Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
I manage to hold it together and shine the light around the room until I see the bedside lamp and switch it on.
Well I just totally passed the fuck out, didn’t I? This is exactly why I wanted to stay awake as long as possible. Now I’m wide awake when everyone else is going to sleep.
I sigh and get up. Use the washroom, splash some water on my face, then my rumbling stomach tells me I need to get something to eat. Even though I’m sure Noora and Eero are asleep (and I have no idea if they live at the hotel or elsewhere), maybe I can help myself to something in the kitchen.
I leave my room and walk down the stairs to the main level, heading toward the kitchen. I’m almost there when I notice another room, just past the dining room and lounge. While there are only a few lights on in the hotel, and it’s eerily quiet and empty, I can see flickering candles dancing on the walls, hear the soft sound of music. The music itself is strange and becoming, like choir voices and low tribal drumming.
I walk toward it, feeling the need to be quiet for some reason, then stop.
There’s a casket in the room, lit by candles on either side, chairs lined up on either side of the room.
Oh my god.
This is where the funeral is being held.
I swallow hard as I walk into the room, my eyes drawn to the casket. Beside it is a blown-up picture of my father’s face, some smiling moment out in the sun when he was younger, and that’s when it hits me. I mean it really hits me, like I’m in the middle of train tracks and for once I don’t see the locomotive coming.
Tears spring to my eyes and I’m frozen, stunned by the immensity of it all, of the fact that life will keep going on without my dad in it and how fucking unfair that is.
I don’t even notice that my knees are buckling and I’m collapsing into the ground. I don’t even notice the strangled cry that’s ripped from my throat, filling the empty room. I don’t notice anything but the devastatingly cold and hard realization that my father is gone.
He’s gone.
He’s really gone.
He’s dead and he’s not coming back.
But it can’t be true. It just can’t. Why do I still feel him within my heart, why do I still feel that connection?
Because you’re delusional, a voice in my head says.
But it just can’t be true. People like my father, they just don’t die. They’re the type that live forever. They’re the ones that defy the odds. They’re larger than life, larger than death. My father can’t be living on this planet one minute, drinking coffee and listening to bird song, having the sun on his face and then…not. You can’t just stop being. You can’t stop what has started. How dare God take him like this, to just decide my dad’s time was enough?
It’s not enough. It’s never enough.
“Papa,” I cry out, my voice breaking and echoing in my ears. I sound like a child, I feel like a child. Oh god, I would do anything to be a child again, to go back, to be with him. I want to be young again, I want to do this over again and get it right this time, I want to tell my mother that I’m not leaving him, that I’m staying with him.
“I want to go back,” I whisper hoarsely, my face buried in my hands. “I want to go back to when I was your little girl. I want another chance. I don’t…I can’t move on like this. Not in this world. Not without you.”
But the room gives nothing. All there is is the casket at the end and my father’s wonderful smiling face beside it and all I feel is so much despair and sorrow and regret, a deeper cut than bone deep.
A cut that will never ever heal.
A scar for all my life.
Right in the heart of me.
I stay on the floor of the room for what could be minutes, might be hours. It’s hard to tell when I’m jet-lagged. Eventually though, I stagger to my feet, leaning on the chairs to push myself up.
I know I should turn around, go to my room, maybe cry my eyes out until I fall asleep again. But I can’t. I know my father is gone and yet I feel that if I turn my back on the casket, I’m turning my back on him. That I’m abandoning all I have left of him, his cold dead body.
But it’s still him. It’s still his.
And I’m here.
So I find my strength and I walk down the aisle. The closer I get to the casket, the more I realize how beautiful it is. Made of some tree with a lot of knotted “eyes,” and intricate carvings all over, showing reindeer and trees, eagles and swans. Beneath and to the sides of the casket are the floral arrangements, pine boughs, and various berries all strung together with red and silver ribbons.