Golden H.S.

3. Grief

Ok I promise this is the last chapter that wallows in sadness.  It's darkest before the dawn right? ;)

TR: Coping with loss

I cannot tell you how I got home.

I cannot tell you how anything in the world continued to function.

I no longer could.

I know Mark's parents came to town.

I know we had a service for him.

I just don't remember any of it.

I mean I don't remember the details of the following months.

I do know I planned and attended the funeral of my husband of six years. Looking back, I guess I did everything I was supposed to do, like brush my teeth and hair and bathe, but only by the miracle of muscle memory. I certainly don't remember any of it. It's like when you're driving and you get to your destination. You think about how you actually got there. You don't remember any traffic lights or stop signs. Were there other cars on the road? How did I operate a vehicle and not remember? That's what the following weeks felt like.

A few times I woke up on the floor of the closet. I was sitting with my back against the wall, all of Mark's shirts in front of me. I don't remember putting myself in there, but I did like the smell of him on his things. It calmed my nerves. I had no idea how long I had been in there and once I had my mind back, moving any part of my body felt like it would be a bad idea. I would just sit, unmoving, until every part of me was tingling with lack of circulation.

I spent hours locked in my own head.

Replaying my memories of me and Mark, as that was the only thing left and I wasn't ready to let that go.

I had long conversations with him in my head. I knew him so well, I knew what he would say to me. He was always sweet and calm. I, on the other hand, was all over the place. Somedays, I would whisper quietly to him, then giggling at a joke shared between us. After the laughter would come the tears. They were the hardest to stop. The only thing I could do would be to cry until my body had used every ounce of energy I possessed. Only then would I drift off to a fitful sleep.

More often than not my dreams were filled with Mark. Sometimes reliving memories, sometimes taking new adventours, soaring across the sky and doing impossible things. It could be wonderful, but it always felt temporary. I knew I would be alone when I woke up.

If I found myself lying next to Mark, I would fight drifting off knowing that once I woke up I would be alone again. Dream Mark, lit by the sun streaming in the windows of the fictional room, would smile at me with his head next to mine on the pillow and his fingers gently massaging my scalp. I loved the tingling sensation I got as the tips of his fingers ran from my forehead to the back of my head repeating the action, lulling me into a peaceful state.

Then there were the nightmares, I never went more than a week before they would ruin my nights. It was always a version of our last days together. I would relive the memories of the sights and sounds of the hospital. The only other people besides Mark and I, are the vague faces of medical professionals. I can feel my heart begin to beat faster as the impending doom looming over us grows heavier. I try everything to get a different outcome. I beg the doctors to look carefully in his brain for the killer. I have the info, but I'm not listened to or the monster changes it's not his brain it's his heart. It grew too big and exploded from within. I can't stop it and he's gone, again. I yell and scream and tear apart things in the room I'm in.