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You Died and I Wasn't Ready

You Died and I Wasn't Ready

By: Alexandra


It’s been a year since you left us, since you decided the world was better off without your spark, your wit and your cheesy dad jokes that made me roll my eyes. It’s been a year since you went and joined Mom, who’s already been gone seventeen years.

People say time heals all wounds, but I don’t think those people have their heads on straight. They certainly didn’t lose both parents before twenty-four. And if they did? Then they’re liars. This hole in my chest expands every day. I have to play tricks on my mind like you’re still around, because I can’t cope with the thought that you don’t exist anymore. It’s too much to bear.

I miss you so much that I want to break everything around me, really smash it all to pieces, until it’s as torn apart outside as I am on the inside. I want to scream, yell and throw a fit until everybody understands what a mess I really am. But it wouldn’t matter. You’d still be gone, still be a pile of ashes, that’s really only half your body, sitting on a shelf in my bedroom.

It’s kind of ridiculous, isn’t it? All the life you’ve lived, all the experiences, all the travel, the love, the tears, the hard work, the pain… all of it is reduced to a pile of ashes that fit into an urn I bought on Amazon. All of the life you lived is now secluded and summed up by a little dash between your birth year and death date. Forever fifty-five. Forever gone.

The pointlessness of it all makes me want to scream. This life is gone, it was only half lived, it isn’t fair, and I’m expected to carry on, this big smile on my face, like this world isn’t the most messed up thing any of us will ever experience. I have to watch my friends with their parents, hell, even strangers with their kids, and pretend like I’m not dying inside.

I know I sound bitter, and a lot of me is. At you, for dying. At the universe for letting it happen. At the waitress when I go to lunch, for telling me to have a good day, even though she’s only doing her job. At the radio for playing a song that reminds me of you. And then at me, for not turning the station even though I’m crying. At the world that keeps turning, the sun that keeps shining, and everyone who keeps living even though you aren’t. It isn’t right. And it isn’t rational. But neither am I. Your absence has changed me.

It isn’t fair that I can do everything that was asked of me – get good grades, avoid drugs, not drink to excess, get into college, get a good job, travel, be a kind person – do all as I was supposed to, but my parents went and died anyway. Now I’m this shell that won’t ever trust anyone fully and is always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You and Mom showed me that people, even parents who love you and want the best for you, can destroy you. It’s terrifying. Why did you do that to me?

I’m sure someday I’ll come to terms with your choice but today isn’t that day. Today I’m angry. Today I’m sad. Today I am wishing you would just come home and tell me this was all a terrible, terrible prank. Today, I miss you.