Sophia Mouton, I Regret to Inform You

Iremember seeing a single tear escape from my mothers eye as she stared out the window. I was only four at the time but I remember certain things. Little details I can’t quite seem to get rid of. I remember the blue lights flashing around the corner as Jack and I were playing outside, dancing in the lights. I guess it is true that 52% of car accidents happen within five miles of your house, but for my dad, I guess five miles is really just two blocks. I can’t remember what we were playing, but Jack couldn’t stop laughing. And I remember my mother flipping that little ring over and over, as the police were explaining the accident over and over, hoping they’d drill it into her reality. It was the ring that used to be on my dad’s thumb that was now gripped tightly in her palm. It was always so tight, we all used to tease him saying it would become a part of his hand.

I remember the police officer putting his hand on my mother’s shoulder, a little too tight, suggesting something I didn’t want to accept so soon after my dad’s death. Only my father could put his hand on my mothers shoulder like that. I remember them handing her a bag with his name on it, Carter Price. A few years later when my mom died, I was going through her things and stumbled upon the box in the closet where she kept the rest of my dad’s things, or what was left of them. The bag looked like it had seen better days, but it was still there, and I needed it if I was going to bury them together like I promised them so long ago. His ashes were there, in a small urn, identical to my mothers except her ashes were new, and my fathers were five years old.

As I was sitting at their grave, a thought flew through my head. The thought of my death. I didn’t even think it was something I would ever think of. Unlike my mother, I’ve always thought I was strong, or at least stronger than her. No. I know I am stronger because I don’t need to get my fourteen year old daughter to call the ambulance three times for taking too many pills or accidentally cutting my wrists while making dinner. And I definitely don’t need to leave my daughter alone without any relatives or family besides a dependent little brother because I needed to see my love again. I hate to break it to you mama but suicides and car accidents aren’t the same, and only one of them gets you to heaven.