Denial

I can’t be dead.
I’m a 17 year old girl who has never had any health problems, I just don’t understand.
It may have come as a bit of a shocker to you but apparently I really am dead. I guess I was murdered, I mean how else could I have died? But, who would have killed me?
Right now I’m at my own funeral, I can see my father, fists clenched wishing he was anywhere but here. I know he will not rest until the police find out who killed me, he was always very protective.
This is only the second funeral I have been to in my lifetime, the first was my own mother. She died when I was 4 from breast cancer, I don’t really remember much about her, except all of my older family members tell me I look just like her. We had the same dirty blonde wavy hair and piercing green eyes. All I have is pictures, and the few home videos we have of me learning how to  walk from the couch right into my mother’s arms.
The only story I have ever heard about my mom is my favorite. The story of how she and my dad met.  My mom was 22 and she was working for a travel company in France at the time, when she came across a tall,  tanned skinned man named Holden. He was an American on a trip with a few of his friends from college. They first caught eyes in a cafe in Nice, Holden was captivated by my mother as soon as they first saw each other. They instantly started chatting and found out they grew up within 4 blocks of each other in Boston. They began dating almost immediately after, and 3 years later they went on a trip back to France together. Holden proposed to her right where they first met. Soon after that I was born.
I can see my best friend Violet, standing at the front of the church talking about  all our memories and the “good ole days.” I’ve known Violet since I was 6 years old granted I am only 17 now, uh I guess I was 17. Violet has always been quiet, she never was very outgoing and I can tell she’s sad because her voice is coming out as even more of a whimper than  usual when she says, “ Mila was my best friend, we all can agree this is very shocking, we never would have expected this of her.”
I walk up towards my open casket, and I see my body staring up at me, except it’s not me anymore. I look beautiful, they dressed my body in a simple white satin dress with beading at the top and pink flowers are making a crown in my hair. There’s a sign by the casket which says In lieu of flowers please donate to Teen Challenge Addiction, I have no idea why they would have them donate there for my death. I remember my uncle Jim was an addict but, why does that have anything to do with me?

