Hope

I wake suddenly, sweat drips down my forehead and my breath is heavy. Opening my heavy eyes and I cast my eyes around the room I’m currently in, taking in my surroundings. ’You’re safe’, I constantly tell myself as my eyes spot the familiar light blue colour of my bedroom and the surrounding off-white furniture.

This is an almost daily occurrence since the accident. My insomnia only getting worse, whenever I manage to get some sleep, I see her, only her. I can’t shake the image out of my head, it’s beginning to haunt me. That day changed my life, I went from being a normal 17-year-old girl to one who is broken from witnessing her own mother’s death.

Today is the day we say goodbye, the day I say goodbye to one of the most important people in my life. The past few weeks have been an absolute nightmare. Dad is trying to stay strong for us, but I can see that he’s beginning to crumble. Each night I see him crying himself to sleep looking at their wedding photos. Every morning, I pretend to not have seen him, he wants to seem strong for the boys.

I roll over and check my phone, it’s already 9am, the mass is at 11am. My phone has been flooded with texts ever since it happened. They all say practically the same thing, the generic responses that people use when such a tragedy occurs such as “Thinking of you” or “Sorry for your loss”. Then I see the texts from the two people who have been there for me every day since; Noah and Becky, my two best friends. I’ve met them in freshman year and we’ve been inseparable since. It’s become a habit of theirs to send me “good morning” texts as an attempt to cheer me up. Even if it just lasts a second, a small smile lights up my face whenever I see these messages.

I finish my daily scroll through social media, I hesitantly leave the comfort of my double bed and walk towards my wardrobe.

I don’t usually get dressed up, but I know how much she loved when I did.

Today I am wearing her favourite dress of mine. We bought it for my 16th birthday party, she insisted I wore a dress and I did despite hating every second of it. I guess I didn't want to disappoint her even over something so small. I'll never forget the smile that covered her face when I came out of the changing room wearing this black dress, she immediately cried claiming I looked so grown up.

I leave my room and go down the hall to wake my little brothers; Jack and Chris. I gently knock on the door and enter the small blue room. Chris is still asleep, but Jack is awake, I can hear him quietly sobbing while clutching his old teddy bear. I go to sit beside him on his bed when suddenly his arms wrap around my back of my neck and he pulls me into a tight hug. He cries into my shoulder while I draw circles on his back with my fingers to comfort him.

After a few minutes in the embrace, his grip loosens, and he releases me from the hug. I can see his dark brown eyes are puffy from crying. “Come on Jack, it’s time to start getting ready to go” I inform him. Slowly, he rises from the bed and exits the room, leaving me to wake Chris.

I move over to Chris and nudge his shoulder to get him to wake up. He mumbles something under his breath and opens his eyes. “Hey Chris, it’s time to get ready” I explain while moving his dark brown hair out of his eyes. He hops out of bed and we both head to the wardrobe to get his black jeans and black short-sleeved shirt.

Unlike Jack, Chris doesn’t understand the severity of today, all he knows is that he misses his mommy and that he doesn’t know why she left him.

When our mother passed away, I took the responsibility of explaining it to Chris. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Since he’s only four he doesn’t understand what death is and just how permanent it is, he’s still waiting for mommy to come home, tuck him in and read him a bedtime story. Jack is eight, causing him to have more of an understanding of death, what he found hard to grasp was why it was his mother that died even though she was young and healthy. That conversation was one filled with tears and shouting asking why her.

There was no way I was ever going to try to explain that her death wasn’t an accident, that she was murdered.

I help Chris get dressed and while I’m brushing his hair Jack re-enters the room now wearing black suit trousers, a white shirt and a black tie. Once we’re all ready to go I grab my phone and bag before heading downstairs. Breakfast is quick and quiet except for Chris’s debate about whether the chicken came before the egg. My Dad and I try to entertain the young boy’s questions but today it’s proving difficult.

I look over to my Dad, he’s wearing the suit he has reserved for ‘special events’ such as weddings or in today’s case, funerals. He doesn’t look as put together as he was the last time I saw him in the expensive black suit. His black tie isn’t secure, it hangs loosely around his neck, his short black hair is messy and not parted to one side as usual. But the biggest difference in his appearance is that his usually bright brown eyes don’t have the same glow to them, instead they are intense and red from all the crying he has done out of our view.

As soon as we’re all finished eating, we exit the house. I say house as since her death it doesn’t seem much like a home anymore. After school, we’re no longer greeted by my mother and her smile that would light up a room. My Dad doesn’t come home to his wife looking at him with love in her eyes that shines through. Now we are greeted by a house that feels lonely, and by a house that was the location of the most tragic event seen in Blackgrove for some time. Once we all make our way down the small pebbled driveway we get into dad’s black BMW and start the short drive to the church.

The drive to the church was quiet. We didn’t feel the need to comfort each other with words, we simply took comfort in each-others presence when we needed it the most. We park just to the left of the church and we slowly leave the car and walk towards the dark grey stone building.

As we enter the old-fashioned church we are greeted with comforting glances and people expressing their sympathy.

Eventually, we make our way up the aisle and to our seats. Before the mass starts well-wishers continue to come up to us and express their condolences.

By the time the service begins the church is black with people, the vast amount of people present truly shows how loved and respected my mother was within the community. I still can’t even begin to comprehend why someone would want to hurt such a kind and generous person. My mind begins to drift as I start to wonder how I will express my sorrow in the right way. I volunteered to deliver the eulogy as I didn’t want my Dad to have to face all the community of Blackgrove and speak of his lost love.

