Guilty Love [1/3]

Warning: If you are sensitive along the discussion of the death of a close family member please be warned

This is my entry for the #CACLesson1. This is a three parter, posted on three different blog posts. Enjoy!

    Part 1

    I’m taking in shallow breaths, trying desperately to stop the flow of tears that I know is coming. I can feel the prickle on the edge of my eyelids as the water starts to fill up. My jaw starts to quiver and I break. I collapse on the floor of my bedroom, my hands shaking as I clutch the tie I’m supposed to be wearing today.

     I hold my head in my hands and take a few deep breaths, but they soon turn shallow again and I begin to hyperventilate. My grandma walks in, sees me on the floor, desperately clingy to my head, and rushes over to encircle me in a hug.

     She pets my head softly, wiping the tears out of my eyes.

    “It’s okay. It’s okay.” she luls.

    I nod, forcing the tears to stop as best I can and stand. My chest feels tight like it’s going to burst, but I hold back my tears. I nod to my grandma and shoo her out of my room. Then I close the door and put on my tie.

     This is the worst I’ve felt all week. Until now it had all seemed surreal. Like it was happening to someone else. But now we were on our way to dump her into a hole in the ground. And then I would have no one.

    When I was two years old, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer. He didn't stand a chance. The doctors said he barely had two weeks. Five days later he died in the hospital. I never really got to know him, but I still had my mom.

     She changed her life around after he died so that she could make sure she was always there for me. Instead of pursuing a job in medicine like she wanted, she took a job at an advertising company.

     It paid well enough to a child, and it gave good enough hours that she could be home every night to make me dinner and there every morning to make me breakfast. She was always there for me. No matter what. Until a week ago, I had always had her. Now I had no one.

     I’m standing outside the Jewish-Orthodox cemetery, the only Jewish cemetery in town. My mom wasn’t orthodox, but my grandparents wanted her to be buried with her family. For generations, my family had been buried here.

    I walk in and look around at all the faces. The funeral is family and close friends only, so I recognize most of the people here. There are a few that I don’t know, distant relatives or aunts and uncles that I never got to meet.

     I spot my mom’s best friend, Sadie, over in the corner talking to my cousin Billie. Her eyes are puffy and red from crying and I can see that she has a box of tissues hanging out of her purse. She sees me staring and removes herself from the conversation to come talk to me.

     “Oh Oliver,” she says, her voice cracky. She pulls me in close for a hug. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I’m so sorry!” She’s crying now and hugging me even tighter. I hold my breath for as long as I can before wheezing out “Can’t breathe”.

     She pulls away and looks at me.

     “Your mom was-is, so proud of you.” I nod. I can feel the burning of tears brim my eyes again and I look away quickly.

    “She loved you so much. You were her rock. Her happiest joy.”

    “Thank you.” I can barely manage a whisper without letting a tear slip. She nods, understanding that I need some space gives me one last hug and walks towards my uncles.

    A man in a dark suit motions for everyone to sit down. I take my seat at the front with my grandparents and zone out as the service starts.

     My grandmother starts nudging me and I realize my name’s been called. It’s my turn to talk about my mother.

    I get up to the podium and look down at everyone. There seem to be a lot fewer people here than I first thought. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, but I can feel the eyes of every grieving person in this room. I look for Sadie and see her smile up at me. But it feels hollow and sad. Like she doesn’t really mean it.

     I swallow and pull a piece of paper from my pocket.

    “Um,” I wince as the microphone rings loudly through everyone’s ears. I’m hesitant, but I keep going,

     “My mother,” I can’t do this, “My mother,” I try again, “Was,”

     I can feel my eyes burn, my vision blurring.

     “My mother was my best-”

     I stop. I can’t do this. I hurry down from the stand and run to the nearest exit and outside towards the parking lot. I see a car coming towards me and for a fleeting second, I think to stay. Stay and get hit. But then my head clears and I dive out of the way.

     The driver rolls down his window. He’s about my age, 17 or 18. His hair is a sandy blonde and flopping all over his face. He’s saying something but it takes me a minute to what it is.

    “You okay?” he asks.

Finally realizing that he’s talking to me I answer, “Ya. Sorry.”

    He’s getting out of the car now and I notice that he has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re a light blue in the middle but the fade through teal and into a pale green.

     I notice his hand reaching out and, like an idiot, I sit there staring at it. He shakes his hand and I mentally slap myself for being so stupid. I grab his hand, his grip firm, and he helps pull me up.

    I stand and brush myself off.

    “Thanks,” I say.

    “It’s the least I can do after almost running over you with my car.”

    “Ya. Sorry I didn’t move out of the way faster.”

    I can feel my cheeks burning when I look back at him. He’s smiling slightly, a crooked smile that reaches all the way to his eyes.

    But then I look back at the cemetery service building and why I didn’t move out of the way. I look at him apologetically and run back inside. I can feel his gaze follow me all the way to the door, but I don’t look back. If I look back it would be too easy to forget everything that happened. And I couldn’t do that.

Read Part 2 Here