2: ROSE

It's been two weeks since my mother's death was announced to my father through his phone and my emotions are still shut down. I know I can't actually shut my emotions down or turn my humanity off, like Elena Gilbert, but it feels as though I don't have any and that's the worst part.

Looking at this black dress hanging in my room for the funeral tomorrow is painful. No sixteen year old girl should be mourning the loss of her mother. That isn't something you do until you're in your thirties, normally. However, my thirties came early, and my mom was lost in hers.

"Are you ready?" My father asked me as I sighed at the dress hanging on my bedroom door.

"Is someone ever ready for something like this?"

"Sweetheart, I know it's difficult right now, but it'll get better. I promise."

"I know, but are you ever ready for losing your wife? I wasn't ready to lose my mother." I said, my voice cracking as badly as the wood on the floor when I walk on it.

After my voice cracked, I sobbed into my pillow on the left side of my bed. My father sat next to me and started to pat my left shoulder with his hand.

"Rose, your mother would not want you crying and mourning her loss. She would want you to celebrate the years of her life she had with you." My father said to me, grabbing my pillow from my purple circles around my eyes and tear-stained hands as he noticed the purple tear sacks from not sleeping for a couple days.

"Rose, sweetheart, this isn't normal, yes, but you need sleep. Staying up this much isn't healthy for you, and your mother wouldn't want it for you." My father said to me, as I sighed into the pillow.

He stood up off the bed and left the room, shutting the door behind me as I grieved my mother's loss. What happened to her is tragic and should never happen to any young woman. I don't even know how she died. I don't know if that softens or hardens the huge wound created in my heart. The wound gets bigger every single day, as I beg God to let me see her one more time.

I know that he won't let me. He said that she's already had her time and that it's time for her to go. God tells me that it's time for her to let go of the baggage and suffering she went through. I refuse to believe that. She had such a short life, it's as though you could count the days like the fingers on your hands.