Flashing lights. Sirens wailing in the distance. Groups of people- children and adults alike rubbing their puffed eyes and whimpering aloud. I clutch my daughter tight against my leg, shutting my eyes tight to stop the waterfalls I know are coming. A single salty drop runs down my cheek. The difference of merely a second, and he would still be here. My father would be laughing in front of me, rather than lying in a shattered car soaked in blood. He would be here to tell me what to do, what to say to the people gathered around. Inhaling a deep breath, I approach my wife, who’s currently conversing with a police officer. I have to be strong.

Two weeks later.

I have to be strong. I have to be strong. I have- I have to-. I pace around our miniscule bathroom, sinking down on to the marble floor, holding my head in my hands. I try to resist as the liquid spills out of my eyes, breathing heavily. Nobody can know, I have to keep myself together for my family, for the kids, my wife. If it wasn’t for them I would have ended this pain long ago. This empty feeling, hopelessness, advancing through my body- why won’t it go away? My head is throbbing as I think of my father, how he was always capable of consoling me in problematic situations. Suddenly, the faint sound of his voice echos in my mind ‘are you coming too’? I shut my eyes tight, head resting against the wall behind me, flakes of paint chipping off onto my shoulders. I softly mutter to myself, I wish I could.

Each and every day I fake a smile to my wife, spend all the money I can’t afford to lose on the children. Each day becomes more of a struggle as I use every ounce of energy to drag myself out of bed in the morning- a place I would much rather stay throughout the day. Visuals flash through my mind of the fragments of glass stuck to my father, the scars my hands ran over on his stiffened body as I bathed it, the life and colour drained out of his face as I lay him in the ground to rest forever. I shake my head with a sniff, locking myself inside of my room most days so they don’t have to witness me in this state- one I am afraid will never leave. When I shut my eyes I can see his smile, I can see him surrounded by piles of books, reading for hours on end. Recently, when I close my eyes again and watch him as if he is still here with me, I can see him speaking to me. ‘Are you coming too’? The same recurring message, every time, never ceasing to bring me to tears.

I write him letters sometimes, leaving them on his grave at times I can gather enough courage to visit. Today is one of those days. I slowly walk through the emerald grass, brushing past weeping families, some grasping on to balloons, flowers, even candles, different prayers being whispered around me. There are many tombstones of different colours, each decorated differently. I sit by my father’s. I try to smile at the thought of being as close as I was to him, of being grateful I was lucky enough to end up with him at all. I’m not much of a writer, but I’ve found it is an effective way of expressing thoughts I can not say out loud. I place a letter on the soil, tracing over the writing with my thumb.

‘Are you coming too?’ I sigh. As soon as I can.

Two months later.

The sun slowly peeks out from amongst cotton clouds, its golden light glinting onto every house in the neighbourhood. Such a pleasant morning, yet I still feel hollow inside. I can’t complain, it has been so long people would be sick of it. My wife grunts towards me, slowly stepping out of bed. One of the few conversations we exchange on a daily basis. I can see how it disturbs the children at times, but there is not much I can do about it. This is my life now. My father would usually be downstairs, slowly strolling across the faded carpet, ready to gawk at the morning papers and sip on steaming hot tea. That was before. Before the wind itself flew through our house, howling loudly as if to alert us trouble was coming. I shake my head, reminding myself    I have to be strong.

I sit to work as per usual, feeling slightly more drained than the day before. ‘Are you coming too?’ Something suddenly rushes through my body, something unexplainable. I am shaking, my heart beating miles out of my chest, sweat trickling down my body. I can’t- I can’t breathe. The room is spinning, my breathing starting to become faster and more shallow the more I try to slow it down. I rush towards the window, throwing it open in hopes for some fresh air. I dizzily take a seat on the windowsill, attempting to calm myself down. I glance down at the road beneath me, the cars speeding by, trees dancing with the wind, people strolling by occasionally. The sound booms loudly once again, ‘Are you coming too?’

I’m coming.