This used to be her place. My Mother. She used to take us to this field everyday. This field is the reason she named me Daisy. I was named after a daisy field. But not just any daisy field, this one was the one. The one where her parents meet, where they went for their first date and where he asked her to marry him. We had a picnic on this field of every color of daisy, not just white like you think of when you think of daisies but vibrant pinks and oranges as well, every year for Mom's birthday. I asked if we could bury her here but Dad wouldn't allow it, he didn't want to ruin this field by sadness. I fought him, this is where Mom would have wanted to be buried. It didn't matter anyways, this field will always remind me of her. I will always shiver here, even in the summer on the hottest day, because it reminds me she is gone. She will never walk through the door smiling like she always does. She will never sit next to me on this hill. Never another picnic here. Dad refuses to come to the hill. He refuses to go to the cemetery as well. He refuses her death, that's what Grandma says. I wish he wouldn't because then I would be able too. Mom can't have both of her loved ones forgetting her. And in the daisy field I feel like she is here too. I can hear her laugh in the wind, it seems to hug me when I cry. Which I do whenever I go to the daisy field. I guess I don't really know what I am talking about. Am I supposed too? Grandma says that seven is too young to be alone, I almost told her I wasn't. Dad's still here, then I stopped myself. Is he really here? When I wake up from a nightmare, which is pretty much every night, Dads outside with a glass of chocolate milk. He sits in her daisy garden. Every year on my birthday she would buy me another daisy plant. We would plant them together. She was trying to make the rainbow but had to stop after yellow, theres no such thing as green daisies. I told her we could plant grass, thats green. She laughed, not in a mean way but in a... A her way. Its hard to describe Mom's laugh, it sounds like... Fairies. Fairies are laughing, tiny bells dingling. A song being played. A melody. My favorite sound. My Dad once recorded us planting daisies. We were both laughing, we had a water fight. We were both soaked, but laughing anyways. Sometimes I listen to that recording, just to hear her voice. And too see her before she got sick. Grandma said she got something called Cancer. It kills you in the inside. That scared me, but... I didn't think it would kill her. I was only five when she told me, nearly six. I never thought that one day she wouldn't tuck me in at night. That we would never finnish our book. We were reading a book without pictures, just lots of words. I had just started reading small chapter books, this was different. It was the longest book I had ever seen, and it was full of fairies. I haven't touched the book since she died. Where was I? Thats right, Dad. I once watched this scary movies about ghousts on Halloween. Dad's like a ghoust, not really here but not really gone. Just sort of drifting through life. He wakes up early, drops me off at school, picks me up at after school care and... Drifts. Sometimes he makes dinner, most times he forgets. I think that Mom took a part of him when she died. She took apart of me too, a huge chunk of my heart. It feels empty, a reminder that she is not here. That she will never be here ever again. I will never.... Be her daughter. I will never be a momma's girl. She won't tell me what her first love felt like. She'll never talk to me about anything like the Moms on t.v. I don't like watching T.V anymore, everyone seems to have Moms on it. Everyone in my class does as well, I feel like I am missing something more than my heart. They look at me weird. I am the girl who lost her mom. Sometimes they talk to me about it. Thats why I have to write this paper, to you. Miss Lucy. You already know this but I punched Jessica. She was being really mean, she said that I was weird. But not the way Mom used to say it. Mom said we were two weirdos, she laughed. Jessica laughed too, but her laugh didn't sound like fairies. It sounded like rocks being rubbed toghether. In a cruel way. Like life. My Dad told me that he thought life was cruel. I used to think he was the smartest man alive. That he knew everything. I am not so sure anymore, he doesn't seem to know how to live anymore. I punched Jessica after she said that I was a weird girl. That I would always be weird because I didn't have a mother to teach me to not be weird. After I punched her I screamed that it wasn't my fault. I think that Dad thinks it is my fault. I think he blames me. I blame myself as well. If I didn't get in trouble so much maybe Mom wouldn't have gotten sick. If I did my homework everyday maybe she would still be here. And I wouldn't be writing this. Because I would be happy and not weird. Because I would have a mother to teach me how to be normal. But I don't think I want to be normal, Jessica said that she was normal. And I don't want to be like her. I think that normal means mean. It means your a bully if your normal. Miss Lucy, I think your weird. But it was a normal person thing to make me write this. You should make Jessica explain why she says I am weird and what she thinks that is. Because I wold love to know. You should also make her say what normal means, I want to know that too. I want to know a lot of things. Like what people mean when they say I am going to see Mom again. Do they mean that I will get sick too? That I will get Cancer? That doesn't sound good, I don't want to die. I want to live forever because someone has to watch Dad. Grandma too, she lives with us now. She remember to make dinner more than Dad does but I still have to make it a lot. She snores loud and always falls asleep in the living room. But now I don't have to go to after school care everyday, just on the days she forgets. I miss Mom. I hate Jessica, but maybe I just don't like her. Mom said that hate was a strong and bad word. Once you hate someone everything is bad. Your not as happy anymore. Do you think that Mom hated someone? And thats why she got sick? I wonder who she hated, it wasn't Dad or me. She always said she loved us. I like the word love, is sounds better than hate. I think this paper is finished, can I go to recess now?
The Field of Daises
October 28, 2013