The rose in my hand was fresh red in colour, bright and standing out amongst the black I see all around me. I slowly turned the stalk, examining it yet not really registering. It looked so fresh, so alive right then in my pale hand, I thought it was pretty ironic that I was throwing it down to join him later. I cringed slightly at the thought of him. It didn't hurt that much anymore, at least compared to the past few months of watching him on the hospital bed, especially compared to the past few days. A suddenly itch of panic erupted in my chest. I wasn't starting to forget him already, was I? Automatically, my mind rushed to recollect my most precious memories with him, the past few months with him…. And the pain came back again.
Ah. I felt relieved even as I stood there, hurting silently. I was glad to feel that invisible yet all-so-familiar pain, that meant that I haven't forgetting him yet. I am so afraid to, afraid that I would choose to lose him in my memory forever for my selfish needs of relieving the pain. The headstone is carved with `in loving memory' and in my loving memory he shall live in forever. Otherwise, he would be truly lost to me, forever.
I looked around me and I wondered how many would remember him. All around me, they stood clad in black. Some were crying, some had emotionless faces that I couldn't read, some of the kids looked bored. I looked down where my little sister stood. Luna was seven. She stared unblinkingly at where he laid, grasping the rose stalk in a small hand. The pain intensified when I looked at her, so I quickly shifted my gaze. My mother had her eyes closed, her eyelashes glittering whenever the tears caught the sunlight. The look of grief on her pale face was heartbreaking, I could not stand watching her either.
I turned my attention back to the rose that I was still twirling in my hands, just as the priest finished. Slowly one-by-one, we stepped forward to drop our roses in. I held back, somewhat unwilling to let go of the rose for some unknown reason. I twirled it a bit more as people blurred past me. It was quiet affair. So when some of the strangers I did not recognize started whispering, I could hear them pretty clearly.
"How are they going to survive? She is so weak now, I doubt she can work."
I raised my head. Were they talking about my family? More specifically, my mother?
"He was the sole breadwinner. She doesn't have much choices, she still has the 2 girls to feed."
Of course they were talking about us, I realized with a tinge of annoyance. Who else could they be talking about today?
"They have no one else to rely on."
Those words had an impact on me. I realized that I was so immersed in my grief that I did not think of what was ahead of us. I realized that I have always relied on him; I've always expected him to provide for us. Even though he had been gone, I never thought so far as to how we would live… something that he no longer was going to do. I suddenly had a sensation of being rapped hard on the head and I remembered what he told me.
You take good care of them, all right? I know you can do it, `Mione. Be my big girl, and look out for them all right? It's a promise?
What could I do? I promised him, at his bedside a day before he left. We even did the special handshake we invented when I was 10, which took so much effort out of him just to do it then. He made the effort to do the handshake with me one last time, and I should make the effort to uphold my promise too. I had to take care of my family. I was the big girl in the family, his big girl. We didn't have anyone else? True. My mother was too ill to work? True. Luna is too young and she still has to go to school. True. I realized then what I had to do. The future was truly tough as those strangers had said. My father predicted it and made sure I would take care of the family.
I was the last one left. I walked till I was at the edge, grasping the rose stalk tightly. Looking down at brown wooden and the scattered roses, I felt cold and clammy. Everything felt so surreal. Just to be sure, a little voice said in my head. I purposefully pricked my finger, a final test for see if it was all so real. A small jolt in my finger confirmed that nightmares can never be that real and it finally jolted my senses back to life, which had been numb ever since that night my mother told me the news.
Goodbye, Dad.
I guess this was what those brochures in the hospital called `acceptance' and `moving forward'. Except I wasn't doing this out of choice. I am forced to accept it, forced to move forward. For the sake of Mom, Luna, and my promise to Dad, I have to look forward.
Daddy, help me. From wherever you are.
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