I was always inspired by butterflies wings,
the delicacy and beauty in such a simple creature, and now, watching them
flutter past me on this sweet summer day they inspire me more than in any other
day of my life. They make the most of the numbered days they can fly. I must do
the same. I’ve watched my family mourn me, my parents sobbing helplessly in the
late hours of the night, my mother throwing and breaking all the dishes and
cursing that drunken driver who took my life that wet cold night, I’ve watched
them cry and fight and come back together at the end of it all, because the end
of my life doesn’t mean the end of theirs, they need to find a way to be okay
again, even if I can’t tell them that.
I
watched my sister helplessly take it all in, the shock beneath her eyes despite
her lack of understanding, she somehow knew, just knew I wasn’t there anymore. This meadow is like a dream; it comes
with the dazed emptiness I feel in my attempts to hold on. The grass is green,
the daisies a bright magnificent yellow, it is how I always imagined, but I
know it won’t last, I must move on to let my family do the same, yet I
struggle. There are the selfish parts of me, who want everyone to keep crying
for me in the years to come, there are the desperate parts of me who want this
all the have been a dream, to be able to get up the next morning and laugh it
off with my friends, but somewhere deep down I know this can never happen, I
know it wasn’t a dream, it felt like a nightmare, but it happened, it was as
real as the fresh gravestone in the cemetery with my name on it. And lastly
there is the helpless part of me, who just wants to give up, float away with
the wind, pretend I never experienced life, like a stillborn baby, I sometimes
wish I never got the chance, than maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.
My friends have gone back to living, my
sister is playing with her friends down the road again, my Dad has returned to
the office and everything has gone back to normal, except the silent tears they
all shed when thought to be alone. My bedroom door remains closed, nothing has
been touched since I was in there last, and I doubt anything will be for a long
time, my parents subconscious wish to have me back. But I can’t go back, and I
must accept it. So I stand, my bare feet digging into the soil beneath the
grass, brush my hands on my dress, and I walk, I walk forwards, in acceptance
of my fate, I walk towards the unknown, and I hope, just hope, that everything
will be ok, and with that thought, I don’t look back.
