For Every Missing Shade

Entry 43

In the morning I expected all of the emotions to be still fresh, but they weren't. The pain, sorrow, depression, I didn't feel it. I felt the same way I did the night before. Hollow. Empty. I was a body without a soul. I kept thinking of ways she could've stayed alive. What if she got a miracle treatment, what if she was faking it all as an excuse to go on an elaborate road trip? What if we thought she died, but really she just had a bad night.

A bad night. That's all it should have been.

I walked downstairs and met my dad in the kitchen.

"Hey," he said, "How was your night?"

"Slept well."

"I guess that's about all you can hope for."

I let out a ghost of a laugh. "Yeah. Guess so."

"I can just be quiet if you want, really, I don't mind," he said.

"No, no it's okay. I don't mind the conversation."

He nodded and sat down at the kitchen table with me.

"I feel odd," I said.

"Whatever you're feeling is normal, just know that," he responded.

"Yeah."

"It's probably just you going through the stages of grief. I know that sounds like a cop-out answer, but it actually does happen. I would just focus on the things you love to do. That's what I did after your grandma died."

"I think I might actually wait a little bit before I focus on something else. I mean, she died yesterday. I think I should try to focus on this first."

She died yesterday. Those words sounded fake. I said them, but I don't feel like I actually meant them.

"Whatever you feel is right, but maybe you could paint your feelings. Just a thought."

"Yeah, maybe. I'll think about it."

I walked up to my room and shut all the blinds.

Why didn't I feel the way movies said I should feel?

I should be bawling my eyes out today, screaming and shaking with sadness. I tried to force myself to be sad. I listened to all the most melancholy songs I knew, thought about all of our best times and how they're all gone now, but I barely shed a single tear. It didn't feel real. I felt like I was stuck in some limbo of existence where I couldn't see, feel, or hear her, but she still wasn't gone.

About an hour or two later, I heard a knock on the front door. I thought for a split second that it could be Emma but made myself forget it. Luckily, my dad walked up to take it. Is that voice Emma's? I wondered. No, but it was still familiar.

Eventually, I heard them leave. Their car pulled out of the driveway as footsteps thumped up the stairs. I heard a knock on my door.

"Come in," I said.

"That was Mr. and Mrs. McKenzie at the door. They came to talk about the funeral."

"Oh."

"They said that Emma wanted you to say the eulogy."

My heart started racing. "Wait what? I can't do that."

"It wasn't up to them. From how they sounded, though, I think they might have agreed with you."

I looked at a notebook in his hands. "What's that?"

"Emma wanted to give this to you. It's a notebook from one of her classes."

I looked at the writing on the cover. It was her handwriting, but it already seemed fake. Someone must have forged it.

"They also gave me this," he said as he pulled my diary out from behind his back."

"Thanks," I said, petrified.

"You okay, Israel?" asked my dad.

"Uh... It feels a little more real now, I guess."

"Well I'm always here if you want to talk," he said, echoing everyone else.

"Thanks," I said, trying to sound grateful.

"Oh, and just so you know, the wake is in two days and the funeral is the day after."

I mumbled something even I don't remember and laid the notebook down on my bed.

I felt so unstable. I wish I could just decide how to feel and stick with it, but no emotion stuck.

I opened the notebook and found a letter taped to the inside. In Emma's handwriting, it read, Don't open until enough shades pass. My fingers ran along the envelope's edges, then I placed it in the top shelf of my nightstand.

I didn't check what time it was. I just went to bed.