a second, I regret what I’ve done, but I push my thoughts to the side because I’m just consoling her. Nothing about that kiss felt intimate, I tell myself. Even as I think the words though, I don’t believe them.
“Why?” Her voice breaks again. “She was a good person. The best. Why her?”
Hearing this question destroys me because it’s one I’ve asked a million times over the past two months. Having gone through this once before, I came to the conclusion a little quicker this time, but it’s just as difficult nonetheless. The conclusion that life is hard and dark and sometimes it fucking sucks.
That sometimes living is harder than dying.
But Stassi is eighteen and I refuse to contribute to her having such a morose outlook on the world. She has so much life to live and I want her to thrive in spite of this tragedy. I want her to live for both herself and the woman that can’t any longer. So, I say the most positive thing I can think of in the moment.
“You know I’m not very religious, Stass, but your Mom would say because it was her time. Because God was ready for her.”
Her cheek is pressed against my chest as her sobs begin to quiet, but I don’t stop rubbing her back. “Do you really believe that? Or are you just bullshitting me?”
“Okay, here it is in my words. I don’t know why the universe decided it was her time, but from the beginning, we are taught that tomorrow isn’t promised, for any of us. You have to live, Stassi. Every day to the fullest. I want you to mourn, of course, because your heart will hurt for a while. You almost won’t feel like yourself. Death is hard. But…that’s life. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned is that it goes on. You will go on. And, sure, there will be fleeting moments where the feelings of missing her will overwhelm you, but those feelings will go just as quickly as they come. You’ll heal, Stassia. You’ll find strength in the people you love and the people that love you. You’ll find strength in your passions and your dreams. You can’t use this as an excuse to not be happy. To not, live.”
She pulls back slightly and looks up at me as fresh tears stream down her face. “Wow. That was really…powerful.”
“I know a thing or two about grief and I’ve got one hell of a therapist.” I give her a smile, that I know doesn’t reach my eyes and she returns it before moving back into my arms. “Thank you…for being here.” She wraps her arms around my back and squeezes me. “Don’t let go.” Her voice is quiet but it’s like she screamed the words with how much I feel them deep in my heart.
“Never,” I tell her. I continue to rub her back for a few minutes before she finally drops her arms, releasing me from her grip.
“Sorry,” she murmurs and I cock my head to the side as her face comes into view.
“For what exactly?”
“Getting all emotional.” I reach for her but she leans back slightly and wipes the tears that had fallen. I wish she’d let me do that. I don’t know why in this moment, the need to take care of her overwhelms me. Maybe because I’d never really seen her cry. She’s never been a crier, and the few times she had, she would retreat to her room and emerge later with a clear face like it had never happened.
“You don’t need to apologize for that.”
We’re both silent for a few minutes; when I look over at her I spot her staring off into space and I realize I would do anything to get that painful look off of her face.
“So, what do you want for breakfast?”
The following Saturday is her graduation day and I can safely say I have never been prouder, especially since, as the Principal of Lakewood High, I get to be the one to hand her the diploma.
It’s after the ceremony and I’m searching for her in a sea of burgundy gowns after being inundated with parents and teachers wanting to thank me for everything as well as apologize for my loss. I finally spot her across the grassy field talking and taking pictures with Kate and a few of her friends. She’s still holding the flowers I gave her this morning that she insisted to bring with her. I’m happy I was