How many of you have both parents in your life?
For the summer after my freshmen year in high school...I lost one of mine. The balance was thrown off, and my world became like a top, who was once spinning perfectly, was starting to wobble as it came to an end. A family consists of a mother and a father. That's how it is supposed to be. A child cannot be well-rounded without both for that is what I believed.
I grew up that summer. We all did. Life changed that day.
I wasn't that little girl who could only wear two braids to school...but the little girl who had to somehow cope with the death of her father. I had to somehow figure out how to still be a daughter while becoming a father figure to her little brother. I had to somehow figure out how to still be a daughter while being my mother's backbone until she finished grieving. I had to figure it out. That was what was expected of me.
I picked the cemetery.
I picked the grave site.
I designed the headstone.
I made the programs for the funeral.
I picked the bible readings.
At what moment did I have the time to grieve? When did I have time to cry over my deceased father?
I was 16, and I didn't cry. Not at the funeral. Not when they put him 6 feet under. I just didn't cry.
I was the spinning top that was starting to lose momentum.