Diary of a Lunatic: The One in the Casket

December 24th, 20051

The house was as silent as my mother at my father's funeral yesterday. My brother hadn't spoken a word since news of the car accident. My sister didn't smile anymore. Her boyfriend couldn't make her laugh anymore. The house smelled of tragedy and that was enough vapor to slash wrists to. My father and I were never really close. But he was still my father. I loved him. I hope he loved me. I was just never daddy's little girl. 2

I sat on my bed, between flannel sheets, and thought about the way he died. I wondered if it was quick and painless. I wondered if he suffered. I wondered about how much he bled. I know that wasn't something I should have been thinking about but I couldn't help it. I wondered if anyone else in my family was thinking the same thing.3

My brother came into my room and slumped into a chair. His eyes were bloodshot red from crying. He missed him terribly. 4

"Dad loved you so much," I said, hoping to comfort him.5

"He loved you, too," my brother stated in a deafening whisper, trying to hold back tears. I forced a smile all the while wishing I was never born. Wishing none of us were. So that none of us had to go through this pain.6

The day went on in utter silence. Everyone felt that if a word was spoken, we would all burst into tears. The funeral was on our mind the whole time, as if our life was destined to be a funeral service until we are the one in the casket.7