I Wish Someone Told Me...

Authors Note: This story has notes of mental health, drug use, drinking and suicide.

I wish someone told me that life was so unfair. That the people you love most aren't permanent. Like if you had a great day at school, you got an A on the math test you worked so hard on, but as you’re running home you see police cars swarming your house. And then you know, life will never be the same again.

 “She could survive.” the police tell you, as if that makes anything better. And to make matters better, the person who hit her made it with barely a scratch! Dad tells me to be happy that the person who hit her, who might have killed her is fine. Well, I'm not some naive kid who believes anything their parent tells them. The person who hit her should be dead for ruining my family’s life.

Backing up, I had a pretty normal one. Mom, Dad and an older brother. His name is Jonas. He’s 9 years older than me. That might seem weird, but my parents were 16 and 18 when they had him. They were 25 and 27 when they had me. Mom’s name is Everly, and Dad’s name is Tobias. I should probably add that Jonas doesn't live with us anymore. He moved out 6 years ago, when I was 9. For those who are math challenged, that means that I'm 15 now, but I turn 16 in two months, on November 14.    

I never understood why Jonas left me. After all, I was 9. The whole prospect of “moving out” was unimaginable. I had my mom, my dad, my (very) older brother, and my loving dog, Butterscotch. What more could I want? I remember the day Jonas moved out very clearly. It was the day he turned 18, when he legally became an adult. He had bruises all over him. The only goodbye he gave me was “Bye, peanut.” Then he was out the door. I actually chased him down the street, until I realized he was gone. Now he visits about once a month, picking me up from school early and going to an amusement park before disappearing again. He and my parents don’t keep in touch. 

I haven't seen Jonas since mom’s accident. I wonder if he’s even around, or if he’s with Mom. My dad says he doesn't deserve it. I wonder why he says that. Maybe because the day before Jonas left, he… Never mind. It’s probably just because Dad’s been very mad lately. I guess that’s how he reacts to grief. I’m sad, he’s mad. If only mom was still alive.

2 months ago…

The day mom died was a blur. The police were surrounding our house, and I thought that we had been robbed. Reality was far worse. My dad came running out of the house, face ashen. “Honey,” he said. “There’s been an accident.” “who?” I gasped, falling to my knees, but I already knew who. “She’s at the hospital, undertaking emergency surgery. We’ll receive news soon.” “But what if she-?” I couldn't finish my sentence, leaving the question hanging in the air. My dad understood, though. “She’ll make it though. Don’t worry.” The worst thing you can say to someone who’s mom just got in a car crash and is in emergency surgery is “don’t worry.” But I didn’t say that, because my dad was already falling apart. If I told him my thoughts, he might shatter into a million shards. 

                                     ***

As I was watching TV, trying to forget the events of earlier today, my dad’s phone rang. We jumped simultaneously, then he ran for the phone. He picked it up and answered it, and said, “Hello, this is Mark Taylor, how can I help you? Yes. no. yes. WHAT?” he hung up, eyes filling with tears. “Who was it?” I whispered, dread in my tone. He took a deep sigh, his pain filling the room until it overflowed. “I am so sorry, sweetie. Your mother is gone.”  

“NO!” I screamed. “IT’S NOT TRUE!” My dad looked so sad, like he wanted to just give up and join her, but I wouldn't give up. I kept yelling and screaming. Curses, prayers, whatever I could think of. Suddenly, I stopped. Nothing could bring her back, so what was the point? I fell to the ground, closed my eyes and slept. 

One thing I should add is my mom got cremated. All her family members scattered her ashes all over the world, all of them, but us. The thing is, what’s the point of life without her? People say life is a gift. I bet you that they have NEVER experienced the pain that I have. Nothing is worse than one second, your mom is alive and the next, she’s not.That night, that terrible night, I dreamt of her, my mother. In my dream, she was singing a lullaby in my room and I ran to hug her, but then there was a loud bang, and blood started pouring from the ceiling. My mom then disappeared, leaving a jar painted with the scenes of her death. But when I looked inside, all I found was a steering wheel, coated in ash. At that moment, the blood went above my head, and I drowned in my dead mother’s blood.

