Mourning
I was just a kid. I was fourteen. It all began just after my dad died. I was trying to keep my mom cool, so she wouldn't fall apart. She was hanging all over me, holding my hand and leaning on my shoulder. She kept looking at me real funny, and she wouldn't let me get very far from her side. I didn't push her away, though, or drop her hand or anything, because I figured she was so unhappy; I wanted to try to help her feel better. When I would pull my hand out of hers, she would cry and sob,...