Everyone's in black. I don't like it. It's like this packed room of people have all taken on the one color that screams gloom, even though that's not what you would've wanted. I can imagine you grinning from ear to ear, a glint in your eye as you wore a shirt so packed with color I couldn't even recognize some of them. You would hate it here. All this sadness would bring you down, and you'd dance and jump around without a care in the world to cheer everyone up. Except, you can't.
So many words, condolences, tears, sobs, all flying around the room, making me dizzy. I can't breathe. I'm being suffocated by the sheer amount of people; it's squeezing the air out of my lungs when the walls close in on me because I haven't eaten in what feels like forever, but in reality is just since the last time you smiled at me; the amount of people you touched the hearts of stole my breath and replaced it with sobs filled with the pride and love I held for you, but also the sadness that won't leave because of your absence.
Once the ceremony started, not a tear left my eye. I sat there, emotionless, my new black dress having no meaning. It's just another day. The vicar's at the front, I can see his mouth moving, but I don't hear the words coming out. All I can hear is snippets of his speech, a bible reading no doubt, despite the fact you weren't all that religious. "He will be missed": understatement of the century. I won't miss you, I'll never miss you, I'll just cry at how the man that I once relied upon for advice, and unconditional love is no longer there to make me laugh when I need it most. I will never miss you, I'll just need someone who can't be there.
"Now, we've got a few words from Meghan," the vicar spoke, his wispy white hair falling in front of his tired blue eyes. I swallow nervously, my eyes snapping up to meet his from where they had previously been fixated on my black nail polish. I stand up, my legs shakier than I was expecting, as I start to make my way to the front. As I try to push past all of the people to get to the end of the row, mom catches my sweaty hand in hers and squeezes it through her tears. I draw in a long, shaky breath when I reach the microphone on the alter, my trembling hands clutching a crumpled piece of paper.
"I... I didn't write a song, or a poem, or anything like that," I started, emotion straining my voice, and tears beginning to sting the back of my eyes. Keep it together. "I wrote a letter. It's more personal. A letter of the things I want to say to him," I start to feel a sob rising in my throat, so pause to try and push it back down. My eyes wander to Ryan, who's also crying a little, but trying not to show it. He gives me a thumbs up, encouraging me to continue.
"Dear dad," I whisper, having to pause again to wipe away my tears. "Firstly, I miss you. Secondly, since you left us without you, I've been replaying memories, over and over and over like a broken record. The second I heard the beep of your heart monitor go flat, I was suddenly in my bedroom again, and I was 3 years old."
/
I was sat in my bedroom in Nantucket. The walls around me were various shades of pink, each wall either lighter or darker than the one beside it. My dollhouse was open wide, all of my dolls sprawled out around me as I sung a song you'd taught me. I somehow hit every note, using my hot pink hairbrush as a microphone and I pronounced a few of the words wrong. Once I'd finished, a lone applause from the door caught my attention, and my head snapped up to see you leaning against the door frame. "Beautiful, honey," you said proudly, beaming from ear to ear. I shot you a toothy grin.
"Thank you, dadda," I smiled, holding out my arms to be picked up. "Can we dance, dadda?" I questioned, looking hopefully at you, and you nodded.
"Of course, baby girl!" you chuckled, making me giggle as you spun me around in the air, keeping a tight grin on my armpits so I wouldn't fall. "What song do you want to dance to?" I shrugged my shoulders, looking at you thoughtfully. You just chuckled then spun me around again. "Why don't we make our own?"
"Yes, yes, yes!" I squealed excitedly, pure joy lighting in my eyes as I jumped up and down in your arms. "Yes!" You laughed, looking at me with something in your eye at my young age I couldn't identify, which I now know to be a mixture of pride, happiness, and adoration. You trotted downstairs, me bouncing in your arms, excitement coursing through me. You placed me on the kitchen counter, then gave me a lopsided smirk as you had an idea.
"Stay there, sweetie," you told me gently, quickly dashing to the other room as I sat there confused. Just moments later, you came back in with your keyboard and some bongo drums. You handed the bongo's to me, put the keyboard on the stand and then disappeared again, reappearing with a CD player, and a CD. You started to play a backing track, tapping your foot on the linoleum floor to the beat. "Play your drums, sweetheart," you told me, moving your hands like you were playing an invisible bongo with me. I threw my head back in laughter as I played my drums, and you dancing along the keyboard with the beat keeping us in time.
\
"You applauded my singing, and then took me downstairs to dance, but we ended up making music. I was on bongo's, and you were playing your keyboard," I stop for a second, needing to regain my composure. Come on, Meghan. "That's my earliest memory, and I'm glad it's with you. I don't remember thinking or feeling anything else after that, it was all just a blur that went by way too fast. I couldn't take anything in; it didn't feel real." A tear fell onto the sheet of paper, blurring some of the words I just read. I draw in another long, shaky breath. "The next thing I remember after that, was the car ride home."
