One Million Tiny Things

What we've lost

Dear Aunt Coral,
Thunder rumbles,

The wind howls,

Birds sing,

And I no longer hear any of it.

Life is only as we know it because of our 5 senses. Senses that make the world around us 3-dimensional. We don't just see stuff, we can smell them. We don't detect everything by smell, we can taste them. We can feel the world around us and experience life in all its glory. And making it all real, are the million noises a day that show us that the world is almost moving.

A motor-bike roaring to life.
A frog croaking outside.
Rain splashing down onto the roof.
Footsteps running up the stairs.

A million noises that I was so used to hearing, that I took it all for granted. I never took the time to value the world around me and today, I can't,not anymore.

I fought and pleaded for Mrs. Barker to remove those damned windchimes, for Anita to calm down her screeching puppy, for Fred to get a quieter scooter just so I could get a wink of sleep.

Now I sleep like a baby, except for the few times I open my tear crusted lids and feel around the damp pillow wondering why Fred wasn't back yet, why he hadn't called.

And just like that I remember everything, I remember that Fred will never be back again, that I'll never hear my phone, the windchill or a barking dog again and most of all why my pillow was soaked.

Remembering that day is like walking through the hottest part of hell over and over again. Getting scorched to the bone eventhough you already knew that you were gonna burn, eventhough you anticipated it because there is nothing you could do to save yourself, your soul from that torture.

The most heartbreaking thing in the world has got to be losing your family. The only people in the world who actually care if you get up in the morning, if you're happy, if your already annoyed to the limit or if they could squeeze in a little more.

But nothing is worse than watching it happen right in front of your eyes and being unable to do anything about it. One moment we were smiling and nudging each other while  listening to the pastor and the next thing we know is a deafening blast and everyone crumbling to the ground in a pile of bloody limbs.

Everyone around me was hurt and there was no one to catch me as I collapsed. The shrapnel hitting me on the right side of my face. I watched my husband reach out for our son who had got hit on the leg only to have a flying piece of debris impale him from the back. I saw them scream and fall, suddenly unable to hear anything. I remember panickedly reaching out trying to help them to find out I was unable to move a muscle with the severe gashes on my legs and the pieces of glass sticking out from everywhere as I'd falled on a shattered window.

I felt my self screaming and screaming. I saw people respond, come running, ask questions.  I saw the paramedics rush to us, place us on stretchers, move me closer to my dying husband and already dead son. I felt the tears on my face, the pain both physical and emotional. I saw the chaos around me, saw my husband muttering something probably words of reassurance while gripping tight to my arm, patting me and closing his eyes for the last time.

I saw the soldiers take away my family and cover them in white sheets while the paramedics carried me away and placed me in an ambulance. I saw the ambulance attendant talking, and trying to get a response, saw him inject something making the pain fade and my world turn black.

All the while I heard nothing. I went through the worst ordeal of my life in complete silence.

I woke up in an ICU all alone with tubes and needles sticking out of me. It was a daze probably because of the drugs and painkillers. I spent that first week in and out of sleep, occasionally waking up to see a silhouette of a person or a glimpse of the room but never staying awake long enough to catch details or memories.

I made up for that in the nightmares that plauged my unconcious time. Most of them were different versions of the same thing sometimes fast, sometimes slowed to painstaking detail.

I still do see them often. Although now I have happy dreams, fond memories from the places we went or things we did that meant so little at the time. I usually end up crying much harder than any other nightmare when I come to from those memories because nothing hurts more than what we had and lost.

When I could finally stay conscious by the second week we had the burial service. I managed to stay awake for the first time in days. The dulled sedatives managed to reduce the pain but not enough to numb me to it.

I was wondering if I could crash on your couch, just for a few months. I know that with your job and family, I might be a hassle. But I'm in desperate need of a change in environment. I can't go on if I keep seeing Derek's and Fred's ghosts in every room, reliving every memory, only to wake up all alone with nobody in plain sight.

I understand if this is a push in your hospitality and quite difficult to manage. But I hope you could make this allowance and take me in.

Sincerely,
Jamie.