AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It can’t be true. It can’t be .
“What happened?” Scarlett keeps asking as she holds me firmly in her arms .
“He’s gone,” I finally say between sobs .
And it’s my fault. If I hadn’t gone out last night, if I had called him, he might still be alive. If I hadn’t gone out last night, I could have had one last conversation with him. I could have heard one last piece of advice. I could have heard one last I love you .
I didn’t though. Now, I’ll never get to hear him say those words to me again. It’s all my fault .
I thought that day, the day I found out my father had died, was the worst day of my life. I thought nothing could get worse than that .
I was wrong .
I thought the funeral might be the worst day because I had to say good-bye to the only family member who had understood me at all .
I was wrong .
Today, the day after the funeral, is the worst day. Today, everything has become real. The tears are gone but not the pain. The pain is worse, much worse than I could have ever imagined. I have no one here who can comfort me or steal my mind for just a minute .
Scarlett came to Las Vegas for the funeral, but she’s already gone back to Connecticut to finish her finals. She won’t move back here until later this week .
My mother is a mess. We got into a fight after the funeral. It was about something petty, like what to do with the donations made in my father’s honor. She can’t comfort me .
And my grandfather…I just know it’s best if I stay away from him right now .
I slump out of bed to go to my closet to look for something to wear. I should have just stayed in bed, but I couldn’t. In bed, all I thought about was how much I missed him. If I get out, maybe I will find something to distract myself. I stare at the racks of clothes hanging in my large walk-in closet that rivals the size of the one in my apartment in Connecticut. I don’t know what to wear, despite having enough clothes to clothe a small town of people .
Yesterday was easy. I just had to wear the nicest black dress I owned. But what do you wear the day after the funeral—after everyone has gone home, and all that is left are casseroles of food flooding the fridge and flowers wilting on the floor? How are either of those things supposed to make everything better ?
Food…
I can’t even think about eating right now. And even if I could, we have a cook to do that for us .
And the damn flowers ?
??
I don’t know how that tradition got started. Like flowers are going to make the pain go away. They don’t do a damn thing, except remind us of death again when the flowers wilt and die. Just like my father…except he didn’t just wilt away in old age and die in his sleep. No, he died of a heart attack at fifty years old, probably provoked because of me .
I decide to slip on jeans and a navy shirt. I walk to the mirror and run my hand through my long blonde curls. I don’t bother with makeup. I don’t know what you are supposed to wear the day after a funeral, but this is what I’ve chosen—something plain, boring, and nothing girlie, like how I usually dress .
I make my way downstairs although I don’t know what you are supposed to do the day after a funeral. Everyone has gone home, back to their lives, while we are left picking up the pieces. Everyone else has gone back to their lives, like nothing devastating just happened…when the most devastating thing in our lives just happened .
I know people always say you have to go through the different stages of grief, but that’s not true. There are no stages. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance—they all happen at once. At least, that has been my experience during the past three days. I’ve experienced each emotion at least twice every hour .
I walk around the big house that feels completely empty. It’s not because my father’s gone. This house never felt like home to Dad. It didn’t feel like home to me either, for that matter. Dad was always home in the casinos and hotels he ran. I felt at home wherever he was, which meant I fell in love with the flashing lights of casinos and the comforts of a new hotel room. Any night I could get away from this empty mansion and be with him, I would .
I walk through the two living rooms. Why we have two, I don’t know. I also don’t understand why we have eight bedrooms when we only need three at the most—for me, my parents, and my grandfather. But, for some reason, we do .
I walk to the kitchen and open the fridge on autopilot .
The whole time, I never see anybody .
I already know where my mother is—drinking away her pain in her bedroom. If I were a better daughter, I would spend my day comforting her. But I’m not that daughter. Maybe if it were in reverse, if I had to comfort my dad over the loss of my mother, then maybe I could. But I can’t comfort my mother when I can’t even comfort myself .
I look around the room for the staff, but see nobody. They know better than to show up when they aren’t wanted. They will stay hidden until called upon .
And my grandfather is at one of the casinos, probably already trying to figure out who is going to take over the company now that my father’s dead. I know what he wants to talk to me about, but I’m not ready for that yet .
