White Roses

Chapter 2 - A nameless mindset

I wasn't exactly sure when I became aware of my body again. There was no way of telling how much time had passed, apart from the faint sunlight that had found its way into the room through the partially opened curtains. My father always loved watching the sun come up and found it a shame that we closed our curtains completely to block it out, simply because we wanted to sleep a little while longer. At least, he used to.

I blinked a few times, slowly, and stretched my limbs as I crawled up from the floor. My hand was still gripping his, even though there was no counter force left in his fingers. They would never softly squeeze into my palm to encourage me when I was feeling scared. I shook my head in an attempt to shake off the painful memory, but I was still left with an aching, hollow feeling in my stomach. I took a few deep breaths, closed my eyes, and finally released my grip. A soft thud could be heard when his hand fell down on the bed and a lone tear fell down my cheek. When I opened my eyes again, my gaze was now aimed at his face. It was like ripping of a Band-Aid, fast and painful, but as soon as I saw his familiar features, I felt the slightest bit better. I could tell myself that he was just sleeping, that behind his closed eyes he was dreaming peacefully about a place where he wasn't ill. Where he wasn't dying.

Where he wasn't dead.

I guess this was the moment where I was supposed to tell myself that he was in a better place, but how could a place be better when he wasn't next to my side? A strange sound left my throat and I had to clasp my stomach to prevent myself from bending over by the sudden pain that sifted through me. I wasn't ready to deal with the world on my own, how could anyone be ready to be without parents by the age of nineteen? Who would even expect me to be remotely fine after an event like this? My father. The thought was almost bitter in its irony. He had raised me to be strong and independent. I had been an equal of him and he had always treated me like an adult, not degrading me because of my age, but praising be for my mature way of handling situations. Well, look at me now. I guess I wasn't as independent as he had wanted me to be, otherwise I would not be standing here desperately trying not to scream my lungs out.

'At least you can't scold me and tell me to be more productive instead of moping around next to your bed.' I said the words to the air around me with a soft laugh, but it sounded more like a cry for help than my usual sarcastic way of speaking. I figured it should scare me more how easily I could be broken, but frankly I didn't really give a damn at this moment. At this moment, I just wanted to be the little girl that would curl herself up in her daddy's arms when the world around her tried to get her down. I wanted him to stroke my hair and tell me everything would be okay, that tomorrow would be a better day, and that life could be cruel sometimes but that I was strong enough to face it. I guess I just had to settle for memories from now on.

'Okay Nea, can't sit here all day can we now,' I whispered to myself. I gave my dad a last, lingering look before I quickly stepped out of his bedroom and closed the door behind me. Now came the point that I was grateful for past-me, the me that had decided to make all of the arrangements for my father's cremation beforehand even though it broke my heart in a million pieces to have to call around and tell people that my dad was going to die in a few weeks.

I made my way down the stairs and put some water into the kettle. While I was waiting for it to boil, I grabbed my phone and looked up the number of the funeral home that I had been in contact with to arrange everything. They had told me to contact them after it had happened, even though the assured me that I should not feel pressured to call right away. I smiled grimly, thinking back to the conversation about grief counseling and their consistent questions if there was going to be someone that I could talk to after my father had passed. I told them that there were some friends that I could contact just to get them off my back, but that had been a lie. I had been homeschooled, never had much interest in joining a team sport, and was generally not that into meeting new people. I had my father, he had me, and that had been enough for us. At least it used to be. Now, I couldn't say that I didn't felt a little regret for not letting others in before, since that would have meant that I had someone to turn to at this moment. Regret, however, would not change my past choices.