Him

It's days like these that make it hard to exist in the world we once thought of as a happy place. Days where you don't want to leave the comfort of your bed, because the moment you leave everything comes back to haunt you. Every day is a living nightmare when you are haunted by the image of the man who takes away your mother's life, and then took their own, right in front of you. How can one move on from something so brutal, when you can remember it so vividly?

Everywhere I look I can see him standing there looking at me. His eyes hold the venomous look of someone who wants vengeance for a wrong that can't be made right. Yet at the same time they seem sad, like a young child that lost their favourite toy. Maybe he really is like a child then. He lost his mother in an accident caused by my mother's drunkenness, while I lost mine to him.

The day had started out like any other, waking up on a Saturday morning to the smell of breakfast being made by my mother. She always makes an abundance of food: eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, fresh juice, the whole works! Always divinely tasting, like eating at a four star restaurant in the comfort of home. It worked out perfectly for us, as my father and I could not cook if our lives depended on it. I walk down the stairs in my cotton Looney Tunes pajama shorts and a plain grey t-shirt. Into the kitchen where my mother stands in front of the stove clad in her favourite pajamas, Minnie Mouse pajama pants with it's matching tank top.

She turns around to greet me with her warm smile and sweet voice "Good Morning sweetie, how did you sleep last night?"

"Morning. I had a good night's rest. I came home last night and passed out the moment my head hit my pillow," I replied, while sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar.

"I would certainly expect that. You were out with that boy last night. What was his name again? Cole?" She responded with a wink.

"Yes, his name is Cole, and we didn't do anything too exciting. We just saw the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie."

"Okay dear," she chuckles as she put a plate of food in front of me. "Now eat up, we have a busy day ahead of us."

Our conversation was nonexistent as we ate, probably because we are too busy stuffing ourselves. Once done we washed up, changed and then head out to our errands. We drove around until it came close to lunchtime when we decided that we should get a quick lunch before continuing. We parked in front of Sally's Diner, our favourite diner, and head towards the door to enter when a man wearing a beige sweater and jeans, who must've been in his late 20's, cuts her off and blocks the front of the door looking down on her with his hands in his jacket pockets.

I didn't think anything of it, he was probably lost and in need of directions. It wasn't until he started talking that I began to worry. He talks about himself, how he was an orphaned child raised in the foster system because his single mother had passed away in a car accident caused by my mother when she was younger. She was drunk when it happened. With the knowledge that someone died because of her, she became guilt ridden. She swore she would never let it get that way, since then she hasn't had a drop of alcohol. She told him this, but he wouldn't hear any of it. It was then that he pulled out a gun and aimed it at her. Everyone around us froze and stared at the scene that had unfolded. They probably either feared for their own lives or for my mother's. Either way they remained unmoved from their positions. For me,it was like time had started to move in slow motion. And when he pulled the trigger it was like my world had fallen apart. My mother fell to the ground and I rushed to her side. She died in my arms moments later. I looked up and saw him standing there with a blank expression on his face, the only exception were his eyes which told me his life story. They reflected his true feelings of a broken child who lost his mother while somehow also showing the grown man who finally got the revenge he desired. And then he took that same gun and shot himself in the head. This image will remain one that haunts me in both in slumber and in consciousness. I can never fully escape it.

After that day I was interrogated by the police for months, at the time it felt like there it was never going to end. Asking me over and over to recall the details of that day so they could close the case. For some reason since that day I can never remember his exact words. It's like my mind has blocked it from my memory. The police didn't like that though, they wanted to know every little detail about that day but my mind prevents it. They were looking for all the minor details that could explain what set him off to do such a deed. Eventually they decide to rule it as a murder - suicide done by a man at his breaking point.

The blocking of my memory still is evident to this day. It seems like my mind doesn't want me to be more depressed than I already am. After that day, I walked around feeling like an unfixable broken doll. My friends and Cole try to help, but nothing they do seems to fix the black hole that has been consuming my heart. For both my father and myself, moving on is the biggest struggle that we can imagine having to face. After my mother's death he wouldn't leave his room for a week. Only after I told him that mom would hate to see us like this did he return to the existing world.

I am now trying to live like I used to, whether it's going to school or making plans with friends, as they try to keep me out of the house. At the end of the day, you realize just how hard life is. It's hard in the sense that I now have to live in a world where my mother is not there to make sure we eat healthy meals, or kiss me atop my head when I am feeling low. In a world where she isn't there to congratulate me on minor accomplishments that on any average day would make her proud to call me her daughter. Without her, I had to become the new head woman of the house, doing all the things she used to do. Cooking, cleaning, making sure my dad doesn't overwork himself. Those were things that she used to do that she can't anymore. They seemed like nothing then but now that she's gone I really appreciate them.

At times when I see his face in my mind's eye, I wonder how sad a person must get to have to want to harm themselves and others. How sad must he have been, and how come no one noticed before it was too late? I should feel angry at him because he killed my mother, but I can't seem to bring myself to feel that way. I feel sorry for him, sorry that he lived his life with thoughts attacking him from all sides, leaving him with no other choice but death. Aside from feeling sorry, I wish that someone could've been there for him so his life wasn't one of complete loneliness. I wish that if the day comes, I can be there for someone in the way that he needed. I will be the one that helps someone through their life issues in order to prevent the cycle from continuing.