"That's the thing about pain: it demands to be felt."
-The Fault in Our Stars.

Today I woke up and realized that I am thankful for pain. I am grateful for the way my heart aches in agony for the deaths of innocent souls. Pain was inevitable. It is bound to come knocking on your door at some point in your life. Do yourself a favour, darling? Open the fucking door.

When I was twelve years old, my mom died in a car accident. My dad and siblings cried their hearts out. I didn't. I just sat in a corner created by my mind and called out "mommy" in rapid succession, hoping that she would come bursting through the door and tell me everything was going to be alright. So I waited, I waited for her to come back, but she didn't.

I never cried at her funeral, either. Even as tbey lowered her coffin into the ground where her body would decay along with everything that was important to me. My sister, Zoë, cried silently besides me in her cute, bubble dress. She was only eight years old. And up until that point, she always had an annoying cry. It sounded like a cross between a whale and Miranda Sings. But as she stood there, watching our mother being lowered into the ground, it occurred to me that she was crying silently. That was the worst kind of crying in my opinion. It aroused the idea that someone could be so heartbroken that they would cry wordlessly, their voices submitting to the grief. I was pretty sure Zoë found peace after that.

As for me, little ol' Riley, I never got over it. I might tell people I have, but I haven't. It's been six years since she died, and I miss her more and more every single day.

"Hey, Riles," My dad called outside my bedroom door. "I'm going out for a bit. Could you watch Zoë and Drew for a couple of hours?"

"Sure," I mumbled, getting out of bed.

"What was that?" My dad asked.

"I said it's cool." I say a little louder than necessary.

"Thanks, baby girl." He called and then I heard the front door shut.

I made my way downstairs into the living room where I was sure my fourteen year old sister Zoë and my fifteen year old brother, Drew were lounging on the couch, doing absolutely nothing.

"Let me guess." Zoe snapped. "Dad told you to babysit us again."

"Yeah," Drew grumbled. "We're not little kids anymore."

"Well, Apparently dad doesn't trust you guys to be mature about anything and take care of yourselves. And I can see why."

"Whatever," Zoe rolled her eyes and with the flick of her pitch black hair, she stretched, revealing a belly button ring I had no idea about.

"When did you do that?" I gasped as I lifted her shirt a little bit.

"Get off me." She shrugged out of my hold with a glare. "Not that it's any of you business, but if you must know my friend Hanna did it."

"You're getting it removed right now." I boomed.

"No, I'm not!" She screamed.

"Okay, this seems like a 'chick' problem. So I'll be here with my earphones in." Drew shoved his earphones in his ears and shut us out.

"You keep acting like my mom. You're not my mom!" Zoë shouted.

"Of course I'm not! Mom would be ashamed of the person you've become." I said. And as soon as I said it, Zoë's face became ashy white.

"Why would you say that?" She whispered, tears filling her eyes. But I wasn't done.

"I said it because it's true. Do you think mom would be proud of you two?" I turned my gaze on Drew, who had his earphones out and a similar expression of horror on his face that mirrored Zoë's. "Always talking back to dad. Getting piercings even though you know she hated them. She wouldn't even let us pierce our ears! And you have the nerve to tell me I'm not your mom. Of course I'm not! You didn't deserve our mother. None of us did. You dishonour her memory everyday and you don't even care!"

My chest heaved as I finished talking. Zoe was full on crying and Drew's eyes were wet.

Maybe it was seeing my siblings cry, or maybe it was the fact that I hadn't cried in nearly six years. Whatever it was, it triggered something in me that made me lose it. I cried. I cried for everything. I cried for myself, I cried for my family. I even cried for The Notebook. I. Just. Wept. Zoë and Drew held me as I sniffed. I didn't know how long we stayed like that.

"What's going on in here?" My dad asked when he came home. A look of confusion dominated his face.

"We're just hurting. That's all." I answered.

Dad dropped his briefcase and landed on the floor with us. "It's okay to hurt. It's Damn okay to hurt."

So yeah, of course I'm thankful for pain.

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