Wip Lash

One

    The icy wind ripped at my hair as I stood to encounter the crowd as it flows by giving their condolences. I don't know who most of these people are. Just that in some way, shape, or form they knew my mother. Honestly she knew everyone. She was just that kind of person. She had that face that you'd want to remember. The bright eyes, dark hair, light skin. 

    All that knew my mother and I told me that I was a spitting Image of her. Tall, curvy, beautiful, long dark brown hair, warm and welcoming. I don't want to feel that though. I don't want to look in a mirror and see my mother. 

    I didn't want her to go. What child does? Especially when their father left them at the mer age of 2? I don't even know who the bastard is. I never did care to find out because I had my mother.  It wasn't supposed to happen. And yet it did. One minute she was laughing at my clumsiness and the next she was being rushed off in an ambulance. 

    3 hours, 46 minutes and 21 seconds later is when I heard the flat line of that stupid monitor. Her heart just... Stopped. I am pretty sure mine did too that day. Or I wish it did because all I can think about is how mine still beats and her's doesn't. How she feels cold and I don't. 

    Others say that the pain will go away over time. But really I think you just get used to it. I do not want it to though. I want to keep feeling the aches in my chest when I turn to whisper to my mother about the lady's strange hat in front of me, but realising too late that she's not there to whisper back. Or when I need help with my hair and she's not there to help. Or to laugh when I trip over the threshold of our front door. Or to introduce me to her sister that I'm being sent to live with. Because I want to feel something. And the pain is better than nothing.

    My Aunt Vivian lives in a small town in Huntsville, Utah. She and my mom grew up there. Though my mom moved to New York the second she got the chance to. My mother hated the country. Hated the fact that everyone knew everyone. They knew your past, present and could most likely guess your future. So she left. Headed for a place that she dreamed to be in. A place I call my home. One that I will no longer be apart of now.

    I've never actually met Aunt Vivian. I have only heard stories that my mother told me as a child. Of them building many forts inside the tree growth within the valley. About them playing hide and seek in the neighbors barn full of mountain sized hay bails. Of the many snow forts and snowball fights. I've dreamt of visiting and partaking in these adventures since I was a child. Although now not so much. Especially now when my mom isn't here to enjoy it with me.

    As I sit there staring at the hole in the ground, I don't seem to know what to do now. Do I move on and try to be happy? Or do I morn till there's nothing left of me? These questions are still going through my head as a warm wobbally had touches my shoulder. I know its my aunt. Because nobody else has dared to touched me, but her, since my mothers death.

"Come on sweetie", she whispers. "It's time."

    I want to scream. I want to fight her and tell her NO. That I do not want to leave my anchor. My hope. My home. My mom. And even though I want to. I don't. Because I know she's suffering too.

    So I go. With my arms folded and my head down, I follow.