/
Images from the age of four to the age of twenty two popped to mind. All of them, in a car. There were many different cars, and it was all kind of like a montage. The very first part was Ryan, you and I, we were in that brown and beige car we had in 1998. The radio was playing, but you turned it off, replacing it with a CD that all three of us knew every word to. Bad, by Michael Jackson. We sang along to every word without fault, me and Ryan dancing in our car seats, and you tapping the steering wheel to the beat.
The rest was all one big blur of memories. One of them was just you and I singing our lungs out to every song that came on the radio, whether we knew the words or not. The first car ride with Justin; mom singing along with us; Ryan having a tantrum; Justin being quiet; mom being mad at you, or me, or one of the boys. No matter what, you and me were always singing. Every car ride we shared from my first memory, to my last.
\
"All of those car rides that we had together, you and me were always singing. It was like this huge slideshow of me and you, singing along to every song we knew, and every song we didn't, however loud, and whatever the occasion. When we finally got back home, I ran straight to my room, and cried. I cried, and cried, until I was all cried out. Then, I went downstairs, and found mom-" I glance to mom, who's tearing up and dabbing away her tears with a napkin. "Ryan-" I look to Ryan, who's smiling despite the fact he's probably breaking down internally. "- and Justin were all sat together, laughing through their tears at old home movies. The first one I saw was you teaching me to walk, then you teaching me to talk, but my favorite, of all the video's we watched, was you and me in Church."
/
You were on the organ, I was singing the hymn with five other children, including Justin, but I was the only one with a solo. I was ten years old. I found it funny you played in church, because you weren't a very religious man, from what you told me. You were singing as your fingers danced across the organ, and I remember being in total awe of your skill. I wanted to pick up an instrument immediately, just so I could be better than you at something, or so I could make someone feel as in awe as I did watching you.
On the way out of church after the service, people were congratulating us on our performance. The best thing someone said to us, though, was: "a perfect father/daughter match". That warmed my heart. But I really loved it when you told me for weeks afterwards just how proud of me you were.
\
"We were singing. You played the organ and I was singing as part of a choir, but I was the only one with a solo. You told me afterwards how proud you were of me, but all I was thinking of was how great you were on your organ," I pause,
wiping the tears from under my eyes. "I just really wish you were here, dad," I cry, making an absolute fool of myself, but I can't care less. "I don't understand why you had to be taken away from us. You had so much left to live." At this point, I'm not even reading off of the letter I spent so long yesterday trying to write without breaking down. "Sorry," I apologize, drying under my eyes. I feel a hand on my upper arm, and turn to see Ryan standing there, smiling sadly at me.
"Don't be sorry, Meg," he whispers in my ear, hugging me from the side. I smile gratefully to him as we swap places, and I rest my head on his arm. "I'll read the rest if you want." I nod, and he starts reading the second paragraph. "Dear dad, I love you. Life hasn't been the same since you've been gone, and it will never be the same again. I guess I wrote this letter because I need to tell you how much you meant to be; I need to tell you how much I love you, because I'm scared that I didn't tell you enough when it counted."
"Ry," I mumble, shaking his arm lightly. "I think-" I hiccup. "I think I can carry on," I tell him, taking the letter from his hand. "You mean the world to me, you're my hero. Nothing I do will be the same because I'll always know that you're not here anymore, but at least I have our memories. With love, Meghan. P.S: I thought about the last time I was in contact with you."
\
"Hey dad!" I grinned as I answered the phone off of my dad.
"Hey, sweetie," he greeted. "How's tour?"
"It's good!" I exclaimed immediately, taking another slice of pizza from the box. "I've got pizza," I giggled, a mouth full of the cheesy goodness.
"Ay, Meg!" I heard from the other side of the bus, and then saw Ryan pop his head around a door. "Is that dad?" I nodded. "Tell him I said hi!"
"Ryan says hi," I recited, and I heard my dad chuckle.
"Can't be bothered to walk over to the phone?"
"Can he ever?" I chuckled.
"No, I guess not. Tell him I said hey back for me, hon." I put my hand over the speaker.
"Dad said hi back!" I called, hearing no response. "How are you, pops?"
"Good," he responded. "Me and your mother are redecorating the bathroom," he told me. "Something modern she says, I couldn't care less," he chuckled. "But it's making her happy, so I'm happy too."
"Meghan!" Jojo shouted through the bus, finding me on my bunk. "We need you now; there's an impromptu soundcheck." I nodded, and sighed.
"Dad?" I said sadly. "I have to go to soundcheck. I'll call you when I can. I love you."
"Love you too, hon. Enjoy!"
\
"It was a phone call. You were telling me about the work you and mom were doing on the bathroom, how it was modern. I told you I'd call you when I could," my voice broke. "But then I realised that wasn't the last time I was in contact with you, dad. The last time I was in contact with you, was a few days after you left us. I was trying to be strong, for mom, and Ry, and Justin, but I just couldn't do it anymore. I really broke down. Sobbing for what felt like ages, but then something told me to get up and carry on, despite how upset I was; something told me to stay strong. And I realised, that was the last time I was in contact with you. Rest in peace, pops. I love you always."
A/N: Why do I always finish these at like one a.m?
Love yu,
- faye ❤️
p.s: sorry it's not marlie!!