I stare up a Jughead for a second. I can't be brave for another second. I fall into Jughead, tears streaming
down my face. "Dead. She's dead. Dead. She's dead." I repeat over and over and over. It is all that I can
say. All that I can do.
I am thirteen (I can't actually remember how old she is) years old and my mother is dead.
I fell asleep crying while Jughead held me and rocked me and comforted me. The pain of mom's
death was fresh from telling Jughead. A fresh wound that would fester and would heal slowly if ever.
There are some things in this world that you cannot heal from without pain. Pain is the only way to
heal. To accept what is already fact. To accept death is to accept that there is life and that life will be
hard but that you canno't be sad for your whole life. That the world doesn't work that was and that
there comes a time when you have to accept that. However hard it may be.
I am grateful that I have a brother that will take care of me and maybe even a father if pop truly is
as sober as Jug says that he is. I am trading a dead mother for a drunk father. Better than be stuck in the
system like I would be if pop was still in jail. But he's out and as far as the state is concerned that's
enough to take care of a 13 year old child.
We will see.