I should not have been surprised to wake up in a hospital bed. The pain that ravaged my body could only be handled and interpreted by that of medical staff. Oh, a whole staff did I have.

I was a bit confused by the fact that my arms and lower legs had been strapped to the bed. At first, when I was still drifting in and out of consciousness, I had thought that the restrictions I felt were mental-that at any moment, I would open my eyelids and the restraints would dissipate. When they did not, only then did I realize the gravity of the situation.

Lying there, willing myself not to make a sound, I was afraid that I would scream—or worse, laugh. I found the whole thing to be rather ironic. My mother had left me again, this time for good, and the one time I had willed myself to follow her, here I was, strapped to a gurney. I lay there not thinking of anything in particular and trying to keep my observations as superficial as possible.

There were three red roses in a vase placed on a nearby table. I wondered who had brought them.

I did not bother turning my head as my nurse entered the room. I remembered seeing her face a few times since I had first regained consciousness. She was a large woman, with a smile permanently plastered on her face. Her happiness and cheerful mood was a welcome distraction from my current condition. As she checked my vitals and spoke to me, she made me feel as if I was an old friend- I liked it.

"How are you doing today, Miss Choiseul?" she asked in her peppy manner. I simply nodded my head back and forth, still unsure whether to speak or not.

"You know that today is important. The head nurse will be in to speak with you, as well as Dr. Gerund. He's our lead psychologist in this ward."

Her saying this was supposed to be a motivating factor for my cooperation, but "I remained silent."

"You know that the ceremony is tomorrow dear," she whispered as she left my room.

The ceremony. Huh, that was funny- I wasn't aware they had changed the name for funerals. I would have just ignored the comment altogether, if I hadn't thought about what really mattered in my life; what made all the difference. My brother and sisters- they would certainly be at the funeral. It could be the last chance I had to see any of them for a while and I was too selfish to stay away, even in my unstable condition. I steeled my nerves and decided that lying was the best option for the day.

Mr. Gerund finally walked in with the nurse and began to interrogate me.

"How are you doing today, Miss Choiseul?" he repeated.

Horrible. "I am fine today," I lied.

"Have you felt irritable or moody today? Any sudden mood swings?"

Of course, every minute I'm on an emotional rollercoaster ride. "No, I have been happy today."

"Why is that, Miss Choiseul?" The nurse decided to insert her own queries.

"I am going to see my mother for the last time tomorrow," I said quickly.

"I understand that, but why would that make you happy?"

Think, dammit…think! "I realize that although she took her own life, I still have mine to live. I want to see her again to remember what she had."

Mr. Gerund exchanged a puzzled look with the nurse, whispering something to her before turning his attention back to me.

"So, Miss Choiseul, are you saying that you no longer wish to take your life?"

This time it was easier to answer, all I had to do was tell the truth.

"Yes, that is what I am saying." If only for this moment...

He must have thought I was lying, because he continued to ask the same questions differently for two hours. When he explained his own theories on why I reacted the way I did, I agreed with him wholeheartedly, while cursing his ignorance internally. I must have done a good job at lying, because his countenance seemed to brighten at my acceptance. He probably thought his methods and little 'pep talk' had helped me to see the errors of my ways-that I had finally 'seen the light' through his guidance. Dr. Gerund signed a temporary release, allowing me to leave the hospital to attend the funeral and the gathering at my aunt's home. I was relieved that I could leave this place, if only for a day.

I put on my only black dress, which was tattered around the collar and hem, but sturdy. It had been given to me for my thirteenth birthday and it still fit; the last present I received from my grandmother before she was sucked dry by lupus. I would hand wash the dress every time I wore it, afraid that Granma's essence would otherwise evaporate.

I could still smell the scent of her perfume on the sleeves-a combination of baby powder and peppermint.

I examined my face and decided that I should wash it, hoping to put some color back into my cheeks. My eyes, with their startling green hue, made my face look alive, but not enough for me to look healthy. After pinching my cheeks and pulling my raven-colored hair into a turquoise hairclip, I received my daily cocktail of pain medication and other 'fun little things' to help my mood.

I sat on my bed until a nurse and a security guard escorted me to the main level. My aunt, Leanne, was there waiting for me, but the guard still had to accompany me until we were at the church.

