Happy Miserable Mess (FOB/Patrick Stump FanFic)

Chapter 19

Pete, Andy, Joe, my son, and I entered the quiet room, Parker looking around at all the people dressed in black and having small conversations about his mother, other conversations completely irrelevant. But, like I mentioned before, those were the conversations I preferred to have. Across the room from us was the opened casket, a vase of flowers and a picture of her sitting on top of the closed half.

Everyone's eyes found their way to us the second we stepped through the doors. I don't think my cheeks had burned as much as they did that day.

"Grandma!" Parker exclaimed, spotting my mom who had tears streaking her cheeks, "Daddy, let me say hi to Grandma!" I had no choice but to set him down. He rushed over to my mom and wrapped his little arms around her legs. She forced a smile on her face and bent down to pick him up.

It wasn't long before everyone returned to their conversations, a few people making their way over to me and giving their condolences - hugging me, telling me how sorry they were, assuring me that if I ever needed anything I knew where to call. I didn't know at the time, but her mom was there. She was even one of the people who let me know that they were there for me.

It became exhausting, hearing everyone's apologies for something that wasn't their fault. So many times I was tempted to leave, get Parker who was playing hide and seek with someone else's toddler and walk right out the door, but I couldn't. I was the one who had to stay, if anyone.

It took me forever to approach her casket. I stayed as far away from it as possible, on the opposite side of the room. It wasn't until after almost everyone had filtered out of the funeral parlor that I walked over to the casket and looked down at her, tears blurring my vision. Reality hit me like a wall at that moment, seeing her lying there. She looked so...so happy, so...at peace.

"You didn't tell me," I croaked, falling to my knees and tilting my head down, "Goddammit, why didn't you tell me? I could've helped. You know that."

I waited for a response I was never going to get. Instead, all I got in return was Parker and the girl he was playing with's giggling as they ran behind me, Parker trying to tag her. I covered my face with my hands and began to sob.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I lifted my head out of my hands and glanced back to see the guys standing over me, a remorseful expression on all of their faces.

"Hey, it's time for the processional," Pete informed me, his voice barely above a whisper. "You ready to go?"

*****

The few people who had stayed stood over her grave. Rain fell from the sky, soaking our hair and our suits and dresses. But it was perfect - it hid the tears falling from my eyes.

My son sat in my arms, his head resting on my shoulder as he watched the men lowered the casket into the six foot deep hole they'd dug out for his mother. He didn't understand why everyone was so quiet, why everyone was so sad.

"Daddy?" He asked me softly.

"Yeah, Park?" I croaked.

"Where's Mommy? Is she still sleeping?"

"Yeah. She's still sleeping. That's it."

The casket was set at the bottom of the hole and they soon began to shovel the dirt back into the hole, filling it up.

Parker didn't realize that his mom wasn't going to wake up until about eight months after her death. I was surprised it took him that long. Upon discovering that I lied to him, he ran to his room and wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the night. It spilled onto the next day too, but he couldn't keep it up. He was a three year old on the verge of turning four. The silent treatment, no matter what the cause, was nearly impossible.

It got better as time passed, the two of us learning how to live on our own. I think the hardest part would be when Parker started going to school. Because it was either the teachers pitying him or his fellow students ostracizing him, especially when he was younger and in kindergarten. All kids would talk about then would be their parents, their mommies and daddies.

I couldn't tell you how many times he'd come home crying because he hated school, how the kids treated him, all because of something he had no control over. And the worst part was that there was nothing I could do. Sure, I could take him out of school, but what good would that do? It wasn't like I could homeschool him.

Do I think she thought what would happen to Parker and me when she slit her wrists? Probably not.

Do I think things would've turned out differently if she weren't to have died? Definitely.

Do I regret the decisions I'd made after she did what she did, or wish I did something differently? Sometimes.

But I keep trying to tell myself that before it gets better the darkness gets bigger. It's hard to believe that, though, when the darkness just keeps getting bigger...and bigger...and bigger...