I fell so far no one could bring me back.
I ran so fast no one could catch me.
I jumped so high I was never going to come down.
I tried to get away from everyone. I built up the walls I thought no one could break through.
I didn't want them to know what was going on. I didn't want them to know how I felt.
I was alone.
I didn't want anyone to pick me up. I didn't want anyone to chase me.
I didn't want anyone to try and jump as high as I had, because I didn't want to come down.
But gravity took a hold of me. Pulled me down, hard. And I hit everything on the way down. Until I grabbed the edge and held on.
My favourite author John Green said: "That's the thing about pain, it demands to be felt."
I felt the pain. It coursed through me like my blood. I just didn't want anyone else to see the pain I felt.
But they came anyways. Like a swarm of ants to a crumb.
They told me it was going to be okay. That the pain I was feeling would one day go away.
But it won't. It's a scar that will never stop aching. It's not going to be okay.
I want to go back. To the way it was. When I didn't have to hide the pain, because there wasn't any.
The walls I've built are starting to crumble. I'm watching the bricks disappear.
I can't hold on much longer. I was going to fall off the edge. And when I land I won't be able to get up again.
People tell me to say how I feel. But I don't need them. I can do this alone. I can fight the pain by myself.
I would do anything to end the pain. Even if that means to end myself.
But maybe the real answer is one that I don't want to accept.
Maybe the real answer, is to let go.

      *******

I readjusted my dress on my legs and pulled on the long black sleeves. I was sweating. It wasn't even my dress. My aunt found it for me. She had placed it on my desk in my room while I had been lying in bed staring at the ceiling. She had tried to talk to me, but I ignored her. I ignored everyone. Except when it was time to go to the funeral.
I needed to go for my dad. My dad died in a car crash. That car crash ripped my life apart. My dad was a single parent. I never met my mom. Now I don't have anybody.
I think I will be forced into living with my dad's brother and his wife. She's the one that has been trying to help me. No one can help me.
My aunt had asked me to speak about my dad at the funeral.
"You have a way with words, Cameron." She told me the afternoon she gave me the dress. "You'll speak for your father, won't you?"
I didn't respond. But I wrote a eulogy to my father. I read it aloud in my bedroom before the funeral, hoping he would hear the soft words I spoke of him. How caring he was, and funny, and always smiling.
The pastor was talking about how my father was in a better place. I squirmed, why couldn't he be with me?
My cousin poked me between the rips. She was 17, and as I was only 14 she seemed to think she had every right to boss me around. "Can't you sit still? This is important, have some respect."
I scowled. She barely knew my father. But then again she was right. My dad deserved all the respect.
I still couldn't quite understand it all though. Why would God take my dad to heaven? Wasn't earth and me and our life good enough for him? The black pickup truck could have hit any other vehicle. If my dad had taken one extra second to put on his seatbelt, things could have been different. Why didn't God spare my dad? Why didn't God give him one extra second? just one extra second.
They were standing. Singing a song I didn't know. Something about 'thy faithfulness'. I started to replay. The memories, one by one.
I was sitting on the old wooden teeter totter. My dad jumped on the other end and I flew into the air. When he got off I came crashing down. I held on with all my might to the wooden handle.
Next memory. Standing in the kitchen my dad with tweezers pulling a splinter out of my thumb.
Then we were by the stoves making pancakes. Batter was all over the counter, dripping down the side of the cupboards. He was trying to make a pancake the shape of a heart. For me, he said.
Throwing a baseball at the park.
Camping in a tent in our backyard.
Ice skating on the lake.
What we said every night:
Him: I love you.
Me: I love you more.
Him: I love you mostest.
Thy Faithfulness ended. My aunt walked to the front of the church. "And now Phill's lovely daughter, Cameron will be speaking a few short words on his life."The words slipped through me. I already had spoken of my dad's life. To him, only he heard me. But that was all that was needed. Only he needed to hear. My aunt stared at me. I shook my head. These people didn't need to know. They wouldn't care if they heard memories of my dad or not. I shook my head again. "It seems the grief is a little too much. We won't make Cameron go through anymore."
Go through anymore? Go through anymore? Every day for the rest of my life I would be 'going through'. Trying to survive the pain.
But the service was over. My aunt and uncle were taking me to my home. All my family came too. They flooded the hallways, packed the living room. They passed me with sad expressions on their faces. Some tried to say kind words. But I didn't want to stick around the bustle of people, I wanted to ignore all of them. I made my way to the rec. room in the basement. No one was down there except for my Grandpa. He sat on the lumpy couch, staring off into space. I sat down beside him.
"Hey sweet pea." He whispered when he noticed me.
"Hey Grandpa." I could ignore everyone else, but I couldn't ignore my own grandfather.
He got right to the point, didn't try to make small talk. But he didn't say the usual 'I grieve for you' or 'it's going to be alright' either. Instead he said. "You know what my mom always told me?" I shrugged my shoulders. "We all experience hurt. The real factor is how we deal with it. You are to young to have all this pain built up inside of you. One day it's all going to explode out of you."
"What should I do then, Grandpa?"
"Maybe it's time to move on. That doesn't mean that you're going to stop missing your dad, it just means that you need to let go."A single tear ran down my cheek and into my lap. "I know, I know." My grandpa said and he wrapped his arms around me. I realized I wasn't the only one with the pain and nothing would be solved if I held it in myself. So I hugged my Grandpa, and I let go.