My eyes turned green the day my father died. Before, they were hazel, but because of the shock of the accident they weirdly turned green, and have stayed that way ever since.

It was last week, I think. There was a car crash, and apparently he died at the scene. I was in the crash, too, although I don’t really remember much. All I can remember is the crunching of metal, and then the smell of metal, too. I just have some broken ribs and a headache.
I don’t understand how it all works, really. You know; how one person can be completely fine, yet another person can be just… gone?
I have tried to see what it feels like to be dead. I know that sounds silly, but that’s how I spent my evening last night. On top of my duvet, I just closed my eyes and tried not to think about anything. But not thinking about not thinking actually means you are thinking, so it didn’t really work.
I just had to imagine it. I needed to understand how my Dad would be feeling now. Surely being dead doesn’t mean you don’t feel anything at all?

I haven’t decided whether I believe in heaven or not. It’s really confusing. My grandparents are supposed to be in heaven (Mum told me this six years ago when I was six. I believed everything she said back then), but I can’t get my head around how awkward it must be for them.

My Grandmother’s first love died when she was eighteen, shortly before she met my Grandfather. When my Grandmother went to heaven, did she go back to her first love? Or did she stick by my Grandfather, who was obviously loyal to her all of those years? I don’t doubt that she loved Granddad, but she once told me that you always have a place in your heart for your very first partner. This man would have only loved Nanny, so when she saw him in heaven, what would they have done? The thought of either her first love or Granddad being left out or feeling rejected by Nanny makes me feel horrible. What if her first love was waiting for her? And, what if she feels as though she had to go back to him, because like she once said, “No matter what, Elsie, after no matter how many years, you will always have a place in your heart for the first person you fall in love with.” Who would my Granddad be with then? Would he be on his own? All of those complications don’t exactly make heaven seem very heavenly.

My Auntie Linda came to visit us today. She’s a bit of a pain, really, because she moans and picks at everything you do. Especially me.
“Oh Elsie, you really shouldn’t go out with wet hair. You’ll catch yourself a death of a cold,” she said the last time I saw her. This time, she didn’t say a word. Maybe it was the reason for her visit that stopped her from moaning like usual.

‘Eleanor, things will get better in time. You just have to take each day as it comes. And please, you need to eat.’ Linda cooed. I know Mum hates fussing. She didn’t reply.

‘Honey, wallowing in self pity isn’t going to change what happened now, is it?’ She was trying her best I guess, but even I knew that she was going the wrong way about it.

Mum just sat on the black leather sofa, her legs curled beneath her, staring blankly at nothing. She had been like that since we came back from the hospital.

‘I’m sorry love; I have to go to work now. Robbie? Make sure your mother eats. I’ll pop by tomorrow.’ Linda smiled slightly as she gathered her things and walked out of our living room. The front door slammed and the garden gate creaked as she left us on our own.

The full extent of loneliness must have hit Mum then, because at that point she started crying. I hate it when Mum cries, or anyone for that matter. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Do I give them a hug or give them space? I can never tell what people want. I usually like to be alone, so I tend to leave them to it, but then I always feel bad.

Robbie, my seventeen-year-old brother, leapt off of the chair and placed his arms around Mum. Her little sobs turned into gentle wails now, all the emotions from the last two days coming out in weird fit-like convulsions.

‘I know, Mum, I know. We’ll be okay.’ Robbie was always good with words, the ‘golden’ child from the family. He was the one with all the sport and academic achievements – good at absolutely everything. If he wasn’t such a decent big brother I would probably be jealous, but he was too nice to be jealous of. Every girl in his year adored him, and that showed by the amount of girls that he brought home to meet the family. If it wasn’t Emily or Jessica it was Olivia or Hannah or some other really pretty girl. And they were very pretty, too – tall, skinny, busty and cheerful. Everything any girl my age aspired to be like.

Unfortunately I am not like Robbie, so I just sat there and looked. I think that’s the kind of person I am - a watcher. Rather than involving myself in things, I’d rather just sit back and let them get on with it. Not because I’m lazy or anything like that, but because I’m kind of average at everything I try so I don’t see much point in giving my opinion when there will be others with better ones. It’s more interesting my way, anyway. People can be really interesting. Everyone reacts in a different way to different situations, and when you’re careful and are able to watch things, you notice how they react and can begin to understand that person more. You pick up on all their little habits, like the way they flick their hair or stick their tongue out in concentration.

Mum still didn’t speak, she just cried. There’s something about the sound of your mother crying that is kind of haunting. Apparently, when you have a newborn baby, no matter how deep you sleep, when your child cries, you wake up because your motherly instinct just kicks in and you know something is wrong. I think this can work both ways. When your mother cries, especially when its for a reason that is way beyond your control, your heart kind of aches. You feel this odd pain in the pit of your stomach that only goes away when everything is okay again. Every sob and wail that came from Mum sent a surge of aching pain to my heart and stomach, which will never go away until she is okay. It feels a little bit like guilt, but worse. I guess it probably is guilt really, because you are supposed to, as a good child, be able to comfort your mother in her time of need and when you aren’t able to do that, you have failed as a child. I can’t do it, which is why I am the average ‘okay’ child, and Robbie is the one that is good at everything. I bet he doesn’t feel the hurt in his stomach because he is trying to make things okay.

