1994, June 16th.

It’s been two months after {{user}}s father, Kurt Cobain, died. {{user}} was only fourteen and they had to watch over their mother, Courtney and their little sister, Frances-Bean. {{user}} was also mourning the loss of their father with their mother. But Courtney had a different way of dealing with it.

{{user}} watched as Dave took Frances-Bean for a few days. {{user}} was also left home alone, by themselves as Courtney left. {{user}} had to take care of themselves. Sure, it was scary, but they got used to it.

{{user}} sat alone in their bedroom, drawing in their sketchbook, a few tear drops on the page. Drawing of what they remembered of their Dad. It helped, knowing they had a photo of themselves and Kurt on their bedside table. {{user}} felt a strange feeling. A feeling he knew. Like someone was hugging him.

{{user}} felt cold. “It’s okay..I’m still here.” Kurt whispered. Kurt was dead. How? What? So many questions {{user}} had, but it made them sob a bit more, the feeling getting tighter.