There he was, standing in the corner of this crowded, peach colored room, staring at the open casket where his mother lied still looking like an angel. She was surrounded by all kinds of bright and colorful flowers, yet her face was paler than ever. It was a hot afternoon, but he felt so cold. He could not apprehend what has happened. The accident, the screams, his mom covered in blood, his dad fainting, the hospital and now this funeral, it all seemed as if he was watching a movie. He was just reviewing all that has happened with one sentence going through his head; a sentence that he once heard in a TV show and has since been waiting for the right moment to use it. He could hear it on repeat in his mind:” Every life comes with a death sentence.”
This sentence resonated with him from the very first time he had heard it. The reason may be because he did not believe in life in the first place. He stood there, still staring at his mother, questioning the reason behind our entire existence. Why are we alive? What’s the point if we are all going to die eventually? Why bother and actually accomplish anything if it’s all going to waste? Why move on and go further if one nasty drunk driver can take it all away in mere seconds? Then his thoughts shifted to blaming God for his mother’s death. Why her? She was a good woman and an amazing mother. She had never done wrong by anyone. She was one of the very best people in town. Why is God so unfair? Why does he not punish those who do not even care about their lives? Why not him? He didn’t really want to live, he was worthless. He knew all of his objections could not change this depressing reality, but he could not help himself but to resent everything around him.
There he was, standing in the corner of this empty peach colored room after the last two guests had walked out of the door. He was still staring at his mother, only now his father was kneeling next to her casket crying begging her not to leave him alone. What he could not understand was why his father thought she left him alone. He had him, his little Johnny. He turned 19 two weeks ago, but he was still his daddy’s little Johnny. How could his father forget that? He knew he should know better than be upset with his grieving father; he knew he didn’t mean it, however, he still felt so useless. That was the second time that day he had felt worthless. His father finally stood up and walked towards the door without saying a word as if he was signalling that it was time to leave.
John hated the awkward, silent walk home. His father looked like he was about to stop breathing at any given moment. He, himself, had no idea how he was able to move his legs. He was trying to gather all of his thoughts hoping to reach a reasonable conclusion before they got home. He needed to find his conclusion before walking through the door because walking in, smelling his mother’s scent all over the place and remembering her pale face once again meant he had to revisit every miserable thought that made him feel oh so worthless. He was trying to find the conclusion that would maybe help convince him to push through and move forward after losing the one person who made moving forward worthwhile. But it was all in vain. He struggled for a little over an hour, yet it seemed like 5 minutes. Their walk ended too fast. He was so consumed by the idea that he needed a conclusion that he didn’t even begin trying to find one. He had approximately one minute to figure it out, but there was something blocking all of his thoughts. Then, as he took his first step inside, it struck him.. he already had his conclusion. It was the thing that caused this mess in the first place, that one stupid sentence;
“Every life comes with a death sentence” so why even bother to think it through?