in the backseat

I like the peace in the backseat, but it’s not the kind that feels safe. It’s quiet in a way that presses in on you, heavy and empty. I don’t have to drive. I don’t have to speak. I can watch the countryside, the world outside my window passing me, and fall asleep. I'm not in control, and maybe that’s the worst part. 

Sometimes I feel as if my family tree’s losing its leaves, as if it's crashing towards the driver's seat, and I’m just sitting there, watching it all crumble; maybe I'm crashing towards the driver's seat. I can’t even reach for the wheel. It’s like I'm in the car, but I'm not really part of the journey. The driver’s seat is miles away, but it’s where I feel like I should be, where I need to be. I'm in the backseat, but the world around me is changing, and I know it.

When they told me the news, it was as if a lightning bolt, a flash of heat that melts the street beneath my feet, struck. I've thought about that moment a lot; it's like you think you’re steady, but life can knock you off course just like that. It makes everything feel fragile, like the road you’ve been driving on could suddenly dissolve, or the black ice suddenly forces you off course.

They died in the night. No explanation. No warning. Just gone. It changed my brain; it was like the world was suddenly out of focus. My sense of security, of the backseat, was and is gone. You think you’re safe there, free from the weight of the wheel, but then something happens that thrusts you into the driver's seat, whether you're ready or not. The moment they die, it’s like a lightning bolt tearing through everything. The warmth of the backseat fades, replaced by the stark cold of having to take control when you didn’t ask for it.

 The silence that follows her absence is absolutely deafening. It’s the kind of silence that makes you feel like you’re no longer part of the world you once knew, the kind that fills every empty space, every second of the day.

 It’s the emptiness that settles in after a life is taken too soon.

No longer can I just watch life pass by. I have to keep moving, even though every step feels like I'm dragging myself through wet concrete. I have to keep driving, even though I never asked for this. I never asked to take control. But I have no choice now. And it’s terrifying. Is it bad to admit I hate it? I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. The backseat, that safe place where I could hide, is no longer an option. It’s been taken away, and I’m left to figure out how to move forward, even though I don’t have the strength to take the first step.

I've been learning to drive my whole life, but it feels like I’m just getting further from the wheel. The more I try to take control, the more I realize I don’t know how to steer at all. People have always been driving for me, but now, as I grow, they’re all disappearing, one by one, and we're all left wondering when the next one will leave. Oh, how painful the waiting game is. And I’m just sitting here, like I’m being pulled into the driver’s seat, but all I want is to close my eyes and go back to that place where everything felt safe, where nothing could touch me. I want to feel that comfort again, even if it was only an illusion. I want to fall asleep through it all and watch the countryside.

I want to feel that comfort of knowing nothing will go wrong. I’ve been learning, but learning doesn’t make it any easier, it makes it worse. it just reminds you that you'll be on your own, all alone. It doesn’t stop the sinking feeling in your chest or the quiet that screams in your ears. Maybe I’ll never really learn. Maybe I’ll just stay here, in the backseat, watching everything fall apart around me. All I know is that I want to stay in the backseat, I don't want my loved ones to go, as selfish as it is, I want more than ever, for them to keep a tight grip on that wheel, please don't ever let go, I feel as if I wont be ready.

love you mama

-zee