The Day her World Stopped

Another day, the sun appears through the sky box between her shades, The sky loudly shouts, as she tucks away. For three years, she has stored herself away from everyone else. Protected by the walls that surround her, closed off from near and far from the danger she has seen before.

A small vent feeds her a fresh draft, Grocery orders are dropped off by her door weekly, and her computer holds a network of those she knows. She feels content where there's control. A lesson she learned all too well from a few years back.

YouTube has become her ally, as she would rather learn how to fasten, graft, and, or glue to avert any unnecessary talks amongst unknown strangers who may know about her.

Every day she adheres to the same schedule to the dot. Wake up, brush her teeth, and set out food for the wondering outdoor cat that seeks a home here and there. She heads to the cupboard, grabs her jar of oats, then adds them to the hot water on the stove, takes her spoon, and pushes back and forth, comparable to a dance. She hums a soft toon under her breath, as the stove calms. She adds a dash of sugar to her bowl and settles down on her lavender loveseat, book of the week faced open from where she last left off.

As she reads, she feels an escape from the world and fears that swallow any urge to leave her curated castle she has created. She becomes the character of every novel, every adventure, every lesson that canvasses the pages. She's a reader of no regret, a soul who grows through every page turned. But today, that the not the case.

She tucks her bangs over her ear as she comprehends the story told between the pages. She turns the page as a tear softly falls down her creased cheek. Her hand touches the wet spot as she pauses. The name on the page reads as Daphne, she could feel her heart drop for a moment. Daphne, not a name that one comes by often, but, a name that haunts nonetheless.

She closes the book, thrown by a memory she can't flee from, as she has managed to evade and leave alone for the last three years.

Daphane, my dear, Daphane, the heart, the center of all my fear, Daphane, you should be here. . . . . . Not me.

She wept, endless streams down her face, her knees weak, all because of a name. The name, The name of her daughter Daphane who no longer gets to breathe the same breeze her mother does. Her daughter who no longer sees another day, wakes up to freshly baked blueberry pancakes and bacon, cooked just how she once loved them. Just a baby whose soul was stolen before she ever became a woman, a fully loved and whole person.

She sobbed wholeheartedly curled on the ground, her lungs pressed for a breath between agony-fueled heartache and rage for the loss of her daughter.

She stumbled to her feet and wandered to a room that had been untouched for a matter of years. She turned the doorknob ever so softly as she was greeted by the lavender-purple walls Daphne had assured her would be a perfect color for her room. Daphne's bed was left untouched, her walls had taped posters of dreamy pop stars from the teen bop channels, next to art Daphane had drawn.

Three years have gone by, yet Daphne's room looks ready for her to come home from school the day she never got to.

Daphanes mother clenched her daughter's pillow as she leaned her back on the bedframe. She hasn't truly let herself feel the unbearable sadness and sorrow from the loss of her daughter over the last few years.

The tragedy occurred two thousand and two days ago, a number that added to every dawn and dusk that passes through her sky box each day.

Two thousand and two days ago, she was a mother to a sweet, pretty, smart, capable ten-year-old. Two thousand and two days ago, she took her sweet ten-year-old to fourth grade.

Daphane was dressed up, her sparkly purple glow shoes that made her stand out no matter where she was. Her curls were pulled back, and she had her beloved magenta overalls on and her Jansport Backpack. A tasty PB&J, apple, and cookie packed away added to her lunch box and a hug for the road. Who knew that would be the last hug she would offer her?! There should be no world where a mother sends her joy to mandatory school to never come home.

Two thousand and two days from the day her world stopped.

Two thousand and two days from her last hug from her daughter,

Two thousand and two days from the last day she would ever be called mom!

TWO THOUSAND AND TWO DAYS - from the day a mentally weak, unnerving, coward entered her daughter's school to do monstrous acts that should have been prevented.

No mother should lose the joy they created, no mother should be fearful to take her daughter to school. No mother should have to choose whether to educate or be safe.

She lost her daughter that day, she holds onto shame that those shoes could have made her daughter more of a target, and she mourns an unbearable loss. The Jansport backpack was all she took home that day, The backpack was left set up on a hook by her, hanging.

Two thousand and two days ago Kate lost her daughter Daphane. She lost all control, she lost her joy, and she has lost her reason to breathe because her daughter cannot.

She tucks away from a world that doesn't value her loss enough to take movements toward progress. She tucks away from answers to strangers she doesn't know how to tell about her loss. She camouflages amongst her fears and settles to a new day-to-day nearly normal, where she would rather be a character between the pages of a novel than her truth where her daughter doesn't come home.