Fairytales endings don’t exist

When i was growing up my mother was overly relaxed in probably every way and my father was worrywart, consistent with his nagging.

The two of them were quite the pair if I don't say so myself, they had absolutely nothing in common aside from the fact that they both loved every one of the Star Wars movies and they were constantly annoyed with one another. Yet somehow they managed to never really, truly fight in any sense of the word. I mean clearly, they would get annoyed with one another constantly, to the point where being in the same room with both of them at the same time, while they were mad at each other, made you wanna rip your hair from your head. But that was all it really was, tension. Never any yelling or arguing or anything like that. At least for all i know, i wasn’t actually home all the time, specifically to avoid the negative energy radiating off of the two of them. 

Because my mother was always so relaxed about everything that happened, I got away with a lot as I got older. Sneaking out, going to parties, hanging out with not so great influences, basically the whole shabang coming of age movie parents disapprove of.  However, though she had a go with the flow personality, she also had what i like to call an “i don’t really care, everything will workout for me in the end,” mojo. That mojo? That was not all it was cracked up to be and it was definitely part of the reason we were nearly broke by the time I was a junior in high school. 

The whole being broke thing wasn’t entirely my mom’s fault, and I didn’t blame her, i did my best to never place blame on either of my parents, but I couldn't deny that while it was also my dad's fault, the way he used the money made it partially my own fault as well. In a way, all three of us got ourselves into the situation that ruined our cash intake, no one ever really talked about it after it happened though and it’s not something worth diving into now and hopefully ever.

Quick fact that probably contributes to my life story and my crystal clear personality is that my dad was overprotective in every way possible, constantly nagging and constantly worrying. Just about every bit the uptight class nerd of ‘94 that Grandma Esther used to tell me he was.  Don’t get me wrong, my parents were some of the best people you could meet, I loved them to death, their terrible habits and all. I still do, I can promise that, but I can’t say it to them ever again. You see, exactly 716 days ago today, a drunk driver took them from me. Worse is that it happened as they were walking home from the food market down the street, on my birthday. The man who hit them received his karma and all but the worst of it was that at first, I didn't even feel miserable for them, I refused to even believe what I was being told. I still can’t believe how cruel it was to act that way, they were gone, and i didn’t do anything. My guilt still burns through me because of the terrible way I reacted.

If i’m truly honest, i was hoping it was nothing but a messed up joke, after all, who gets drunk on a wednesday afternoon, next to a preschool no less? But my parents really were gone, I eventually realized that i would have to get over it, that i would have to accept that they weren’t coming back, and I needed to make my peace with it or I'd never even receive the chances i was bound to have in the future. Three days later, after all my wallowing, I got out of bed at two in the afternoon and I drove down to the cemetery where their burials were planned to take place in less than ten days. I held my mom’s favorite flowers in my left hand and my dad’s old wrist watch clasped between my fingers, so tightly my knuckles looked just about bloodless. I sat by the tree in the midst of all the graves for hours that day, the tears yearning to fall down my face, trying over and over as i refused to let them.

I remember watching over the slabs of gray stone wondering how many people had their parents taken from them in as awful a way as I had. I hoped it wasn’t many, the agony I felt wasn’t something to be wished on one's worst enemy least of all, someone innocent. All of that, is what leads up to today. 

Today is the day that my parents always swore I would remember forever, the day they met and the day I'd really get to start my life. But everything i did, all the work I put into getting here still feels like it carries a burden. I feel like the burden might not even be worth it every now and then, but I have to do this, if not for me than for them.

I really should be beyond grateful, I get to attend the college they did, for all I know, sleep in the same room my mother met my aunt darla. No less, I earned my scholarship to get to where I am, I put my entire life into it, the past two years most of all. 

I think perhaps, the idea of my parents watching down on me, my mom curled in a blanket eating baileys irish cream brownies  and my dad flopped down on the couch cheering me on with his tuba at his feet, is what’s truly egging me on, this was their dream as much as mine, my life as much as theirs and I will never again give up, plainly and solely because i am now living for them as much as myself and i will carry them with me for the rest of my life. In a way I think it may have been the universe's plan. Everything in the world seemed to contribute to the universe's plan and perhaps because my parents were no longer with me someone else's parents would get to stay with them, even if it was just for a little while longer.