Nothing is forever

I wrote this story, a few weeks ago. Some of you may have read it. This is a work of fiction. It reflects my thoughts on the matter of death, but in no way is it suicidal. Don't bother me about that. Just enjoy the story.

I watched, from a safe distance, because I was curious to know what would happen, how they would react. At first, there was a lot of confusion. They didn’t know who I was. That was obvious, and expected, but still, I always wished I was some famous person, and they wouldn’t even have to look, they would just know it was me.

They tried administering CPR. The EMT was really cute, I might have hit on him if I was conscious. They tried to save me, I know they did. He would not have let me die. But it was useless. I was already gone, because I was here.

They searched me, looking for identification. They found my wallet, my license. That horrible picture of me, that I swore on the day I got it that no one but an officer of the law would ever see it. And even then, I’d try hard not to have to show it unless necessary.
They noted my home address, and phone number. Now would come the hard part.

They slowly pulled the white sheet up, over my body. I watched in awe, in shock, confusion. So that was it. That was how it all ended. I wasn’t ready to go, not just yet. But it was too late.

I was loaded onto the ambulance, and they gently shut the doors. They didn’t rush me to the hospital. There was no need.

An officer reluctantly knocked on the front door of my house. That perfect, yellow little house, with the flagstone path, the white picket fence, the tree that I had fallen from, and broken my arm. It was too perfect for my liking. That house that I was never really happy in.

Dad opened the door. His face registered annoyance, apprehension, suspicion, anxiety, in that order. The officer politely asked if he could step inside, and Dad, being the gracious host that he was, moved aside and let him in.

They sat there together, Mom and Dad, hands clasped, knowing there was bad news, but not wanting to hear it. Mom twisted her fingers, like she does when she is nervous. Dad sat still as a stone, being strong for the both of them, as always. So picture perfect. Except I was missing.

‘There’s been an accident’, the officer said. ‘A car came swerving out of no where, and hit Ella’s car full on. We tried to save her, but were unable to. I’m sorry. Ella is dead.’

No. That single syllable was whispered by Dad. Mom was frozen in place. Her face was a mask of shock, and denial. She offered the officer a drink. Cake. Food. Anything. He just stood up, and apologized, then left. Ya, he said he was sorry for dropping the news on my parents that their only daughter was dead. Gone, forever. Sorry? Too little too late.

Dad cried. Dad. A solid rock. I’ve never seen him cry, ever. There were tears coursing down his cheeks, but no sound came out of his mouth. Mom still hadn’t moved from her chair. She just kept whispering, over and over, ‘it can’t be true. Ella’s supposed to be home soon. No. it can’t be.’ Again and again she whispered. And I wanted to shake her. For once, Mom, stop denying the truth! Yes, bad things do happen, even to perfect little families like ours.

And Dad, he did the one thing I really wanted to do at the moment. He screamed. Dad never screams. ‘She’s dead! Ella is dead! Why can’t you believe that? She’s not coming back. Not today, not tomorrow. Ever! Stop kidding yourself. You’ve lied to yourself your whole life. Maybe that’s what got her killed.’

No, no. Don’t fight now. Not at a time like this. Please, just stop! They never stop. Always fighting. Always screaming. Maybe I am better off dead. I wanted to scream, but of course they couldn’t hear me.

And then Mom cried. And cried. Loud, wailing, soul rending sobs, that went on and on, and never seemed to stop. Dad pulled her into a rough embrace, and together they cried. He held her so tight, and she clung to him, her life saver, as it always was.
And me? I cried with them. The rain poured down, hit the window pane, and slid down in slow, mournful tracks. Yes, I cried too.

I caused them pain in life, and now, I caused them grief in death.

Life is hard. Sometimes it is so so hard, there seems to be no way to go on, and ending it looks like the only way. But death is harder. It is not so simple. It does not solve anything.

I was scared of what would come. I was sad to be leaving. Yes, souls can feel emotions in death too. Who would come to my funeral? Would anyone show up at all? Who would feed my dog, Foxy? Would Mom stop buying Reeses puffs, my favorite cereal? Would anyone else ever sit in my chair at the table? Or sleep in my bed? Would a stranger take down all my posters, the one of Harry Potter, and Will Smith, which I kiss every night?

I knew there were a lot of changes, but I wasn’t sure what to expect.

I went to my funeral. I watched as they lowered my coffin into the cold, hard earth. I felt like screaming. No, stop. I’m, still here. Don’t let me go. Don’t leave me. I didn’t want to be buried, I hate tight, small spaces. They creep me out. But of course, they couldn’t hear me.

I tsked at their choice of attire. Black. So boring. I always imagined people in bright, gay colors by my funeral. I imagined balloons, flowers, maybe chocolate.

There was a big turnout. My best friend, Rachel was there. I wanted to apologize. We just had a huge fight last week, and I never got a chance to say I was sorry. I was waiting for her to say it first. Well, she seemed regretful enough now, as she cried and cried.
Big nosed Billy came, and we hated each other since first grade. Max was there. He used to bully me, and steal my lunch. And of course, Andrew, my secret crush, he was there too. They all came. And that made me happy.

But it also made me realize, there is no going back, no chance to fix things. After it is over, it is really over.

Mom cried, but it seemed liker Dad was all cried out.

Afterwards, in the house, I watched as they tried to get back into daily schedule, resume normal activities, tried to move on, and forget. That’s what scared me the most. That they would forget. That I would slip away from them, fade, until I became just a distant memory.

I was scared that my scent would fade, that my face would blur, and my voice would become distorted. That they wouldn’t remember me anymore, or wouldn’t be bothered to try.

One night, a week after the accident, I saw Mom take out a picture of me. She sat there, staring at it for hours. She traced the lines of my face, my eyes, my smile. She kissed it. She smiled, through her tears. She whispered, and I leaned in close to hear her.

‘A gift. G-d gave me a gift. I thank Him for the years we had together, and don’t regret a minute of it. Just know, wherever you are, that I love you so much. I’ve always loved you, even when we fought, and you thought I hated you. I’ll always love you, as long as I live. So go in peace. Sit by G-d’s throne. Say hello to Grandma Jill, uncle Joey, and everyone else. I’ll never forget you, you will always be in my heart.’

I wanted to cry, but no tears came. I leaned in, and embraced her. I think she felt my presence, knew I was here with her. And though I’ve left, physically, I never really went anywhere.

No, death is not easy. It is a painful thing. It makes the living realize how short life is, and how little control they really have. It makes the dead realize their regrets, and know they can never go back.

Life isn’t easy, love isn’t easy, none of it is. But it is something we all must go through.

I felt at peace for the first time. I said goodbye. I knew everything would be ok now. And though I missed them so much, missed being alive, doing things only a body is capable of, I knew that a soul is more free. Uninhibited.

The dead are gone, and the living, well, they have to learn how to deal with it, and move on.

I’ll be back sometime. I know I will. Nothing is forever.