My dad’s funeral was the worst day of my life. Worse by far than my accident and hospital stay. The pain of his loss was unbearable. When my doctor asked me if I wanted Valium to get me through the day I didn’t hesitate. “Yes please,” I said “how many can I take before I sink into a coma?” She looked at me with concern. “I’m only going to give you two, and I want to see you back here next week,” she said.
My mum put on a brave face as we stood by the graveside, but she didn’t know what I knew. She hadn’t seen the awful black shadow hovering outside my window. Why did the Dark Angel linger? Why did she torture me? If she wanted to take my life, let her take it. I didn’t want to see anyone else die.
Does it always rain at funerals? It was miserable, but the raindrops hid my tears.
My brother put his arm around me. “Come on, be brave. He wasn’t a well man. This was his third stroke. We knew this might happen eventually.”
“I never got chance to say goodbye.” I said. My brother hugged me tight. “Say goodbye now, I’m sure he’s watching.”
“Bye Dad, I love you.” I said and looked to the sky. The clouds were dark and ominous. I looked away. My grief tainted my vision and made me imagine things that weren’t really there, or so I hoped.
The short stories I post on my blog are writing exercises for me. Dead of July, my first novel is available on Amazon. I’m currently working on a compilation of short stories and then I will write a much requested sequel to Dead of July.