She Is Everywhere

You stood at that bed for hours, watching her take her shallow breaths that shook her entire body. Your stepfather would later refer to the sound she made as a “death rattle.” You couldn’t keep in your tears as you came face to face with her hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, and gray skin. You were told that she wasn’t in pain, but her constant moaning and groaning said otherwise. You wanted to go home, you couldn’t stand to look at her anymore. You wanted her to come back, and be who she used to be only a few months prior. She would never be that person again. You would ever see her smile again. Two days later, she died.

You can’t cry. You see the disarray that your family is in. You see how much your parents are struggling with this. You can’t add on. You make dinner everyday. You go to work. You go to auditions. You stay under the radar. You barely speak because you can feel the rock in your throat when you open your mouth. You look in the mirror and hate what you see. You want to cut your hair off, because it’s filled with tangles and split ends. You want to dye your hair, because it’s been the same for a year. You stop putting effort into your appearance, because what does it matter if people think you’re pretty?

You stand in front of the mirror while clutching a pair of dull scissors, tears falling down your face, burning your skin. You grab a clump of hair and saw the scissors through it, watching the red strands fall from your fingers into the sink drain. You turn the water on and shove the hair down the drain, clogging the pipes. But you feel different. You feel better, but it’s not enough. You hear steps come through the front door, so you quickly put the scissors away and leave the room, cleaning your face of tears. It’s time to continue taking care of your entire family.

Months pass and you’re all doing better. You head down to Bandon, Oregon by yourself to her memorial. You become hypnotized by the passing cars and trees zooming past the windows. Your hands go limp on the steering wheel as you feel nothing but sadness and longing. Because you know that when you open the door, you will see everyone in your family. Everyone but her.

Her ashes were placed by a rock during low tide, so that she would be carried off by the waves. You walk down to the beach with your family after you bring yourself to leave the house. You walk with your mother, sisters, uncle, and cousin. Your uncle points out the rock and explains the death to his three year old son.

“We put grandma’s ashes right there at that rock so that when the tide came in, she would be taken away by the waves. Now, she is everywhere.”

You feel your heart jump into your throat as you hear him say that. For the first time in months, you realize that she isn’t gone. She will always be here. She is everywhere.