ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
Larissa Marie is a pen name used by a teenage writer living in the United States of America. She writes songs, short stories, screenplays and poetry. Most of her songs and poems are dark and depressing, but a few shine with a glow only she can create using paper and pencil. Hidden in her glowing, doe eyes is sorrow and hurt that nobody sees unless they look closely, which close to none do. Larissa has put a 'shield' around herself to protect her from all the pain of the real world and so far none, save one, have broken through. [January 2007]
The photograph slipped through my fingers and fell to the floor, where the glass in the frame shattered into a million little pieces. My hand went up to my face, covering my mouth as, once again, tears poured down my cheeks and my shoulders shook with sobs. I looked up at the walls of my room through tear-filled eyes. My room was completely bare, except for the broken frame in front of me on the floor, where I was kneeling, sobbing.
My brother came into the room and picked me up, carrying me out of the room and setting me down in the hall. He swept the broken bits up, once again. I had broken so many in the past week. Once he finished, he helped me into my coat and shoes and we walked out the door for the last time.
Dad met us in the driveway, his face solemn. We got in the car and drove down the street. I leaned my forehead against the window, my hot tears and breath fogging it up. The snow-covered streets slid past as quickly as the tears running down my cheeks. I fell asleep as we turned onto the freeway.
{FLASHBACK}
“Mom!” I cried out, reaching towards her. She smiled slightly.
“Hannah, I love you,” she reached up and took my hand. I gripped it tightly.
“Mom,” I sobbed. Her hand fell from mine, limp and lifeless.
Michael came in and put his arm around my shoulders. As he led me out of the hospital room, I tried to go back to Mom’s body.
“Mom!” I cried one last time before the elevator doors closed.
“No! Nononono!” I beat my fists against the doors, tears soaking my cheeks and shirt. Michael grabbed me and held me against him. I sobbed into his shirt and felt his tears land on my hair.
“No,” I whispered one last time, tears still sliding down my cheeks.
{END FLASHBACK}
I woke up and looked out the window, watching the passing scenery. Dad pulled the car over and we got out of the car. We were at the cemetery where Mom was buried. Silently, we entered the gates and went to her tombstone. I knelt down beside it, brushing the words that were engraved on it.
Maria Diane Frayer
1970-2006
Daughter
Sister
Wife
Mother
Loved By Many.
Loved Forever.
Michael pulled out his camera.
“Hannah, look at the camera,” he coaxed. I looked up and he took the picture. I made to stand up, but Michael stopped me. Tears filled my dry eyes once again and they poured onto the stone. Michael pulled me up and me and him left Dad by the grave as we walked back to the car.
We were at Dad’s house now. He and mom had divorced four years ago, but still loved one another and neither had dated anybody else. I think they divorced because dad had to move up here to Pilbury for work and mom wanted to stay in San Francisco.
“Lets go inside,” dad unlocked the door and we went inside. I immediately headed for my bedroom and flung my self on the bed, where I fell asleep.
I woke up with the blanket tucked around me and my shoes on the floor. I was still in my jeans, though. I sat up and headed sleepily for the bathroom, then back to my bedroom. It was Sunday. I picked up a non-framed photo of me and mom in Disneyland, laughing. It was taken about two weeks before she was diagnosed with the disease that would, a year later, kill her.
Addison’s. Addison’s disease. She had spent eight months in and out of the hospital and another four in the hospital. She had had two surgeries and taken over fifteen different drugs, usually more than one at a time. Then came the cruel day where she slipped away no matter how hard I had gripped her hand. That had been a week ago. Even though there had been school, I hadn’t gone once. I had spent the week packing and crying.
But most of all, I had spent the last week missing mom.
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