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Standing in the field of dead grass and ash, I stare at the remains of the home I had grown up in. It hurts. I still feel the burning though it stopped two weeks ago. The screams were rushed out two weeks ago. My sister and brother were taken to the hospital two weeks ago. My mother stopped answering me two weeks ago, and two weeks ago, I had lost my father.
I am trying to be okay, but I miss my siblings. I miss mom laughing like she did when we'd all start singing her favorite song of the week together. After a while, I'm crying, crying so hard I fall to my knees at the start of the walkway to my front porch. Or what was left. I've been here almost every day since the fire happened. We were in the dining room, singing mom's favorite song of the week, and dad had come in from the kitchen to dance and sing with us. It was exciting, and my siblings and mother were ecstatic. I smelled something burning but played it off to continue having fun. By the time dad noticed it was too late, the oven had exploded, and the now collapsed wall blocked the hallway to the front door; dad tried to run in to grab the extinguisher, but the fire was spreading rapidly, mom tried to get the kids out of a window, but didn't realize the drop. She went out after them, leaving me, watching for my dad, my shirt over my mouth, when I heard him yell for me to get out.
"Not without you!" I yelled back in tears. I saw him. I saw him try to make his way over to the window, yelling for me to go. I was standing there when the roof caved in. I screamed; Mom screamed from the yard, hearing my dad's yelling come to a stop. I couldn't move. My mother was calling for me, my siblings were crying, and the firefighters were rushing in. But I could only watch as my dad's body started to blister and burn. I watched the fire crawl closer and closer. I couldn't move an inch. Finally, the firefighters burst through the door. One had quickly taken me out of the house, while two others had been trying to remove my fathers' corpse from under the caved roof and low beams. I was still frozen, being placed in my mothers' arms. We watched more firefighters come and douse my home to put the fire out. We watched my fathers' body being taken in the ambulance. The funeral is going to be next Saturday. We couldn't have an open-casket funeral for my father because of how terrible the burns were. They couldn't make it presentable.
My father was a loved man. He and I used to volunteer at the soup kitchens at the community center. We volunteered. He and my mother used to go dancing every other Friday night. He's going to miss it tomorrow. He always would take my siblings around to take police officers, military officers, retired officers, and veterans' care packages. They never had much, but they had love. And it gave him a name. A name everyone knew. Now he's gone.
The following day was the first time I had seen Mother since the fire. We've been staying with dad's parents. And she's been in his childhood room, grieving. My grandparents know how hard it is. And she tries to be there, but she cries every time she starts to talk to us through the door. So it was a surprise to see her in the kitchen cooking, dad's favorite meal, to be exact.
"This is what your father was cooking that night, Bella. He wanted to show you how to piece everything together, you know." Mother spoke so fondly of my father. I teared up when she looked at me. Her eyes were puffy. Her cheeks were stained in tear rashes. But her eyes and smile held so much love.
"Baby, I know you miss him. And I know you're blaming yourself. You do take after him, afterall." She moved the pots and pan away from the hot burners onto the counter held by potholders . She turned to me with her arms open. I broke down and accepted the offer.
"Momma, Why does it hurt so much? Why can't he be here instead of me? I smelled something burning when no one else did. It's not fair!"
"Bella, baby, I know it hurts, and I know how you feel about this. We all were having fun. You have no reason to feel like this, whether you had smelled it or not." She rubbed my back in a calming manner and kissed my forehead. I just sniffled.
"Come on, honey, Let me show you how to prepare this." She pulled away slowly and gilded me to the counter with various foods.
After Mother and I had prepared the dish, Grandma brought the kids down for dinner. They were pretty ecstatic to see Mother, and I was glad to see a genuine smile on her face. This was hard for her, and I knew that. My grandparents understood that. My grandmother was struggling just as hard, losing her son. We all are struggling. But it'll only get better from here. And deep down, I knew that we all knew that.
The next few weeks were pretty much the same, aside from Mothers' occasional appearance at dinner, she's starting to look better, everyone is but me. I feel worse. I've been visiting the property every now and then, hoping that he's actually there, hoping that he's not gone, and that he's standing there, arms open, waiting for me to come home. But he's not, and its difficult for me to live with that. It's hard. I feel like crying, throwing up, pulling my hair out, just something–but I remain silent, quietly eating my dinner. Mother didn't join us tonight.
The next morning was especially hard. Mother got up early wand was playing with the kids in grandma's living-room. It hurt to watch. I know I couldn't participate, knowing what I had done last time. Knowing how it would have all been so much better if I didn't join last time. Knowing that I am to blame for Father's death. Knowing i'm still the only one who can't seem to smile.
The birds are quite loud today. I stare out side the window and watch them dance from tree to tree. The pale sunlight makes the cold of fall more noticeable I think. Dad loved the fall. We would go rake up leaves every day, and have such a big pile to jump into the day of Halloween. It was the best. I want to go back.
But I know that I can't do that now.