I'm Here | BWBM

CH 4.

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Ziko's POV

I didn't keep up with how long she cried in my arms. Nor did I care. With the pad of my thumbs I wiped every tear away after taking her glasses off to sit on my dashboard. Even with the hurt displayed on her face, and the sounds of her soft sobs, and red puffy eyes, she still looked beautiful. Her inner strength was attractive to me too. For her to be breaking down like this and held herself together in front of them said a lot.

Can't imagine how I'd be in the same situation. The day I found out my wife was dying and there was nothing we could do about it, I brought my wife home, waited til she fell asleep and drank the whole bottle of henny in our other bedroom. I punched every wall, turned over my desk, ripped all of my printed pictures from a project I did, and raged on. It wasn't until my wife walked in the room that I fell to my knees and stopped.

Her soft and saddened face grounded me. I quickly regretted messing my home office up but at least she was there to let me cry til my heart was content. I don't care how much I hate another muhfucka, I'll never wish that shit on them. That was the hardest shit I ever had to go through.

"Uma." I called out to her with the side of her face gently resting in the palm of my hand. Her wet eyes slowly fell upon mine. "You mind if I bring you home with me? I can drop you off at home later."

She nodded, pulling back and sniffed. I hate this shit for her. I said nothing else and we both put our seatbelts and I started my car up, glanced at her glasses, and grabbed them to hand over to her. Then I put my car in reverse to get out of the parking lot.

After making a right and pulling to stop at the light, I pressed the button the screen to play some music. I didn't turn the knob too high, but the radio was loud enough. I sighed and rested my head on the head rest, staring at the back of the car in front of me, then glanced at the bumper sticker that caught my eye. It said:

"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal."

I frowned. Because that is the same quote my wife wrote in the letter she wrote to me. That letter came with a bouquet of black roses and one white rose in the middle. She went on to write about how when someone you love dies, your memories of them can't be taken away while grief lingers, but the memories serve as a lasting source of comfort and connection to keep them close in our heart.

I read it every day when I woke up. Hoping that it would somehow be the magical set of words that would manifest her right back to me. I wished every day that it was all a dream and that she would come walking through the door.

She never did and isolation and work felt like the only thing I could do to cope. For months I refused to go around my family and friends because I was sick of hearing "sorry for your loss." At the funeral, that's all I heard from everyone that approached me. It started to feel like a bad cursed chant after the third one. I stayed as far away as I could from anyone I knew because I just wanted to breathe and cope on my own. I was reminded of my wife everyday by coming home to see everything she left behind.

Her perfumes, clothes, the pictures I took, and the apartment we shared. If it wasn't for her mama paying me a visit about three months ago, I don't think I'd be where I am now. I'm so glad we talked.

Our conversation led to her taking all of my wife's old things, including every picture I took of her. Her mama left me with one. One I shrunk to fit in my wallet and carry everywhere with me. A lot of weight lifted from me that day and I began to reach out to my family and friends again as she suggested. She encouraged and uplifted me in a way no one else could. Her mama lost her too and we both understood the exact same pain.