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You never think it will happen to you until it does. I can still smell the faint touch of rose that used to radiate from her skin, and the way that one golden clump of thick curly hair used to slide out of her bun and gently graze the top of her shoulder, as she'd lean over her most recent mystery novel. I remember how I used to peer at her out of the corner of my eye, as I would pretend that she didn't exist, and wonder what magical place she was visiting today. I wanted to know where each one of her books took her when she sat in that ancient molasses brown recliner. I want to be able to feel the word "mother" roll off the end of my tongue and reach her ears. I want her to gaze over at me with the slightest smile on her face and the most illuminating light in her eyes, and I want to know that I will see and feel her again. But, no matter how much you want something, that wont make it real.
I could sit in an empty room and concentrate only on the things I want, and I would still be left wanting. So here I am staring blankly down at my mothers glistening mahogany coffin calling up at me. The vibrant red rose loosely hangs in my left hand, as its aroma drifts up to my nose. I slowly breathe it in, and for a second I think she is back here with me. I peek over each shoulder only to find that I am still, and always will be, alone. I turn my head back down to my mother's coffin, and my eyes brim with tears. Off guard, a tear swiftly glides down my cheek, and rests on my frozen bottom lip. Warily, I glide my tongue over my lip, and the salty tear floods in. As if from miles away I hear my father's sturdy and emotionless voice call me. I don't dare turn my head toward him for fear that I will never look back. He calls again, and I squeeze my eyes shut to push back the threatening tears. I open my eyes, clench the rose, and stick my hand over her grave. The rose gracefully drifts down, and a solitary petal breaks off, floating away with the gentle breeze. Reluctantly, I turn to my father. My eyes remain glued to the damp green grass, as part of me wishes I could run into his arms, but I know that with my father that is impossible.
After he finishes complaining about all the things we're late for, I return to reality. With all the strength I have I gaze up at him only to find myself staring at his back.
Hesitantly, I glide into the sticky beige leather seat in my father's polished new BMW. As he begins driving, I look back at my mother's deserted grave and say goodbye one last time. My father clears his throat, jolting me back to my surroundings; and I turn to face the front of the car heading to my new life.
That night, it was like every emotion poured out of me. I screamed and screamed, I had never despised him more than I did that night.
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