My Mom was a lover of the English language, from a young age she encouraged me to read books upon books and to write my thoughts. She was an avid writer and a talented one at that and I seemed to have inherited that certain talent of hers. She used to say I have a way with words, that I could make a trip to the shop sound like an action-packed movie!

I am snapped out of my thoughts when I hear the priest say, “Now Grace’s daughter, Hope, will say some words about her mother.” I begin to make my way up to the microphone. As I walk, I pass the enlarged picture of her from one of her more recent days as a police officer at Blackgrove PD. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a long ponytail and her brown eyes were sparkling, the corners of her mouth formed her signature smile and she looked as happy as could be. She truly is one of the most beautiful people I have ever seen.

When I reach the podium, which holds the microphone, I am taken-aback by how many people are here. “I would like to thank you all for coming today, I know that all of your support and kind words means so much to my family and would mean so much to my mother,” I begin, I fight back the tears threatening to escape.

I need to be strong.

“My relationship with my Mom was never normal, we had so much more than a typical mother-daughter, we were best friends.”

Every word that I say makes staying strong so much harder. I look out to the crowd and my nerves disappear when I see Becky shoot me a supporting smile.

“She was the best friend that every girl searched for, we are all lucky to be able to say that we knew such an incredible woman. She truly is and forever will be my hero.” The tears begin to roll down my cheeks and fall onto my makeshift notes.

“August 8th was the hardest day of my life, in just one moment my siblings and I lost a parent, my grandparents lost a daughter and my father lost the love of his life. That moment changed all our lives, but more importantly my mother changed all our lives for the better and that is something I will cherish forever. I hope that one-day words will be able to describe how truly amazing she was.” I thank everyone once again for their support.

As I return to my seat I spot Noah out of the corner of my eye, his usually strong demeanor has disappeared. He is currently crying while Becky comforts him. Noah was very close with my mother. He saw her as a second mother as his father had been sick and in and out of his hospital for most of his life, his mother often staying there with him. They had her as the motherly presence that they were lacking most days. She was always there to support him, Becky and the rest of their family through the tough times.

We spend a few minutes before the end of the ceremony sharing memories of her between family and friends. Funny stories from her college days were told by her childhood friend Lucy, while her brother, Dylan, told us of some embarrassing moments when she was growing up. My father then spoke of when he realized that he was in love with her, this brought all the attendees to tears.

Only few of the attendees of the funeral know that I was the one who found her, that I was with her when she took her last breath and when she said her last words.

The final hymn is sung, and Dad gets up to carry the coffin along with my two uncles and Mom’s fellow police officers. As the coffin is carried down the aisle, Chris and Jack held my hands and I hear Chris whisper “Bye-bye mommy.”

We leave the church and begin to walk at a snail’s pace behind the hearse through Blackgrove. The shops look barren as all the local shop owners are present today paying their respects leaving their businesses closed. As we walk Chris clings onto my hand as he is struggling to keep up with his little legs, seeing his apparent struggle I bend down and pick up the four-year old. I place him on my hip and continue walking with my fellow mourners.

We reach the graveyard twenty minutes later, and I see the freshly-dug grave which my mother’s resting place will soon be. A single tear rolls down my cheek, but I am then distracted by Noah’s deep voice, “Hey Hope. Do you want me to take the little guy off you for a while?” He says while gesturing to a now fast asleep Chris.

I’m grateful for the offer as holding Chris is beginning to put a strain on my shoulder. “Thanks Noah, that would be great” I answer as he takes the sleeping boy off me, being careful not to wake him. Noah’s mouth curves into a smile as Chris cuddles into his broad shoulder.

Noah has been a really big help these past few weeks, especially with Chris and Jack. He’s played football and brought them out for ice-cream on countless occasions to allow myself and Dad to get some much-needed rest. The priest announces that the burial and prayer service will begin, I give Noah a quick hug and thank him again.

I leave Noah and the sleeping Chris to walk over towards Dad and my two uncles; Dylan and Ryan. Both were extremely close with my mother. They are the typical brothers, Dylan is the extremely protective older brother while Ryan is the extremely annoying younger brother. Mom used to always tell me stories of their legendary battles during their childhood. Even though they weren’t the closest throughout childhood, the three of them became inseparable after they reunited after Ryan’s near life-threatening accident in 2007. Since then we spent every Christmas together, Dylan would come down from New Jersey with his girlfriend Michelle and his 12-year old daughter, Chloe and Ryan would come over if had time off work. Ryan was a talented medic and served in three tours. He was retired from the military a couple of years ago after he got injured in combat. After the end of his career in the military he moved to Blackgrove and soon became a doctor at Blackgrove General Hospital.

As the burial begins, someone grabs my hand beside me, I turn my head curious as to who it is. I’m then greeted with the piercing blue eyes Becky. We almost look like twins as she is also in a long sleeved black dress with her brown hair pulled out of her face. She gives my hand a quick squeeze of support as we listen to the various prayers and memories being shared.

At the end of the prayer service we continued to the hardest piece of the service, the burial. In a few minutes, my mother would be put in her grave and this would give us all closure? Right? No, that wasn’t what a craved to get closure and to finally let go and accept that my mother was in a better place. What I needed was to find the psycho who did this, who broke mine and all my family’s hearts, who killed her.

They begin to lower her wooden coffin into the ground and this was what it took for my father to let go of his strong facade, he falls to the ground in a fit of hysteria. Becky releases my hand and I run to my dad’s side. I hug him and we both cry and cry until there are no tears left.