His Detka

6. What Should Have Been

DATE: July 5, 2020

It's been two weeks since he died, and a week and three days since the funeral. Today was supposed to have been our wedding day. I have over 100 unopened text messages from Mama, Papa, Nat, Steve, and Linda & Erin Reagan, along with about 75 missed calls. Their hearts are in the right place, mine isn't. I am not even sure my heart is still in my body. I'm pretty sure that it was buried with Jamie two weeks ago. I haven't felt up to responding to them. I'm not really feeling up for anything if I'm being honest.

I knew that someone was going to come by eventually. I was in no mood for any of it. I hadn't eaten since the funeral. The only reason I ate the day of the funeral was because I was surrounded by Jamie and I's family and friends. The last thing I needed or wanted was for them to worry about me when we had just buried Jamie. I will say that I've at least had some water and the occasional glass of whiskey to take the edge off when it became too much.

I was sitting on the couch watching watching some of the videos I had of Jamie, looking through all of our old pictures, and playing with my engagement ring when I heard knocking on the door. I knew my solitude wouldn't last long. Maybe if I was quiet enough they'd go away. Hopefully it wasn't anyone with a key, otherwise I was screwed. The knocking persisted. I knew I needed to get up and answer the door, but I just didn't have the energy.

Finally, I heard "Blaire. I know you're in there! I'm giving you a chance to open this door before I use my key." shouted Nat.

I stayed there on the couch, with Jamie's favorite blanket wrapped around my shoulders, wearing my wedding dress. Then I heard her keys jingling, then her fidgeting with the lock and the clicking of the door as it opened. She walked in and came kneel in front of me. Then I heard her say "Oh, Detka..." and it was laced with sadness.

Her eyes examined me to make sure that I hadn't physically hurt myself in the two weeks that I'd been alone. "Hey, honey. I brought a friend of ours. Steve and I just wanted to pop in and check on you." she said.

I looked up at her with a quivering lip, glossy eyes, and a whiskey glass in my hand. I felt far away mentally.

"I was supposed to get married today, but someone took him away from me. Why did he have to go? Why did God have to take him from me?" I took a sip of my whiskey. "There is a giant gaping hole in my chest where my heart is supposed to be. I've been here for two weeks, Natasha. Two fucking weeks. I keep watching and waiting for him to come walking through that door with his goofy smile and him telling me that this was all just some awful fucking nightmare and that he's here and that he's never going to leave me. That he is ALWAYS going to come back home to me."

By this point, the tears are flowing out of my eyes on their own accord. I looked up at my nanny and noticed that Steve had walked up and kneeled next to her to look at me. Nat was crying silent tears. Steve had a sorrowful expression. He knew what losing people was like. I know that he felt my pain to an extent.

"I was supposed to be his wife today. Mrs. Jameson Reagan. We were going to live here in this apartment until we were ready to start having babies. We were going to have two or three kids and at least one dog. We were going to move into a house with a nice backyard so that we could put a swing and maybe some wooden rocking chairs on the patio. We were going to watch out children play to their hearts desire on the swing that him and Danny would build for them. We were supposed to grow old there."

I take the last of my whiskey in one gulp and then throw the glass up against the brick wall in our living room. The little bit of relief that came from throwing the glass made me want to do it again. Nat reached out and placed her thumb on my left tricep and ran her thumb over my bicep as she tried to comfort me.