Anger

There is surprisingly a lot of my classmates here, more than I would have expected. Even Emma, who has hated me since we were in the third grade is in the back ( attached to her boyfriend Jordon of course.) I can only imagine what it must be like for these kids to see one of their classmates murdered, even if they barely knew me.
Now the service is finishing up, my dad and Violet are headed back home. My grandparents and all my aunts and uncles are there for lunch. On the counter there is food from strangers who I’m sure just want to do something to help. Oh man, I would die for a piece of this lasagna, but I guess I’m already dead, whoops. The one thing I don’t notice is any police officers or investigators there to figure out why I died. Isn’t that strange?
I had a promising future. All A’s, a varsity athlete and no medical issues. To a stranger I had the perfect life and looking back at it I really did-- at least on the surface. But I had heavy expectations put on me to be a good girl and become the successful doctor everyone expected me to be. I had my whole future ahead of me, how could I have been killed! I really hate to say this and I know it can’t be true but what if it was my dad? Or Violet? They always say it ends up being the ones closest to you. 
I walk next door to Violet’s house, she’s sitting in her room, door locked with her back resting up against it.
Her mom calls out, “ Violet, honey why don’t you come down and eat something, it’d be really good for you.”
But Violet gave no response and only sat with a blank stare, I have never seen her like this. I know she’s upset but she almost looks guilty.
Ten years ago the summer Violet moved in, I walked over and introduced myself to her, “ Hi I’m Mila and I’m six.”
In a whisper I heard, “ I’m Violet and I’m six too”. As much as Violet may have found me loud and obnoxious, I was determined to make her my friend.
Every summer we ran around the neighborhood, chasing each other and the ice cream truck. We became absolutely inseparable. The summer before we started 6th grade we went to an overnight camp where we made the matching string bracelets we still wear every single day.
I do remember the days leading up to my death. On Friday night, Violet and I had a sleepover. We talked a lot about how worried Violet was about college and getting into her dream school, NYU. She has wanted to go there for as long as I’ve known her, and I have absolutely no doubt that she’ll get in. We had it all planned out, Violet would be in New York, I would be in Boston and we could trade off making trips to visit each other. Violet knew how worried I was about taking my SAT this week, so she even gave me a bottle of her ADHD meds. She said they would help me focus on studying. I graciously accepted because I could use as much help with getting a good score on this test as I could. The next morning, Violet dropped me off at my house so I could start studying.
And that was the last time we spoke.
I can see the bracelet sitting on the middle of her desk, sort of hurt by the fact she isn’t wearing it anymore.  What if Violet killed me? She had always been a little jealous of me, but I guess that was just the nature of our friendship. We were very competitive.
She clutches the bracelet to her chest, tears starting to stream down her face. She really is feeling guilty.
I touch her arm. I can tell she feels that I’m here, she puts the bracelet back on. I  want to go up and hug her, but I know she can’t see me but she needs to know I’m here for her. This was our last connection, as much as it pained her to look down at that bracelet and think of me, I know she will still wear it. I wanted to say, “Hey V you are definitely going to get into NYU and make loads of new friends, so many that you will completely forget about me. (But, I really hope you don’t).”
I hope Violet knows I forgive her, for no matter what may have happened before I died, I still love her.
Violet needs to move on, and I have to too.
She has to know that even though I won’t physically be there from prom, graduation and everything else I will always be watching over her.
Wherever we end up after we die, I really do believe we still have influence over our loved ones lives. There’s a certain connection the dead share with the living, like when you’re in a room and a cold breeze brushes over you. Or, when you are sitting in a room completely by yourself and you feel like someone’s eyes are watching you. Except the living people can’t see us, they can only feel our energy.
I decide it's time for me to leave Violet because I don’t know what else to say. I’m going to miss her so much. “Goodbye V, I’ll see you soon.” When I’m on my way out I notice a thick packet sitting on her porch and its addressed from NYU.
I walk back to my own house and up to my bedroom except it’s not empty, my dad is in there. He’s sitting on my bed staring out the window. My dad was always protective over me, whether it was who my friends were or my boyfriends, he always wanted the best for me.  Even if he didn’t always understand what I was going through. But, if he was so protective then why did I die? How could he not save me, he was a doctor!
He tried so hard to fill the mother shaped gap in my life, and be my dad at the same time.
This was the worst case scenario for him, his only daughter would never graduate high school, never travel to France and never get married or have kids.
I would assume there would be police and detectives tearing apart my room and our house. Any detective would suspect the family for the murder first, but what was their motivation?
There is no one at my house. No police, no agents, no one.
What kind of father doesn’t even attempt to find out who murdered his daughter, unless he  had something to do with it.  Why would everyone give up this easily?!
My dad is a cardiac surgeon at Willowbrook Hospital which was about an hour from our house. He usually had to work long shifts and holidays so he didn’t get to see me as much as he wanted to. Up until I was 10, I was raised by about 100 different nannies.
I remember one Saturday morning, when i was 8, he had the day off from work, we were sitting at the kitchen table while I ate my pancakes and I told him I wanted to grow up to be a doctor just like him. That made him smile from ear to ear, and ever since I had been focused on becoming a doctor, I wanted to make him proud.
He starts to run his hand along my (pre) pre med certificate. I was on track to go to Harvard Medical School. I studied for countless hours, took tests, went to med camp for the entire summer, I was determined. But as determined as I was, my father was 10 times that. Surely he just wanted me to achieve my goal but he just got tougher and tougher on me.
One day last year, I went into my dads office to show him my 90% on an anatomy test.
I came out of that office with a bright red cheek and a bloody lip.
That was the only time my father had ever hit me, he immediately apologized and hugged me begging me not to tell anyone and I never did. We haven’t talked about that day since, but I know he was probably stressed and he never meant to actually hurt me.
I didn’t see that same dad who made me Saturday morning pancakes ever again. I always wondered if deep down he felt threatened by my becoming a doctor. Or maybe as I grew up it hurt too much to look at me because I looked so much like mom. The rift continued to grow bigger between us as I got older, he became a drill sergeant when all I really needed was a dad.
But as he sat there looking at my certificate he mumbled something that was almost inaudible.
He said, “ I’m sorry”
And that is all I needed.
Those two little words were all my 15 year old ears needed to hear when I ran into my room, my lip stinging and my eyes full of tears. Or last year when he missed the field hockey game that I scored my 100th career goal in. My dad focused on the schoolwork, he always claimed field hockey and sports in general were a distraction. It may seem like a simple thing but it was important, it shows he actually cared that he missed out.
On the other hand, it’s hard to believe for my father who always seemed to care too much about what was going on in my life, he isn't even trying to figure out what happened to me.

Acceptance

I walk next door to my dad's room because it's empty. I go lay on my dads bed trying to remember how things ever ended up like this.
Then, it came all crashing down.
The night before my SAT, and the empty pill bottle of ADHD medication. I remember hearing the sirens blaring and the heart rhythm falling flat.

Time of death 11:06.

There was no murderer.

My killer was me.

It must actually be time for me walk out of this life, and walk right back into my mother's arms.

Epilogue

Six months later, Violet is now attending NYU to get her degree in interior design, she lives in an apartment with her boyfriend Thomas and they now have a dog named Charlie.
Mila’s father quit his stressful job to start a non profit organization called Mila’s Promise. Their goal is to educate teens about drug use and further prevent any future accidents like Mila’s.
And finally Mila, she is now resting peacefully with her mother and they both continue to watch over their family everyday.