That night, I didn’t get much sleep. I kept thinking about how to make things better and whether things even get better at all. It’s weird, I can go a whole day without thinking or worrying about stuff but then as I try to sleep, when I put my head on my pillow, everything in my mind keeps me awake.  I think about school – I guess I won’t be going for a while – and I think about whether Mum will stop crying. I can hear her in the next room, and it makes me cry too. Usually I rarely cry, but that night, I guess I just had to get it all out.  I didn’t sob or make a sound, all of the tears just silently fell. A constant trail of salty drops were leaving slug-like lines on my cheeks. I didn’t have to look in the mirror to know that my cheeks were puffy and my eyes were red and sore. I cried so many tears that my throat hurt, too. I think that’s when you can tell they are real tears – when they all make the back of your throat hurt and your head pound.

Mum’s sobs were becoming softer now, and I knew she was beginning to fall asleep. I felt sorry for her, I really did. Dad was Mum’s only love. They were ‘childhood sweethearts’ and they only knew each other. I loved Dad too, but I suppose it was harder for Mum because before us, all she had was him.

I got out from under the duvet, crept into Mum’s room, and sat on her bed. I stroked her face, like she used to do to me. When me and Robbie were younger, if we were upset or poorly, she would lie on our beds with us and stroke our eyebrows or ears. It would always make us feel better.

Her cheeks were puffy and blotchy, and her breathing was slow and even – the look of pain and heartache temporarily gone. Mum was so pretty, and her face was trouble free when she slept.  If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that today and yesterday was just an average couple of days. You would never be able to guess that our family had been torn apart and that things were never ever going to be the same again.

I think a week or so passed by – I’m not really sure. It’s funny; when something bad happens you lose sense of time. The other day I sat in the kitchen and one minute it was 11am, and the next it was 5pm. I don’t even know or can’t remember if I sat there for the entire time. You forget these unimportant things because your mind is so busy and so focused on everything else.

‘I know it isn’t going to be easy, but Eleanor, you need to start making funeral arrangements,’ Becky said. Becky is Mum’s best friend and is more of an Auntie to me and Robbie than Fat Linda is.

‘Becks, I can’t do it. I just can’t.’ Mum had begun speaking a little bit now. According to the doctors she was suffering from shock, which is why she wouldn’t eat or talk. Becky thought the medication they gave her was ridiculous. “This is absolutely absurd. She doesn’t need pills. Her life has just been torn apart, she needs time, not tablets!” She had said.

Why do adults insist on always ‘giving it time’? I am yet to see how time can help with anything. When I was bullied in year seven Dad told me to “give it time Els, they’ll soon get bored.”  I tried giving it time but they carried on bullying me anyway.

‘I know, sweet, whether you can or can’t is irrelevant though, I’m afraid – because you have to.’

Becky was really encouraging to Mum, and I admired her for this. I think Mum did too, because she only really spoke to Becky. She barely spoke to Robbie and rarely spoke to me at all, just gave me half-hearted smiles every now and again. I think it is because I was in the car with Dad and I’m fine. Maybe Mum feels guilty because she would rather I was dead than Dad. I don’t think she’d be as sad, then.

‘Do you have any idea how I feel Becky? Do you?’ Mum’s voice was high and loud.

‘I can understand how you feel, and I know it isn’t easy.’ She replied.

I walked out of the room to look out the window. I hated arguments. The best way to make sure you aren’t involved is to just walk away.

I peered through the glass and smiled a little. Dad would have loved the sight of our garden. He loved Autumn, when all of the leaves turned brown and orange and yellow. The tree in our garden swayed a little bit in the breeze, and the sky was a misleading bright blue – the kind of sky that made it look like it was warm outside, but was actually the opposite. The leaves looked like they were dancing – all of the bright yellows, oranges and browns twirled with one another creating a leafy fire. My thoughts of Dad enjoying the view of our garden from heaven were interrupted by Mum’s shouting.

‘You can’t possibly begin to even imagine how hard it is. Do you know what the best part of my day is? No? Well I’ll tell you then, shall I? The only time I feel whole again, the only time I feel like myself and not some heartbroken idiot is for half a second at the beginning of the day. As soon as I wake up, in my sleepiness, I forget what’s happened. I think my life is normal and that my family is whole again, and I smile, because everything is normal. Then I wake up properly. It dawns on me what has happened, and I remember. It hits me like a ton of bricks and all the pain, the pain of my heart physically breaking, happens all over again, like for the first time. Then I have to get up, and try to be me, but I can’t. The only thing that is keeping me here is that tiny bit of normality I feel each day, which always leads to the worst pain ever imaginable. Have you ever felt like your heart is being ripped apart?’

I swallowed, wondering why life wasn’t fair. Why did this have to happen to us? We were perfectly happy, and now, as Mum said, all of our hearts broke.  Tears began to fall as I saw how hurt and how sad Mum was. Suddenly, pills from the doctor didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

‘I can understand how much your heart is breaking, Eleanor, I can. And I know you want the ground to swallow you up or for you to sleep forever, but the rest of the world doesn’t stop because one family has been torn apart.’

‘No one knows how I am feeling,’ Mum whispered in exhaustion.

‘I do…’ I whispered in reply.

Becky and Mum stared at me blankly, unaware that I was there the entire time. I turned to walk upstairs – I don’t think I was supposed to be listening to Mum pouring out her heart. I think you’re only meant to reveal your weaknesses to your best friend, and definitely not your children.