The day Momma died was a cloudy one. The day of Momma's funeral was a sunny one. Many people came to her funeral, more than I expected to be honest. One by one, they parked in the lot and walked over the hill to where she was to be buried. There, they could find my father pouring his eyes out and me standing behind me looking at my mother's black casket. She wasn't suppose to go. In fact, I should have been the dead one. I was the one that made her go out after all.

The rain had just stopped and I had arrived home from school. I took off my rain jacket and left it hanging on the entrance. Momma was paying her bills on the counter and listening to classical music. She loved classical music even though both my father and I hated it, "Hey sugar!" She looked up at me with her large blue eyes. I gave her a smile small and walked over the fridge and poured myself a glass of orange juice, "How was school?"

"Is that even a question?" We both laughed. I resembled her so much in so many ways, yet we were so different. I had her large blue eyes that were filled with so much happiness. We both had blonde hair, yet hers was curly and mine was straight. We were both the same height, even I was only an inch taller at 5'4. However our personalities were so different. Momma loved the outdoors, she dressed nice, and she was so polite to everyone. I don't think there's one person on this earth that she hated. I, on the other hand, preferred the indoors, dressed like a hobo, and disliked most people. To be honest, I admired her for everything that she did and I regret not telling her that enough.

Momma always had crazy ideas. That's how she was, she was spontaneous. Dad had gone out to the bar with some of his friends. It was a Friday night and I had suggested that we go out and get some coffee but Mom wanted some frozen yogurt. I didn't resist. We both got in the car and drove downtown. She had her favorite flavor, French Vanilla, while I had chocolate. We ate our yogurt in silence before we got back in the car, "Do you need anything from downtown before we go back home?" She signaled her care to go left. I was looking out the window and turned back in time to see the light turn green.

At the last moment I said that I had to go to CVS to get a notebook for school. Mom's immediate reaction was to turn right, but that was also the moment when the other driver hit us. It was a truck driver and he brakes had failed. It hit Mom first. The truck's lights were so bright and it all happened so fast. Mom put her hand on my chest to protect me from hitting the dashboard. Her hand was so warm and protecting. I passed out after that. Next thing I know is that I'm at the hospital, white lights staring down at me. The doctor yells at the nurses as they rush me to a room. I put my hand on my forehead but when I look at it, all I see is blood, "Move! Move!" The doors burst open and a feeling of panic rushes over me. I can see my mother's curly hair covered in blood.

The nurses pushing my car push me over to the side and I try to levitate myself, "Mom! Momma!" I cry reaching my hand over to her but she's gone. One of the nurses, I remember, the one with black hair pushed me down and tells me not to worry, that everything will be okay. She's incorrect. I broke my arm and suffered a concussion and my ribs were badly bruised. Dad didn't arrive at the hospital until half an hour later I was told by the same nurse that had calmed me down, even though it seemed like eternity since I didn't see him until the next morning. When I woke up, Dad had his hands over his face and that's when I started crying as well, "Where's Momma?" He didn't respond, "Dad! Where's Mom?" I started to thrash around, even though I was still plugged into the machine, "I want to see Mom! Where's Mom?" I ripped the wires off my chest and got out of bed, the pain was too much to bear and I fell on the ground where I began to cry from both pain and the thought of never seeing my mother even again. The doctor rushed into the room and yelled for the nurses to get me some morphine. That seemed to calm down the pain just a little, but I wasn't going to stay drugged forever. I remember it so clearly, and I really wish I didn't.

People that came to the funeral would stop by, give me a hug, offer their support and then say their goodbyes to Mom, except it wasn't really Mom, it was just a dead body in a casket. Then came the moment when she had been buried and Dad finally stopped crying. Grandma drove me and Dad home. She was going to be staying with us until Dad was able to provide for both me and himself. Money was never a problem, we had enough of it, the problem was that I was mainly raised my Mom since Dad was always out with his buddies at the bar. Grandma once asked me when I was younger if Daddy ever drank too much. I was eight years old at the time and I had replied no. The truth is, by that time every time Daddy came home acting funny Momma would send me to my room with the phone in case things got ugly. Things did get ugly but every time the police came to check on us, Mom would say that nothing had happened. Then came the year that he threatened me with a knife if I told anyone what he did to Mom. I never said anything but both Mom and I knew he was an alcoholic but we never really discussed it.

Grandma never wanted Mom and Dad to marry. Mom fell in love with the hot senior at her high school, and Dad fell in love with her, too. Dad had just graduated college and had set up a successful software company. Mom was graduating high school at the time but Dad had convinced her to run away with him, which she did. She was three months pregnant with me at the time. They had enough money to give me a good life. What mom didn't realize was Dad's alcohol problem. There was no going back after she had me. Grandma would come by frequently and as a child, I loved those days because Daddy didn't drink and we were all happy. As I grew up, I knew when to keep my mouth shut, when to say the rights things and when to lie. I guess it was all part of growing up.

"Jesus Christ, is there any food in this damn house?" Grandma yelled looking into the refrigerator. It took her a moment to realize that I was standing right behind her, "Sorry, Hix, there's just no food in this house. How about we go grocery shopping?" My name's Hixon, no one calls me Hix other than Mom but she's long gone now, "John, Hixon and I are going to the grocery store, do you need anything?"

Dad sat on the couch in the living room and replied my first word when I was a baby, "Beer."

"I'm not bringing any more alcohol into this house, it's not okay for your teenage daughter to see you drink and drink everyday."

"Then you can go f*** yourself, Annie! You'd be doing all of us a favor if you left anyways." Grandma looked at me. I was staring at Dad, and he was staring back at me, "Hixon, you know what to bring me." I nodded my head and then exited out the door.