Shattered

Funeral

I woke up to my alarm. I rubbed my eyes, the alarm'a glowing letters lit up the room: 2:23pm. I groaned and rolled back over. The same dream keeps replaying over and over in my head. Except this time it wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare-my mother's death. I sat in silence for a bit. Every time I tried to push the thought away it kept coming back to smack me in the face.

I rose from bed. The smell of pancakes no longer filled the halls, her soothing voice was no longer singing down the halls. Suddenly reality caved in around me; this wasn't a dream anymore... This was real. I slammed my hands on my head, I dug my nails into my arm, I pulled hair from my head. I can't help it but think this is my fault! I screamed into my pillow. A single tear trickled down my cheek. I wiped it away, not wanting anyone to see. "It's alright to cry, Christina," A deep voice pierced through the silence around me I jumped to me feet, startled. My dad stood in my doorway. His hair was a mess, eyes bloodshot, stains covered his shirt. I've never seen him like this. A sour smell trailed off his body. The smell of whisky stained his breath. He's been like this for days. Ever since, the accident.

"The funeral's tomorrow, dad," I said softly, putting his hand in mine. He didn't reply. He pulled his hand from mine and left. A grown man, running away from 4 simple words.

Honestly I wanted to run away just like he did. I want to sit there and cry for 3 days like he did but I couldn't. I love my mother more than anything in the world. Why couldn't I cry for her? It hurts me inside knowing that her 44 year old husband has done more crying than her 14 year old daughter. I don't know what'd holding me back. I feel the tears coming but they won't come out! I miss her so much. Why did she have to leave me alone without a mother? Dad and I can't, and won't ever be able to bond like her and me. Nothing else in the world matters more to me than her.

My phone rang. It was Marina. I ignored her. I was so frustrated. I didn't want to talk to anybody. I don't want her sympathy. I threw the phone to the floor. I let it go to voicemail. I sank my face into my pillow. Thoughts rattled through my head. I started to get a headache. I slowly drifted off to sleep.

I flew out of bed. Darkness seeped through my window. I snatched my phone from the ground. It was 12:45am. I slept the whole day away! I jumped from bed and looked around, confused. I can believe I slept that long! Well, it's not like we were planning on doing anything In the first place. I walked downstairs. The kitchen was a mess. It's the messiest it's been since last thanksgiving when mom made 2 whole turkeys. I remember how half the family didn't show up so we spent the next month and a half eating nothing but left over turkey. I smiled at the thought. I knocked myself out of the day dream and got back to reality. Dishes piled up in the sink while the counter was collecting ants. Mom always kept the kitchen clean. I think dad would try to do something if he wasn't so depressed. I didn't want to become one of those families that never cleans up after themselves-house always a mess. I would clean it up but I have a feeling that I can't do it for the same reason my dad can't do it. Every little thing reminds me of her. Every fork, every towel. Even the coffee cup she left on the counter that morning still remains. Like a ghost, haunting me. C'mon Christina! It's just a damn cup! I left the kitchen.

I began searching for my dad. He was no where to be found! "Dad!" I called through the house. No answer. I opened the garage door. His car was still there. I went to his room. I heard a small whimper come from the closet. I creeped through the door. I found him. He sat on the floor, looking up at all moms clothes. One of her shirts lay in his hands. I sat quietly beside him and rested my head on his shoulder. He turned and kissed my forehead. "You look just like you mother," he whispered, holding back tears. I've never seen my dad truly cry before. I know he has before. But I've never seen it, up close. Some people say that real men don't cry. But I don't think so. I think that real men have real feelings. I grabbed his hand and helped him stand. He never let go of her shirt. I think this is harder for him then it is for me. I walked him to the bed. We sat down together. He looked at me and smiled. He ran his hand through my wavy hair, his fingers snagged in the knots. "Why don't you go back to bed sweetie," he said, almost in a whisper. I didn't argue and walked toward the door. "Oh, and Chris?" Dad said behind me. I turned and looked at him. "Thank you." I smiled and walked out. I walked to my room, closed my door and fell back asleep.

I woke up to a loud knock. "Christina get ready!!" My dad's voice screeched through the closed door. "We have to get ready for the...the...funeral," dad's voice sank to a low hush. Footsteps trailed off into the distance, getting quieter and quieter. Until silence surrounded me. Sunlight poured through my window. I rubbed my eyes and dragged myself out of bed and walked to my closet. I uncovered a dusty drawer in the back of my closet. I wiped away the dust and pulled out an old box. Inside was a collection of things I've never worn, I never liked, things that were too big or too small, etc. I haven't dug through this box since grandma passed away 2 years ago. I remember how sad mom was. I uncovered an old black dress I wore to her funeral. Now I guess I get to wear it to moms.

A large flower surrounded in sequins stared me in the eyes. I hated this dress. This isn't a happy dress. This is a dress I only wear when death has occurred. This dress has haunted me ever since I bought it. I wiggled the dress on. I frowned in the mirror at my reflection. I hate funerals. Which makes sense because no one likes losing someone you care about, or someone you love. But that's not why I hate funerals. I hate them because funerals represent letting someone go, letting them move on. But I don't want her to move on. I don't want to sit and watch as people put my mother in a hole in the ground. I don't want to believe she's dead. I still don't! But funerals...They make it official. And no matter how much I need to believe she's truly gone, I can't.

My dad and I piled into the car, saying nothing the whole way there. He didn't want to believe it as much as I didn't.

When we arrived I was petrified. Hundreds of people were here. My mom has always been so popular. I never knew she knew so many people. It reminds me how important she was. She was loved by so many people. Why did it have to be her? I followed my dad into a big room. Hundreds of people were inside; talking, mourning. So many unfamiliar faces. Everyone were dressed in black. Through the crowd of people, stood a coffin. Flowers decorated the coffin's surroundings. It stood on a long black table. Food, cards, jewelry, and even money were layer around it. As I stood in the room, staring at that coffin, it hit me. How could she leave me like this? Growing up without a mother! All alone! How selfish! Why did she have to go?! I broke down into tears in the middle of the room. Several people looked at me, but I just ignored them. I ran toward the coffin and wrapped my arms around it, knocking bouquets of flowers and other things off in the process. "HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME ALONE COME BACK MOMMY!!" I screamed, tears streaming from my face. I had finally cracked. I couldn't do this. "WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME LIKE THIS MOM?! IT'S ALL MY FAULT!!" The tears kept pouring and pouring from my eyes, until I couldn't cry anymore. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. Dad. I turned around and jumped into his arms. Now it's official, my mom is gone, and there's nothing I can do about it.