This story was writin for my dad who died when I was 4, 10 years ago. I loved him very much and I really hope you enjoy this story.
The narrator is Rose reflecting on the most tragic day of her life, and a man she loved very much.
Sarah
I have always noticed, whenever you are sad, or lonely, or depressed or anxious about anything, the worst place in the world to be is in a car. Cars are inescapable, they are oppressing, and they are horrible. As it happens, a car is where our story begins. I was four when it happened. Well, I was technically three, my birthday was a month away, but we always say I was four, probably because of convenience.
I don't know how I found out, but I did. In my mind I had always known my dad had cancer. It was like it was just there, like my dad was a perpetual sick blob in my mind only recognizable by pictures and sacred stories of a man who was never forgotten. I didn't think he would die, I didn't think he would just vanish away, like a minute of time or a piece of loose-leaf paper. A daddy was supposed to be there, a daddy was not a loose leaf-paper. A daddy didn't die.
I never told anyone this, but I used to wish I was Sarah. I wished I was Sarah when we were racing to St. Mungos as fast as the Ministry of magic would allow us; as I was sitting next to my 1-year-old brother, Hugo, who was gurgling absentmindedly, smelling like a nauseating new baby. Normally new babies smell nice and comforting, but then under the circumstances, Hugo smelled like cotton candy and vomit. I wished I was Sarah when I would try to say something nice to my mother, to make her feel better, but she would either shush me or just say those four stupid words, "It's gonna be alright". Sarah would know what to say. Sarah would make her Mummy feel better. Sarah's daddy wasn't dead.
Sarah was who I wanted to be. Sarah was beautiful, and wonderful, and her life was perfect. I would've given anything to be Sarah, because Sarah had a daddy, and he came home every night to tuck her in and sing her songs.
Sarah, as you may have guessed, was not real. Sarah was my glove, like when you wash dishes. You put on those weird yellow gloves, and reach your hand into the searing hot water, but it doesn't hurt. Because you're wearing the gloves. You don't feel the hot water, you feel the comforting glove enclosing your hand. Sarah was my glove; I wouldn't feel the hurt of a lost parent and a broken family with Sarah. I could feel Sarah. Sarah felt like a Mummy's hug, or swinging as high as you could go on a park swing. I could smell Sarah. Sarah smelled like a fresh down comforter, or a just-baked cookie. I could pretend my daddy was alive, with Sarah, and he was playing with me.
I tried to hold on to Sarah's hand as we pulled into the parking lot of St. Mungo's, but I could feel her warm hand slipping from my grasp. I wished it wasn't so sunny. I hate sunlight. Sunlight makes everything depressing. It's almost if it's saying to you "Ha ha, I can shine down on you, and you can't do anything about it". If it was raining that day I would've run inside the hospital to escape the rain, and I would've run up the steps to my dad's hospital room. I would have barged in that room and there my dad would be, I would have gotten to say goodbye. But, I didn't get to say goodbye, because of the sun. The stupid, selfish sun who was laughing at me the whole time.
We walked up to the reception desk, where the ladies with too much lip-liner answered the phone with a smile, as though the people on the other line could actually see it. I glanced around the hospital as my mother talked with the reception ladies, trying not to cry. I hate hospitals, I always have and I probably always will. Hospitals have silence and Lysol. I hate silence and I hate Lysol. I hate how there are so many people in the hospital, it's impossible to care about all of them. Obviously, the doctor didn't care enough about my dad to keep him alive, or my dad would've been there, so I thought. I hate how everything is just drenched with the smell of Lysol, like once someone dies or leaves they have to spray the whole area to get rid of the evidence, the evidence that someone was actually sick, that someone actually died.
As Mum grabbed my hand as we made our way to the hospital room, I suddenly paniced! Where is Sarah? Why isn't Sarah holding my hand? I look around frantically and breathe a sigh of relief. Sarah is right next to me. Smiling a bright rainy smile, because sunny smiles are stupid, and selfish, and laugh at you.
"It's gonna be alright, Rose." I hear my Mum murmur to me, like she was fighting something, "It's going to be alright." Despite her loving attempts, my Mum's comforting words only make me more anxious.
Of course it's not going to be alright! It's not alright! Daddy is dead! He's dead! That's not alright!
I feel hot tears prick the sides of my eyes, and then I look to Sarah. She is smiling another bright rainy smile, and I feel better. I remember that daddy is going to be okay, he's fine, were just visiting him... just visiting.
We climb into the elevator and my Mum asks one of the people in the elevator to press our floor number.
Suddenly, I feel Sarah, and my reassurance, start to walk away. I turn to look at her. She's farther away now, she's pressed against the side of the elevator, where as I am in the middle. I want to call to her, but my throat feels like the consistency of Lysol pudding.
The elevator rises suddenly and my stomach gets this sunny and sick feeling. I catch an old lady looking sympathetically at me, and I try not to glare at her. I don't need her sympathy. My daddy is sick and getting better, I don't need people feeling sorry for me! Instead, I look down at my brown clunky shoes and think about how grateful I am that elevators don't have windows, so I can't see the sun laughing at me.
We walk out of the elevator and my head feels light and fuzzy. I look over at the closing elevator doors and almost scream. The doors are closing around Sarah, she's slipping away from me. My daddy is dying, I need Sarah.
Sarah miraculously makes her way around everyone and rushes out of the elevator just in time.
