cherry (h.s)

thirty four

Harry Styles

2 Years Ago...

I stood with my hands folded in front of me, dressed up in a black suit, watching numbly as the white casket was slowly lowered down into the ground.

There were other people here, most of them I had only seen once before in my life...others I hadn't seen at all.

These people had expressed their condolences to me the moment they started arriving.

Funny how everyone actually starts caring once you're dead.

I loved my dad. I genuinely did. And if I was normal I'd probably be breaking down as I watch him being buried.

But twenty minutes ago I was in the church bathroom, swallowing a handful of his pills that he will never take again.

So I'm too high to feel anything right now.

And tonight I plan on finishing the bottle, taking a lethal amount.

Because I just don't see the point anymore.

The moment I found my dad unconscious is still haunting me. All I was doing was bringing his breakfast up to his room. I remember dropping the plate to the ground and desperately pleading for him to wake up.

Then, not even an hour later, at the hospital, he was pronounced dead. Gone within what felt like seconds.

Now this is the last time I'll see him, as the metal encasing his lifeless body enters the dirt underground.

I thought he was getting better. He was showing signs of recovery.

Yet the cancer still had completely took over his body and he's fucking gone. And I'm alone.

Once my father was completely buried underground, people started leaving the grave.

Going home. Going on with their lives.

While I'm supposed to go on without both of my parents and a little bit of money.

I hang my head in hopelessness.

I felt like I let him down.

Like there was something more I could've done to just keep him around a little bit longer.

I rub my hands over my face, lacing them into my hair and brushing it away from my forehead with my fingers.

It's getting cold, but I don't want to leave.

Wind started blowing through the dead trees, leaves falling from the branches and at my feet.

There were roses at my fathers freshly made grave, and the wind was starting to pick up. I look at a tree bed a few meters from me and crouch go pick up some stones.

I grab a handful and place them on the stems of the roses so they didn't blow away, keeping them pinned on the dirt next to his headstone.

I remain crouched down in front of the headstone, tilting my head up as I read the engraved words.

"Clarke Styles, a loving father and husband.
1970-2018"

Gone but never forgotten.

"I miss you alre-"

I'm cut off by a sudden grip on my shoulder.  A hand.