Dealing with the Dead.

Two months went by without me seeing Spike. Things had started to go back to the same, before Spike. Dad wasn't really pissed off with me anymore, which was a relief; however, he didn't really treat me like daddies girl anymore.

Instead, he was quiet. So was mum come to think about it, she didn't talk much, she didn't even go to work anymore. I thought it was strange, but didn't question it.

I had my graduation to think about, I had almost finished my college course and it was coming up to my nineteenth birthday. I couldn't wait, my friend, Willow was coming back from Boston. She had gone to a posh college there and I had stayed in Sunnydale.

I really couldn't wait, but then, things seemed to get worse again.

On the day of my nineteenth, I came home from the airport with Willow to find the police and a ambulance crew outside of my house.

I rushed into the house to see dad crying.

"What's up?" I asked him. I then looked at the lifeless body of mom; she had a piece of rope around her neck. She had hung herself.

I didn't sleep at all that night. I couldn't. It was my birthday and my mom had committed suicide. I couldn't face it. I was lucky I had Willow that night; she promised she'd be there for me until I was okay. She even said she'd move back to sunnydale, I couldn't let her, she had a life. A pretty good one by the sounds of it. She told me all about this guy she met the first day she'd met him, now they were engaged to be married.

Even though I had Willow that night, which I was grateful for, I wanted something more, I wanted Spike. He was the only one who could heal my broken heart. I wanted to lie in his arms and have him tell me everything will be okay. I couldn't, I knew it and it killed me.

The next few days leading up to the funeral were the hardest, we had to make decisions for the service that I couldn't, we had to pick what she would wear in the coffin, and most of all, what to read out in church. I had already chosen mine; it was mom's favourite poem.

She had read it at her mother's funeral, so I would read it at mine.

There were loads of people who turned up at the service. All of them said sorry for your loss and that, it annoyed me cause all of them knew how she died and were judging us. I heard one women say that she knew something like this would happen soon. That pissed me off a lot.

Dad stood at the front of the mass of people in black, he told them how much he loved mom, I knew he secretly blamed me, I could see it in his eyes.

Then it was my turn. I stood there, teary eyed and read the poem:

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

After the funeral I went to the Bronze, a popular club near my house. I had a few drinks and sat all alone. Then I was joined by someone familiar. I was shocked. Tears filled my eyes as I looked at him, "Spike?" I asked and he nodded. I fell into his lap and cried.