Everything He Ever Did✔️

12

The loneliest time in somebodies life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart and all they can do is stare blankly.

When I was younger, I saw my Father cry and curse at the wind... he broke his own heart and I watched as he tried to reassemble his ways. And my Mother swore that she'd never let herself forget how he treated her. But she did. She forgave him and welcomed him back into our house with open arms.

That was the day Ryder drove away in his beet-up red Ford Fiesta and didn't come back until he got shot.

And that was the day that I promised that I'd never speak to my Father again, because now he doesn't exist, but... he was the only exception, and he was the only one who followed me around, day and night. And maybe I know somewhere, deep in my soul that he'd never last. So I found other ways to make it along, but kept a straight face throughout it all, because if my Mother could forgive him, why couldn't I?

So I always lived like this, keeping a comfortable distance, because up until now, I have sworn to myself that I'm content with loneliness... because none of it was ever worth the risk. But I've only just realised that, now that I've lost Bridgette, and Daisy is unwell, I can't play it safe anymore. Because if everyone I loved suddenly dropped dead around me, how many moments would I have wasted playing safe?

That was the big question, and it haunted me every minute of everyday, and it scared me that I would miss some important event in someone's life.

But then, I had a thought: what happens if I'm the one that dies?

Honestly, that prospect didn't scare me as much as the other thought did. I would rather die than live without my family. My friends were pretty important to me too, but if I'd made new friends before, I could make them again. Two years ago, if I had passed Daisy and Louis on the street, I would've turned my nose up at them; Daisy with the long flowing hair and Louis with his ripped jeans, I wouldn't have looked their way.

If I had walked past my family, seen my family's house, I would have turned my nose down two years ago, too. Because no one wants to be the girl with the dead sister. No one wants to be the girl with the teen pregnancy. No one wants to be in my family, but strangely, I'm okay with that.

I didn't really want the broken family with the missing son and the mentally disabled daughter. No one wanted the family with the heartbroken mother and the dead sister. No one wanted a baby so late in their life. That was the thing, though; I didn't want it,  but it landed straight in my lap.

And I just- I just wanted out. But I couldn't. I was a mother. I was a daughter. I had responsibilities that I couldn't ignore any longer. I'd taken so long to... get back to being myself, to being normal.

But the truth was, I wasn't normal, I was different, I was strange, I was weird.

I wanted to tell all the people that I knew... I wanted to tell them the truth, but I was also a coward and couldn't say it to their faces. So I wrote them all letters. I sat there for hours, writing until my hand and fingers cramped and I couldn't hold my pencil, but I still wrote. Because once I started, I felt like I couldn't stop. I felt like I needed to say everything to these people that... what? What did I want to tell them?

Whatever I said, I ended each letter with "Love, Georgia." And added two hearts at the end, to tell the reader that whatever I had written in the letter wasn't, really, all that serious.

Because who thinks hearts are a bad thing?

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