Unexpected

Mourning Calls

Morning broke without me having ever fallen asleep.

I couldn't sleep. It would be disrespectful to sleep when my grandparents never could again.

I was too numbed to sleep, to full of grief.

Instead I had spent the night curled up on my bed, cycling between sniffing and whimpering quietly in the darkness and falling into an exhausted, benumbed state as I reminisced over memories of my grandparents. Flashes of their smiles passed behind my blinded eyes. I could hear Grumps singing his 'Chicky bone' song that he would sing carving any holiday turkey. I could see Grams rolling her eyes during game nights as she huffed at a bad hand. I remembered how warm they'd been when hugging me when I got my acceptance letter from my college, their whispers of how proud they were of me.

I'd never feel their embrace again. I'd never feel the softness of Grams' wrinkled arms. Never hear their voices. They'd no longer sing happy birthday to me or laugh with me. Grumps would no longer be working in his basement refilling riffle cartridges, humming to himself. I wouldn't see knowing twinkles in their eyes or hear them bickering to each other. There'd be no more loving 'old man's and teasing, sarcastic 'yes, dear's. No longer would they refer to me as their 'lucky Penny'.

I recalled birthdays and celebrations, trips to stores and afternoons spent lazily reading. I recalled surgeries and days at the shooting range and beach days. I recalled family dinners and stupid TV shows and their obsession with bird feeding.

I feared that I would forget these little moments; these little things that made my grandparents who they were. So of course I couldn't sleep.

The morning was grey and cold, promising more snow or maybe just freezing rain and slush if it couldn't even manage true snow. The pale grey light seeped through my bedroom curtains, exposing my room that had been in pitch darkness before. It was my same room, same bed, same bookshelf and wardrobe and everything and yet it all seemed so much duller to my weary eyes. It seemed so meaningless and empty and grey.

Sluggishly I pushed myself up from my mass of covers. That was enough wallowing. There was work to be done. I had duties to perform for my grandparents, though in performing them I would have to face the fact that they were truly gone out of my reach.

Resigned, I reached for my side table where my phone would usually be charging, but I halted when I didn't find it there. That's right. I'd dropped it on the kitchen floor last night, and then Steve had picked it up.

I groaned, slumping across my room to my door, swinging it open before I turned down the short hallway to my living room and kitchen. Where had all my energy gone? My shoulders drooped and my feet shuffled against my carpeting as I came to my living room where my heavy, brick-like feet froze.

My swollen eyes widened in surprise as I took in the sight of Steve draped across my couch, passed out. My throw blanket that had been draped over the back of my couch had half-fallen onto the floor from where it was hanging over him. He was far too long for it to cover all of him even if it wasn't pooling on the floor from apparently being partially kicked off in the night. His arms were wrapped around my few throw pillows as he lay on his stomach, his one cheek squished into them, his mouth hanging slightly open as he breathed deeply.

It was a heartwarming sight, seeing him sleep. He'd fallen asleep sitting up on my couch before during late night movies, his mouth hanging open as his head was drooping back, his arms folded over his chest and one of my blankets draped over his knees, but he'd never spent the night on my couch before. Stubborn man. He wouldn't leave me alone in my grief, would he? He was too good and decent for that. Gosh, I was thankful for him. I picked up my feet more as I tiptoed over to my kitchen in search of my phone. No need to wake him up.