Your daddy is just sick, I hear Sarah say, He's getting better. But Sarah isn't smiling, Sarah is looking a bit sunny. I hate sunny.
As we walk down the Lysol infested hallways, I notice Sarah is slowing down. I should walk with her. I should stand by her, but Mummy's grip is so tight. I need to hold her hand too. Mummy needs me to hold her hand or she might fall down, and I can't let my Mummy fall down.
I whisper, so my Mummy can't hear, for Sarah to come next to me. Sarah shakes her head; no. I whisper again, begging her to come and hold my hand. I need Sarah to come with me so I can see my daddy, but Sarah shakes her head no. She's not coming.
When we reach the room, I tell myself it will be okay. Daddy is fine, he's probably resting. It doesn't smell like Lysol yet. It doesn't smell like someone died, it still smells like Quaffles and old spice. It still smells like Daddy.
Mum opens the door, and no one is there. My breath catches in my throat, then a hideous, disgusting, hopeless smell reaches my nose.
Lysol.
No! They moved his room, this is not my Daddy's room. This is someone else's room. Somebody else died in this room!
Sarah is standing in the doorway. Standing in the doorway of a Lysol smelling room, with an empty bed and an empty little girl. Sarah's smile is not her smile. It's a sunny smile. It's not a nice smile, because she is laughing at me.
My head is panicking again. Why is she looking so different? She's changing! She's a monster! I don't want Sarah! I want my Dad, Where is my Daddy?
"Where's Daddy?" I croak to my Mum, tears already starting to form in my eyes.
She stares at me, utter disbelief and sadness etched across her face.
"Oh honey," says my Mom kneeling down in front of me, baby brother in hand. "Your daddy..." her eyes furiously blink back tears, I can tell she's fighting, she's fighting the sadness, she's fighting it just like I am. "Your daddy is..." Tears roll down her cheeks. "I thought you knew," she says and she wipes away the stray tears that have fallen down my cheeks.
She pulls me close to her, and Hugo gets drool in my hair.
"Where's Daddy?" I sob into her sweater. "Why isn't he here?" My desperation mixed with utter confusion making my Mum start to cry.
"Your daddy is dead," she whispers into my hair, her tears mixing with mine as we cry together.
"But, I need him now more than ever!" I sob.
"I know honey," says my Mum, looking at me, her tear-stained cheeks shining sunnyly under the florescent lights. "I know, but you have me, you have your brother Hugo, you have your Grandmum and your Papa and all your aunts and uncles—"
"But I want my Daddy!" I yell. I am so angry, Sarah lied to me. She lied! "I want him, I want him!"
"I know," Says my Mum, fresh tears beginning to form in her eyes. "But, Daddy isn't here," she says firmly, placing a tender hand on my cheek, "Daddy isn't here," she states, stroking my cheek with her thumb, "And he's not coming back."
"What do you mean, he's not coming back?" I ask, starting to cry again, "What do you mean?"
My Mum leads me over to the empty bed, and sits me down carefully, as if the smallest touch will break me. "He had cancer," she says. Cancer. That word is familiar, I've heard that word, they've told me that word before, but I didn't listen. I was too busy playing with Sarah. "And... and the cancer," my Mum stops and looks up at the ceiling, blinking furiously, "The cancer," she says looking back at me, "It just got to big for your Daddy".
I'm not looking at her, I'm looking at the door. I'm looking at Sarah, she's smiling a sunny smile. I hate Sarah. I want my daddy back and I want Sarah to leave. "I made him have the cancer," I say suddenly, and as soon as I say it, I know it's true; it's my fault. I made Sarah, Sarah made the cancer. It's her fault and my fault. Mostly my fault.
"No!" says my Mum forcefully, causing me to look at her. "It is not your fault Rosie!"
"No," I say, "it was, it wa—"
"No it wasn't!" She practically yelled. "Your father's death had nothing to do with you!" She pulls me close to her. "You couldn't have done anything, or told anyone, or prayed harder than you already did." She's crying again. "Your father loved you so much, I love you so much." I'm crying too.
I hugged her and Hugo tight and cried for a long, long time. I cried because of my Daddy and my Mummy and I cried because I didn't do anything and I cried because I couldn't do anything. I cried for my baby brother who would never meet him and I cried for my family who had lost someone so special.
But, Mummy's reassuring words kept me going. "You daddy loves you, your Daddy loves you, your Daddy loves you, your Daddy loves you..."
After awhile I look towards the door and I notice something. Sarah has left, she left without warning or departure, she left me with a crying Mummy and no Daddy. I'm fine with that. I'm fine without Sarah.
I notice something else; the sun, shining through the bay window facing the bed. It's smiling, it's not laughing. It's smiling a bright rainy smile just for me. It was then that I realized something; I'm going to be alright.
Hi everyone, this is probably the first Rose story I've attempted to publish here on our wonderful fanfiction site, and sadly enough it wasn't originally about Rose.
I wrote this story as a project for my english class as sort of a memoir to my dad. You see he died of Cancer when I was 4 years old, and this is how I myself went through the whole process.
Now the character Sarah isn't exactly how sarah is in the story. It is true, I did have an imaginary friend named Sarah when I was around that age, but Sarah wasn't that evil. She more or less just represents what I would do when somebody would try to talk to me about my dads death, or sickness. I would go into this little bubble of myself and try to pretend the horrible thing wasnt happening.
It has been almost 11 years since Dennis Hayden Turner died, I really hope people enjoy this story and know that despite the sadness, it does have a happy ending.