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It is a beautiful June afternoon.
The sun is shining.
The birds are singing.
There are neighborhood kids playing hopscotch.
It is not the kind of day where anyone should have to cry.
But, here she stands,
Putting on her black dress, her black shoes, and her waterproof mascara.
She is compartmentalizing.
Car keys on the table, cell phone on the charger, daughter at the mortuary.
Sixteen is too young to die.
How does she say good-bye to the only good thing in her life?
Walk to the front door, open the door, walk outside, and lock the door behind her.
“Got to remember how to drive now,” she thinks.
Open the door; close the door, key in the ignition, car into drive.
Tears start.
Turn right here, turn left there, car in park.
“Can’t fall apart now”.
Walk in the funeral home, nod politely to the condolences, and look in the casket.
“Has to be a mistake, this can’t be happening”
Look at her daughter’s face, know it is for the last time, and walk to the bathroom.
“I can’t do this is”.
Take the gun out of her purse, put the barrel in her mouth, and pull the trigger.
