Another Diary

December 141

I can still picture his face, with the twinkling eyes and loving smile. I can see it in my mind, clear as day, even though I haven’t seen as much as a snapshot of him in five years. Papa.2

I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. Gone. There one day, gone the next. Every time I think about it, my porcelain heart is shattered to pieces.3

I still remember that day as if it were yesterday. I remember my third grade teacher pulling me aside. I didn’t understand at first. Then it hit me. He was gone, and never coming back.4

I didn’t get over the shock for months. There are days like today when I don’t think I’ll ever be over it. Especially today; the fifth anniversary of my father’s death.5

We went to see his grave today. My fingertips brushed against the smoothly polished granite. Oh, Papa. Why did you have to leave us?6

The graveyard projects and eerie and mystic feeling. It is weird knowing that he is lying under the snow-frosted ground, his body cold and lifeless. It at least brightens my mood to think of him in heaven, dancing among the stars.7

December 158

Yesterday, mama didn’t come with us to Papa’s grave. She was going to Jacob Kramer’s party. I think she asked him to have a party just so she wouldn’t have to go to Papa’s grave.9

I don’t understand why Mama is trying so hard to forget Papa. She destroyed every picture he was in. I think it is her way of dealing with the pain.10

She has been “seeing” Mr. Kramer for a long time. It tears me apart that she wants to replace Papa. I don’t think she really loves Mr. Kramer. She just wants a replacement, so she can push Papa out of her mind forever.11

When I came home from school, Mama was sitting in Papa’s old wooden rocker, knitting a scarf. I asked her for a picture of Papa. Just a picture. All I wanted was to glance into his deep, loving eyes. I wanted to see his hair, a tangled mess, sticking up in all directions. It wasn’t an ugly mess, but a joyous and carefree mess. That was my Papa: joyous and carefree.12

Mama’s smiling, colorful face turned stiff and stone cold. She dropped her scarf, the ball of yarn unraveling loosely on the floor. She regained her composure, gave me a glare and stormed out of the house.13

I couldn’t help but wonder where she was going. I didn’t understand her, why she fought so hard to forget Papa when he used to be everything she lived for. I watched her walk down the driveway, her head high. There could only be one place she was going: Mr. Kramer’s house.14

I didn’t even understand what I was doing at first. I quickly pulled on my snow boots and puffy winter coat. Gathering up my courage, I listened to my heart and followed her.15

The bitter wind snapped playfully at my rosy cheeks. I longed to go back, to the warm house. I wanted to sit by the blazing, crackling fire. But deep down inside, I knew I had to do this. For Papa. For myself. There was this unexplainable longing to follow my mother, and I just had to follow that longing.16

Mama was strong. She was the kind of person that could walk away and never look back. Her chin was high as she briskly walked down Maple Street and onto West Main. She turned into a driveway. It said Kramer on the mailbox.17

I had to hide. I dived behind one of Mr. Kramer’s perfectly trimmed bushes. Through the branches, I could see a door open. Jacob Kramer, a normally stiff man, seemed at ease as he warmly welcomed Mama into his home. Mr. Kramer’s muscular arms opened into a wide embrace, and he held Mama tightly against his chest. When I peered out from behind the bush, I noticed something. They were kissing.18

My eyes felt like they were burning. I couldn’t believe I was watching this. Mom blows up at me, storms out of the house, and kisses Mr. Kramer. My stoned eyes turned to tears.19

“Oh Jacob, you are so wonderful. I haven’t felt this way since Phil,” Mama gushed when they broke their embrace. My jaw dropped. Phil was my Papa! How dare she use my father’s name lightly around Mr. Kramer when she wouldn’t even show me a picture of him. I was stunned. I wanted to scream at them, but my throat was too tight to speak. This man was replacing my Papa.20

I couldn’t control myself. I couldn’t help it. I got up from behind Mr. Kramer’s bush. My feet carried me towards where Mr. Kramer and my mom were giggling and flirting. I didn’t even know what I was doing. all I knew was that I wanted to make a difference.21

I was too angry and confused to speak. Suddenly my clenched fist was swinging towards Mr. Kramer’s horrified face at all due speed. My hand smacked against his face with a force I couldn’t explain the root of.22

Mom was horrified. She was shaking all over, and then whispered one word, “go.”23

I went. I went as fast as I could. Why had I done that? I was confused and angry. Tears started pouring out of my turgid hazel eyes. They cascaded down my rose colored cheeks. My feet pounded against the hard, cracked pavement, in time with the pounding of my heavy heart.24