Losing someone is a tediously long process. It's nothing like how the movies make it out to be, where one moment you're looking at someone you love who's healthy and strong, and the next you're staring at their emaciated body, shocked at how much they've changed. You aren't horrified at how different they are until you look back and remember years ago, and suddenly realize everything you've lost. Losing someone takes such a long time. At least, that's not my experience with it.

I set my pen down, sighing at the words on the page staring up at me. I can't put this into a eulogy. My eulogy needs to be hopeful. It has to be full of encouragement and Bible verses and all the different ways to say "I know she's in a better place now." None of these words are coming to me now, though.

My floor is covered in pictures of us together, the last football game we went to together, my graduation, her birthday, the day I moved out. She doesn't look different in any of them, her smile is wide and bright just like mine. I worked on my smile for a long time to make it so happy, and just when I'd perfected it, hers had gone away.

I pushed away the pictures and stood up, smoothing the front of my yellow dress down. She'd loved yellow a lot, so what better way to honor her than wearing yellow to her funeral? 

The door swung open slowly and my dad poked his head around the corner. "Are you ready to leave, sweetie?" He asked? I shook my head.

"I can just drive by myself dad, it's okay." He started to tell me no, but then stopped. 

"Whatever you want, just don't be late. I love you." He closed the door.

I want to listen to music in the car. I should check Spotify.

Music to Listen to on the Way to Your Mom's Funeral.

It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. "Your mama's so dead..."

I shake my head, pick up my notecards, and head out the door.