Dates

April 23rd, 2010.
1 word. 1 or 2 numbers. 4 numbers.
It’s just a date. But a date can come with so many meanings.

February 27th 1995. The day I was born.
December 1st, 1987. The day my brother was born.
August 4th 1995. The day my best friend was born.
March 24th, 1958. The day my father was born
September 8th 1963. The day my mother was born.
February 8th, 2008. The day my life was changed. The day my mother passed away.
May 21st, 2008. The day I first attempted suicide and failed.
March 20th, 2010. The day I yet again attempted suicide. And failed again.
April 12th, 2010. The day I thought I was going to die.

April 12th, 2010.
My lungs hurt. My heart hurt. My head hurt. Everything hurt. Excedrin could pull the headache away, and make that feel better. The inhaler may have tried to help my lungs but it didn’t, and it made my heart feel worse. My breathing was slowly and surely being cut off. I was being drowned in oxygen. Drowned in unhappiness. Drugged in depression.
The sun was shining. People were raking lawns, mowing lawns and letting bright white happy smiles flood their pale white faces. Letting the spring rays catch up to their winter white skin. Taking a bud or a diet coke out of the fridge and going outside to sit in their plastic patios or lawn chairs. The smell of summer love in the air and the scent of fresh cut grass surrounded the high school and middle school. In movies and in books usually during or before the persons death, there is rain, thunder, and lightning. Usually people are walking around in black trench coats, making the world a more duller place to live. The only pop of color you would see in red or blue umbrellas or the yellow rainboots of little kids pulled over there jeans, turning the bright yellow into a brown because of all the mud. You see people walking into churches and you see unhappy faces. The day I thought I would truly die was the complete opposite.

February 8th, 2008.
“Can I please Dad? It’s just one night! They have clothes I can borrow! Come on, please!?” “No, we have something to discuss.” I hate hearing someone say that now’in’days. As her Dad drove me home and I walked up the stairs of my deck and stepped inside, all of the lights were off. My brothers truck was in the yard so I knew Kristina and Nick were there. I started galloping towards my bedroom but my Dad stopped me. “Sit down.” I grabbed the computer chair and pulled it to him and he said “No. Sit on the couch.” I flopped my butt onto the arm of the chair. Seeing my brother and Kristina wrapped up in a blanket and my dad sitting in the one person chair. He pulled himself closer to me and spoke the words I never want to remember. “This morning, mom passed away.” His voice didn’t really choke. I just stared at the wall. I didn’t know. My head wasn’t thinking. I was wondering if it was all a dream and I wasn’t quite sure. I curled up with my brother and cried. And it didn’t feel real. It felt like a dream. By the time I had to go to bed came around I went and laid down and my dad brought in the stuffed animal I had let her borrow and all I could still smell her. I missed it. I miss it.

Every day that goes by I ask why you left. Why did YOU have to go. Why. Why. Why. Is my only question. Why.