Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Three days ago, we held the funeral. Mom’s sister, Aunt Trish, flew in from California and there were friends and work colleagues who drove up from Chicago. Employees from Hawthorne Industries also attended, paying their last respects. Everly showed up with her father. I hadn’t realized he was the New York lawyer Dad hired. I suppose I should have put two and two together. It meant a lot to see everyone celebrate Dad’s life. We reminisced and told funny stories that made me smile through the tears.
It was only after the service that I noticed Kingsley and Keaton in attendance. The idea that either were at the church to offer condolences felt like a slap in the face. It took all of my effort to keep Austin from losing his shit. Thankfully, they left as quietly as they’d crept in.
The time that has unfolded since is a blur. Each new day feels like a formidable mountain that needs to be scaled. It hasn’t even been a week and already I’m exhausted. I have no idea how we’re supposed to carry on. How do we pick up the shattered pieces and continue without Dad?
Life has become a thorny mess with more questions than there are answers. There is no longer anyone to go to with our concerns. Mentally, Mom has checked out. Once the shock of Dad’s death wore off at the hospital, she started sobbing and couldn’t stop. How do you reach someone steeped so deeply in grief? In desperation, we called the emergency room doctor from the hospital and he prescribed something to help calm her nerves. Instead of weeping continuously, she now sleeps like the dead.
There are times when she’s so groggy, she doesn’t remember that Dad is gone. Having to explain what happened all over again is gut-wrenching. Since she was in no frame of mind to plan the funeral, Aunt Trish helped. Mom sat as still as a statue in the first pew of the church and didn’t interact with anyone.
Austin returned to school two days after Dad died, but I haven’t been back since.
How can I leave Mom alone?
At this point, she’s barely functioning. It’s a scary sight to behold. The only reason she’s eating is because meals are brought to her bedroom. Half the time, they go untouched.
It’s the chiming of the doorbell that knocks me out of my turbulent thoughts. With a quick puff of air, I haul myself from the bed before glancing at the clock on the nightstand. It’s only four in the afternoon. Austin is still at football practice, and there’s no way Mom will leave her room to answer the door.
I wrap my hoodie around my body as I pad into the hallway and down the sweeping staircase to the foyer. It’s early October and there’s a definite chill to the air. I have no idea if Mom has turned on the heat for the house. I should probably check.
From the moment Austin and I were born, Mom has taken care of us and now she can barely fend for herself. That knowledge leaves me feeling lost and adrift. Without Dad, and Mom knocked out of commission, there is no one to count on. No one to turn to for help. The enormousness of our lives has now fallen on me.
And the weight of it is crushing.
Aunt Trish offered to return for a couple of weeks, but she wasn’t able to take the time off from work after the funeral. Plus, she has three kids of her own who are in elementary and middle school. It’s not like she can leave them alone for weeks on end. They need their mother, too. And she lives in California, which is practically across the country. Since Hawthorne isn’t exactly a bustling metropolitan, the closest airport is hours away. It only makes the logistics more complicated.
As the bell peals for a second time, I pull open the door only to find a strange man standing on the other side of the threshold. “Can I help you?”
Since Dad died, there have been a slew of flower deliveries. That assumption is blown out of the water when I realize he’s not holding a vase full of fresh blooms or a plant.
“Good afternoon,” he says cordially, “I’m looking for Eloise Hawthorne.”
The guy is dressed in a suit and holds a manilla envelope in his hand. I don’t recognize him, but it’s possible he’s from Hawthorne Industries and is here dropping off paperwork. Dad might be gone, but the company, unfortunately, continues on. It’s just another thing I’ll have to deal with.
I hug the door a little closer to my body. “She’s not available right now.”
“That’s a problem. I have documents that need to be hand delivered and signed for.” Along with the packet, he holds a small electronic device.