The ride to the church was silent. Neither my aunt nor I wanted to say anything that would upset the other. Aunt Leanne was the complete opposite of my mother, even though they could have passed for twins when they were younger. She had the same amber hair, ice-blue eyes, and her hair was in a pixie cut, framing her heart-shaped face flawlessly. Her petite stature was something other women would die for, but she saw it a curse. My vivacious aunt assumed that men considered her younger than she was, so they never approached her. I thought it was because of her fierce independence. Always ready to do something new or unexpected, spontaneity was her reason for living, and complacency her greatest fear. She looked for danger in the most unusual places. I remembered when she broke her radius after deciding that bungee jumping was her new passion.

I could never fathom why anyone who claimed to be in their right mind would willingly jump from precarious heights only supported by a cord attached to their legs. It was not the actual jump that I thought was ridiculous; it was the ascent back up.

I wondered how no one ever hit their head or was injured on the way back up. It seemed that I was always getting hurt in my attempts to ascend.

I marveled at how introspective I had grown within the last few days. I guessed that nearly dying physically and expiring emotionally would do that to someone, causing them to think differently.

When we reached the church, the traffic surrounding the building was horrific. It was a small bur building, but you couldn't tell by the amount of cars in the parking lot and illegally parked on either side of the street. It took us fifteen minutes before we could find a spot.

The security guard from the hospital decided to wait in his little cruiser, while my aunt and I forced our way inside. With the unfamiliar scene and assembly of people I didn't know, I needed something recognizable. I searched the crowd, seeing a few distant relatives, but no one I knew personally. Outside of my mother and Leanne, most of my so-called family was non-existent.

Leanne motioned towards a pew that was towards the front. As we headed towards it, I decided that I would take time to remember this day. The inside of the main hall was decorated in red and gold, my mother's favorite colors. There were red and white hydrangeas lining each pew and in the distance, someone was playing one of my mother's favorite songs on a piano. Once seated, Leanne grasped my hand as I looked for my brothers and sisters. I saw no one.

"Leanne, where is everyone?"

She needed no explanation to whom I was referring.

"I'm not sure yet, sweetie. Skye is supposed to be here already." Leanne frowned at this-obviously, something was wrong.

Skye was my thirteen-year-old younger sister, although she looked to be my age. She was only vaguely aware of what was going on with my mother, so I was sure that our mother's suicidal death had been a shock. I felt guilty in retrospect, for never explaining my mother's mental status to anyone, and then for going off and attempting the same thing. Skye deserved so much more.

I turned my attention to the pew ahead of me and tried not to cry. My tears were not for my mother or even for myself, I was much too numb for that, I cried for my siblings. What kind of home would they live in? Would they like it there? No one knew how to take care of them better than I did. No one knew that Emilia had nightmares if she didn't hear "The little Prince" every night. Who else knew exactly how to give Jason his asthma medicine without him fighting? I felt sick to my stomach.

I did not want to picture them in another family or see their faces with pseudo parents; I did not want to imagine any of them in a large yard playing with their adopted 'siblings'. I couldn't picture any of them without me.

I stared at the little pamphlets that people were holding. There was an old picture of my mother on it; she was smiling and holding onto a man I did not know. They looked so damn happy, as if they had won the lottery or something. I wondered who he was, and why didn't know anything about him. Her maiden name was used under the picture. Rachael... Analise... Williams. My eyes knew they should water, but my medication would not allow it. I put the program back down and kept my gazed fixed ahead of me.

The funeral went by as smoothly as most do; some people cried, others didn't. Without prior planning, many people went up to the altar to talk about how my mother used to be. No one spoke of her after she had her children, and I guessed most of them had moved on by then.

While my mother had been taking care of Skye and me, they were in college, living their lives and going to parties. I wondered how many of them had picked up the phone to say hello before this all happened.

One of my mother's oldest friends gave the eulogy. She spoke of their teenage years, sneaking out to see boys, going to the movies, and the good times they had. I listened as she stumbled over her words when my mother was pregnant with me. She cast her gaze in my direction, her eyes accusing.

"She was so happy about becoming a mother. It was the last time I saw her so happy."