How to Destroy a Rich Boy

Chapter Sixty-nine

Some people live to be one-hundred years old. They live a complete and fulfilling life before residing to a hospital bed, surrounded by all the people that ever loved them. Everybody gets to hold their hand, whisper their last goodbyes, and maybe even share one last laugh. It's expected, like the ending to a bitter-sweet story.

 That's how I expected death to be, or more accurately, my incredibly naïve wish for what death would be. However, not everyone gets that. In fact, I think rarely anyone gets that.

Some people only make it to fifty years old and some people even less. Their life ends an incomplete story, and they leave behind all the advice and dreams they could have shared with the world. The things they deserved to have shared.

 Their loved ones don't get to say goodbye. In fact, they don't even know that they are dying until they are dead. It just happens like that. No last laugh, no last hug - nothing. And then everyone has to live with it.

My mother was one of those unlucky ones. She died on January 31st in her bed from a sudden stroke exactly two weeks from today. She didn't get to say goodbye; she died alone. There was no telling of how long she suffered or if she tried to call for help. All my dad told me was that he found her after her suffering was gone.

The irony of that statement was that our suffering had only begun. I was aware of the rough stages of grief - there was the denial, the anger, the what-ifs, and the depression. But I wasn't expecting to feel the emptiness.

Every day since her death, I felt all those emotions bubbled into one, then once the end of the day came, I felt empty - like I wasn't even alive anymore.

And I think I hated that feeling the most. I mean, yes, pain hurts, but at least it was something.

"Sophie," I heard a soft voice echo. 

Pulled out from the dark depths of my thoughts, I turned my attention back to my little brother, Xavier. I gently stroked his hair and looked down at him. 

"Yeah, Bubs," I whispered quietly. He was hoisted up in my arms with his little head resting on my chest. He wore a mini little black suit, that was identical to Calumn's who was standing in between my dad and me.

"Won't Mummy be cold underneath the ground?" he asked softly so that none of the other funeral guests could hear.

 Swallowing, I turned my attention back to the ground and watched as the casket got lowered further down into the ground. Shaking my head softly, I sent him another small yet comforting smile. 

"No, don't worry, Mummy's fine. The cold can't hurt her anymore because she's up in heaven, remember?" I explained softly.

 Xavier nodded his head gently, seeming the tiniest bit more content by my words, but they weren't nearly enough to bring a full smile back to his face.

I mean, how could it? The twins were only five years old yet had already lost their mother. When I returned home two weeks ago, I tried my best to conceal my pain from the twins as did dad. But it was hard, and I don't think we were all too good at it.

Feeling the heat of eyes on me, I glanced around the hilltop at all the other funeral guests, all dressed in black. I recognized most of them - uncles, aunts, cousins, nurses who used to work with my mum. Some of them stared on at the casket, while others sent pitying looks over at our family. The family that didn't have a mother anymore.

My eyes briefly caught Brandon, who was standing across from us with his mum. His lips curved up a little to give me a weak smile. I could tell from the drained looked in his eyes that he must have been struggling to keep an optimistic face. Our families had always been close, so the death of my mother had likely hit them hard too.