 When I woke up I was covered in a cold sweat. I noticed I was in my own bed instead of on the floor. My dad must have taken the time to move me, no small feat since I was 5’3” and 116 pounds. It was morning, thankfully, so I didn’t have to suffer through more nightmares. I got up and went to my Mom and Dad’s room to give them a proper “good morning” before breakfast, but then I realized my mom was dead. 

I turned to go back to my room, when I heard an odd noise. I looked over my shoulder, and I saw my dad clinging to a picture for dear life. With a chill, I saw it was a picture of my mom. “Why?” my dad sobbed quietly. “Why did you leave us? How will we live?” He just kept repeating that over and over again. Then he saw me. With a watery smile, he said, “come here, sweetie pie.” I obeyed, and he wrapped his arms around me as he whispered in my ear, “ I will never let you go. I will never let you go. I will never let you go. I will never let you go.”   

That day, I understood that my dad was broken. I understood because he got out a big bottle of something, and then drank it all. I understood because he got out a little bottle of pills. I understood because after I went to bed, he kept crying and drinking and when I fell asleep, he kept crying. Even when I woke up, he was sobbing. I don’t think he got much sleep that first night without Mom. Or the second, or the third. Or the rest of the nights without Mom.

That’s the thing about grief. It eats its way through you, from the inside out until you’re nothing but a shell of yourself, with no emotions or feelings. Until you give up on life completely. And honestly, I might just do that. Give up on life. Become yet another one of the people who give up on life. It doesn’t seem too hard. I’m not afraid of death. I’m just afraid of pain. That, and hurting the people I love, like Jonas and Dad. And Butterscotch, my dog. She’s super old. I’m afraid she’s going to die soon. If she does, I won't be able to live without her. I’ll just snap, like Dad and give up. 

The day after I figured out Dad broke, it was school. I played hooky for the first two weeks, then my dad got a call from the school. After he hung up, he screamed at me for skipping school. “WHY DID YOU SKIP?” he roared. “YOUR MOTHER WOULD NEVER APPROVE!” gone was the quiet, timid man from my past. Here was a new Mark Taylor, who yelled at his daughter and shamed her. The next day, I went to school. I would do anything to please my mom, even if she was dead. When I got to school, whispers surrounded me. “That’s the girl who’s mom died!” “And her brother ran away.” “ I also heard her dad is abusive.” “ My mom says her brother was a druggie.” “Marie said she murdered her mom.” At that, I snapped. The next class I had, (algebra), I ran out of the building, to the street, across it, and down to the beach. 

I love that area. The way the waves crashed on the sand, that everything lived in harmony. Well, I would disrupt that harmony. I looked out over a cliff at the beach, at the sun high in the sky. Not yet, I thought. When the sun sets.  I went home, and prepared.

 I sent an email to everyone in my contacts, knowing that they wouldn’t see it for a good couple hours, as they were all at school or or work.. Then, I gave Butterscotch a good hug and pet, and cuddled her for a while. She loved it. I haven’t given her much attention lately. I heard the door bang open. I tensed, thinking it was my dad. Then, Jonas came in. “Hey, peanut. How ya doing?” he said, sauntering into my kitchen. I stood there, stunned, while he came over and gave me a big hug. “ I missed you.” he whispered in my ear. I hugged him back, then realized the sun was setting. “Missed you too.” I stuttered. “ Um, I-I… I have to go.” then ran out the door. 

At the edge of the cliff, I wrote a note, for anyone if anyone tracked me down. The front of it read, dear whoever found this, please deliver it to 1465, sunset drive. Thank you. On the back, it said, dear Dad, I am so sorry for this. I couldn’t stand the pain of losing mom. Or losing you. Not physically, but emotionally. I love you so much. I'm sorry. As I stood at the edge, I thought to myself, I am almost 16 years old. I have an older brother, a dad, and a dead mom. I am about to die.  But, I do love my family, and I hope they carry on without me. I also hope there’s an afterlife, so I can see my mom again. Some people will do anything to see their loved ones again, even if it means giving up life.