Sickly

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Sick


Everything is numb.
I hear people talking but I don’t know what they’re saying. I stick my hands in ice but feel nothing. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing.
It’s been a week now and I don’t know why they’re bringing food over. I don’t think stuffing my face will bring my mom back. But it seems to keep them happy. I let it be.


Weeks pass.


Months pass.


Years pass.


I can feel again. I feel the cold, I hear the words. I allow myself to think about other things and almost allow myself to move on. I drill into my head that it was all meant to be. It was your time to go. It’s not like I think about you less. I don’t. Every day, you’re in my head. When I blink, it’s your picture I see instead of darkness. But I let it be.


It’s been a while sense you left now. A long while. But everything happens for a reason. Right?


My dad offers me easy money. Log into his facebook and check his notifications, inbox messages, and friend requests. Easy money. I like money. I accept.

I log into his account, first accepting all of his friend requests. My dad has a lot of facebook friends. Over 2000. I wonder if he even knows half of them. I doubt it.

Then I open his inbox. Nothing interesting. It doesn’t surprise me... most adults never talk about anything other than small talk about the weather.

“Thank you for your friend add!” Is what they basically all say. Like I said, easy money. “You’re welcome _____ (insert name there)” I respond.

Then I spot one from my aunt Jenny. I smile a wry smile. Aunt Jenny has always been what I call a Placebo-head. She convinces herself she’s sick when she isn’t. I think she wants medicine or something. Once she told me she had diabetes. Then I saw her stuffing her face with cake. I don’t think she had diabetes. I wondered what life-threatening ailment this message had in it.

I quickly skimmed through the message. Yadda yadda yadda. “I believe I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.” I swear, that is a direct quote. She droned on and on and on about how miserable her life was. About how she wanted to kill herself at times. About how people should know better than to take her for granted after Nicole’s suicide.

I did a double take. I carefully read it. Over and over. And again. And again. About 7 times. Every muscle in my body began to numb. If someone were to stab me, I could have bleed to death with no recognition of the wound.

I read the next paragraph with angry tears streaming down my face. My dad had answered saying something like “I should have taken that gun from Nicole the second she got it...”

This lady was crazy! She was a Placebo-head! She didn’t know what she was talking about! And my dad was just...
That gun was for our safety. Mom told me. Mom would never lie to me. Mom would never leave me. Mom loved us. Mom loved me.

My head spun and my stomach did flips as my brain dug up lost memories that flooded through my sinking brain. But as hard as I tried, I couldn’t shake the growing realization that Placebo-head was right.


I was back on May 31, 2008. I didn’t know where mom was. She never came home. We didn’t know where mom was. But sometimes she didn’t come back until well into the day. But that was okay, right? She often was gone throughout the day and well into the night, running errands.

The next day came and went. No mom. If you think you’ve seen distraught before, look at us now. Our household was a wreck. Mommy had abandoned us. But that couldn’t be true! Mommy loved me! She would never ever ever ever ever leave me!

Later that day, we checked every airport in Houston for her car. I can still remember her license plate. G49-GRT. No car. All the hospitals. No car. Where was mom?

The next day, my dad decided it would be best for us to go to my grandmother’s house. I wasn’t very fond of my grandmother... in fact normally I would refuse to go, but at once glance at my dad’s chewed up fingernails and trembling hands, I decided not to argue.

When we got to her house, she was sitting on her couch, clutching her arms so hard it seemed as if she believed she might fall apart as soon as she let go. At the sound of our footsteps, my grandmother acknowledged my family and I simply by gesturing towards the empty chairs in her living room, a wordless invitation to sit down. We sat.

“I have something to tell you....” Grandmother said in a wavering voice. This must be bad. She usually sounded so confident in herself.. I shuffled over to her and pulled her into a quick, awkward embrace.

“It’s okay Grandmother!” I muttered, not so sure of those words myself.

“Thank you darling, but I’m afraid you’re wrong. There’s been an accident....”

To say all hell broke loose would be an understatement.


A week passed. Numb. Nothing. I felt nothing, but the knife that was constantly inside me. The pain was all I could feel. It didn’t seem like anything could be real.


I will never understand why people take pictures at funerals. Pictures are to capture memories... why would anyone out there want to capture this?

It was my turn to speak. All eyes were on me but I blanked. What could I say that these people didn’t already know? My mom was dead. Nothing else matters anymore. Nothing.


My mother died in a car accident... right?

I thought about the gun. The casually dropped hints. The notes left throughout the house. The way she left her cellphone on her bed. The presents she bought me all the time. There was no denying it.


My mother killed herself on May 31, 2008 the day after I finished 5th grade. It was no accident. As hard as we tried, we never ever ever would have been good enough for her. She was strong, but not strong enough. My


And she left me here to sink in the depths of depression.



Some days I sit up at night contemplating why I’m alive. I believe there’s two types of fears... the fear to live and the fear to die. I honestly believe with all my heart that some people are only alive because they’re afraid to die. And others- like my mom... they aren’t brave either.





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