When Dad left, the sun was shining brightly. It didn’t seem right, that Mother Nature would be so heartless as to mock our pain with the brightness of the day. A life cut short, far too soon for our taste. He had things left to do. It should have been gray and storming. The sky should have wept.
Mom died on a Tuesday, passed away peacefully in her sleep. She hadn’t been the same since Dad had died, five years before. I think she just gave up. It’s better this way. She wasn’t living, just existing. The sky was overcast, but still, it was dry when we buried her next to her husband. Another passing the Powers That Be didn’t see fit to mourn. I hope they’re together again, that they’re happy wherever they are.
When he left me, I cried. What is it about me that makes everyone I care about, leave? And why is it that the weather always mocks me? Again, the sun was shining and not a cloud was in the sky when my world shattered. It’s like some cruel, cosmic joke. She’s broken again; let’s dig in the wound a little more. Bite me.
I’ve tried to go on, but really, what’s the point? Everything and everyone I touch breaks or leaves. What’s left for me? Why should I continue to pull myself together only to be slapped down again?
I watched when they laid my body in the ground. He was there, and he cried. He said things to my empty shell that he never had the guts or the time to tell me when I was there. I still love him, but it’s too late and I’m much better off where I am now.
You know what’s really funny, though? The day I was buried, the sky wept.