and I knew that if he were alive he would complain about that photo. He would have said it was the worst photo we could have picked. I almost smiled at the thought, at the echo of his complaint in my mind. I took a deep breath, as I approached it and set my hand down on the Urn.
My gaze didn't move from it, I didn't budge I kept watch over my brother until the final goodbye, from the last person here, was spoken. Words of comfort were exchanged with my parents; no one said a word to me throughout the whole memorial service. I was past crying all could do was stare hollowly at the Urn my brothers ashes where contained in. I remember saying that final goodbye as he was cremated. I stood there for awhile staring at his Urn, after the funeral had ended. We had received flowers and balloons.
It was time to go home, it was time to deal with reality. We had to leave Cole behind to have the Urn sealed.
A balloon in place of a brother. How appropriate it was to receive flowers and items that could never replace the person in our family. I was so angry, at all of this. How ridiculously stupid flowers and balloons with the words sorry for your loss on them were. I wanted to scream again but I couldn't this time. I couldn't yell at them for their stupid items. For the flowers for any of it, because they were just trying to help. They were doing their best to comfort, to console. Somehow they knew a balloon wouldn't be enough or roses. Even so, I was consumed with anger, I was so furious and I didn't even know why I was. I wanted to rip something apart. Though most of all I wanted Cole back.
YOU ARE READING
Blood Ink
Fantasía[irregular updates in the process of revisal ] //fantasy // paranormal // romantic// ------- Melissa Di Cairo is twenty two years old, up until now she lived a rather ordinary life with her parents and younger brother Cole. As an adopted child who n...
