Swallowed in the Sea

What Is Grief

"Summer I'm hungry."

   I had heard those words trillions of times before, but when they didn't come out of Stella's mouth, but rather my mother's, the meaning changed completely.

"Then go make yourself something to eat," I mumbled, my eyes trained on the math textbook carefully balanced on my lap.

   It was late but I had to finish my homework for school the next day so while Stella was sleeping and I should have been too, I was instead in the same room as my mother.

   My mother pouted, "But Summer..."

   She sounded like a little child. No, that would be insulting to all little children, including Stella.

"What?" I was beginning to become annoyed, "You're a grown woman...go make some food if you're hungry."

"But I want you to," My mother whined and I took a deep breath to try to keep my emotions controlled.

   I kept my voice steady, "I have to finish this homework...you're fully capable of making your own food. Stella is even able to make herself food when she's hungry!"

"But I don't want to!" My mother yelled and I frantically looked over at the bedroom door to see if it would open, signalling that she had woken Stella up.

   When I was sure that Stella was still sleeping, I decided that it may as well be easier to just follow what my mother wanted.

It would be safer.

"You can start now," Sam nodded at the doctor, "We're all here."

   I squinted, trying to make out his name, but my brain was too muddled to string together the letters on his coat.

   The doctor cleared his throat, "So we've done hourly testing of the brain for brain function or brain-stem reflexes but there hasn't been any evidence of anything..."

"She's brain dead?" Sam asked, completely horrified.

"We need to run a formal brain-death evaluation to determine that," The doctor answered calmly.

   A sob suddenly escaped into the room and I looked around, only to see that it had come from my mother's husband. Part of me was still furious at him but the anger was overridden by fear.

   There was a moment where the doctor had asked if anybody had any questions but I wasn't listening whatsoever.

"You're going to wake up Stella," I hissed, "Keep it down."

"Don't tell me what to do!" My mother screeched at me and I instantly flinched away from her.

   I subconsciously raised my hand to shield my head but no hit came. Tentatively, I lowered my arms and saw that my mother was too busy taking a long swig from her beer bottle to pay attention to me.

"I'm going to go to bed," I mumbled.

   Trying to make myself as small as possible, I half-crawled half-walked myself out of the corner and in the direction of me and Stella's shared bedroom.

"Where do you think you're going you little bitch!" My mother screamed and before I could comprehend anything, the glass bottle in her hand went flying at me, painfully smashing into the side of my head.

   I couldn't help but let out a cry of pain. I hated when I let my mother win like that. I hated when she could see that I was hurting. It made me feel like I had lost.