I'm Glad The World Ended This Way.
I'm glad the world ended this way.
Growing up, my dad would prepare totes for us, full of MREs and survival gear. My father was in the Army, so he believed that he had the capabilities to protect his children from disaster. He'd give us scenarios for things such as the zombie apocalypse or hostile takeovers from enemy nations. He wanted to teach me how to shoot a gun.
I declined.
I don't see my father anymore. He didn't love me. He doesn't love his children. He saw us as tools. Helpers. Something to make him look better to the public. Not as his children. My father is a narcissistic, egotistical, sexist man. A man who tried to leave his family after I, his daughter, was diagnosed with autism at the age of four. He decided to stay, but I wish he hadn't. It would've saved everyone a lot of pain.
He's dead now.
And I'm happy about that.
I'm happy that the man died from something he couldn't prepare for. But I'm still upset. I'm upset because I don't know if there's an afterlife. I want there to be a Hell. I want him to be there. He deserves to be there. I want him to burn forever. To feel my pain.
My father was one of the first.
I have siblings. An older brother and a little half-sister. I love them. My brother was good to me. He made me laugh. He helped me forget the horrible things I've dealt with. He held me when I cried. I held him as he died. I miss him. I miss him so much, it hurts. I want him back. But he's never coming back. I want there to be a Heaven. I want there to be a Heaven, so he can be there, waiting for me.
My little half-sister... no, my little sister was one of the best things that came from my father. She was one of my favorite people. She was cringey, but she had such a good heart. She wanted me to be happy. She wanted me to be safe. To feel safe. I couldn't keep her safe. And now she's gone. She's never coming back. I miss her. She was just a girl. I want there to be a Heaven. I want there to be a Heaven, so she can be there, finally being safe.
My siblings were not the last.
Mama was in the Air Force. She divorced my father when I was young, and took my brother and me to live far away from my father. Mama loved me. I know she did. I know, because when she told me she loved me, I felt it. I believed it. And I love her so much. She was my best friend. I remember snuggling close to her when we watched shows and movies. How she'd bring me stuffed cows or sheep that she'd find at the dollar store. How she'd listen to steamy romance novels in the car, which always made me have to put my headphones on and listen to music at a high volume. How excited I would get when I heard her coming home from work. Mama's never coming home. Mama's gone, too. I want there to be a Heaven. I want there to be a Heaven, so Mama has a home for her daughter to come back to.
They're all gone.
My father.
My brother.
My sister.
Mama.
I'm alone. So terribly alone. Their graves look so, so dark compared to the neon, psychedelic colors of this new sky.
Why didn't I go?
Why am I the one left to feel this crushing grief?
I don't deserve this.
They didn't deserve this.
All the fallen--parents, children, heroes, villains, sinners, saints--not one chose to die from this.
Yet, here I stand, begging to die.
The woman whose father didn't love her.
The woman who loved her Mama too much.
The sister who loved to both torture and comfort her siblings.
The woman with autism.
The asexual.
The writer.
The teacher.
The procrastinator.
The perfectionist.
The introvert.
The abandoned.
I'm looking up, but I don't know what I see. Is this God, or a being above Him? Was it called here, or was our world simply in its way? Does it know what it has done? Does it know I'm here? Does it see me, standing next to the graves of my family? Do these questions matter? Did it ever really matter in the first place?
I sit on the tilled soil of my labor. Perhaps it didn't matter. Our world is nothing but a speck of dust compared to the vastness of our universe, so how did humanity's accomplishments affect anything? Perhaps it didn't. Perhaps we're just a bunch of weird little guys running and swimming around some random rock out in space. Maybe we're the equivalent of what insects a child would find after lifting a rotten log in the woods. The thought makes me chuckle, since I used to set ants ablaze with a magnifying glass whenever I got the chance. The cosmic nihility of it all. Yet, I feel like my life has purpose. I don't have regrets. I certainly don't regret feeling happy after my father died, that's for sure.
But, after reminiscing about these joys and sorrows that I've experienced, I'm almost thankful. I'm thankful to have loved and lost in the first place. I'm thankful that I got to know these wonderful people. I'm thankful that I get to remember them, even if my father brought me pain. I'm thankful for the time I've had. I'm thankful that it didn't end abruptly.
I'm glad the world ended this way.