Page 58 of The Rhythm of their Souls

I’m not suicidal by any means. I would never leave my sweet Lottie behind; she needs me. Plus, Danielle would hold it against me and attempt to whoop my ass once we were reunited in the afterlife. But I won’t deny that it’s crossed my mind, not doing it, but what it would feel like. In a sense, it sounds peaceful, with no pain or suffering.

I don’t think people understand that mental pain is just as detrimental as physical. It’s a nagging ache that takes over.

Honestly, I feel very much dead internally. Nothing but a vessel. Danielle keeps telling me this is part of the first stages of grief. I couldn’t help but laugh at her statement when she told me. How the fuck are their stages to this?

And what the hell happens in the next stage?

I learned quickly that grief is my enemy.

No one will change my mind about it. I’ve tried to fight it off, but it’s clever in how it works. It beats you down first, then swallows you whole. And I’ve had no choice but to drown in it.

Imagine being stranded in the middle of the ocean, with no land or people in sight. You focus on staying afloat and screaming for help, but heavy waves continue to form and crash around you, pulling you under repeatedly. You fight for air until your body loses every ounce of strength.

Eventually, you stop fighting and let the ocean current pull you under. You watch as your body sinks further away from the surface. Panic sets in as you breathe in water, filling your battered lungs. Darkness creeps in, and just as death taps you on the shoulder, you blink and find yourself back, floating once again in a deserted ocean, drowning all over again. Grief feels like living in your own hell.

Nora Ray was pronounced dead at 3:44 a.m.—Jake’s birthday. The paramedics estimated she had been gone for about two hours, judging by her decreased body temperature and the discoloration of her skin.

It was heartbreaking for the police to determine that it was an overdose, especially since fentanyl was found scattered around the scene. I can’t help but feel responsible for that; I had dumped her purse in a moment of panic. In her hand, there was also the piece of foil with a burned substance on it, a stark reminder of the struggles she faced.

Why didn’t I notice the signs that were so painfully obvious? I knew she was struggling with Jake’s death and the weight of our past, but I never imagined it would drive her to purchase the same lethal drug that took Jake from us. She had promised me she would get better and heal, and I believed every word she said.

In my mind, I’ve replayed countless scenarios, trying to piece together the moments leading up to this tragedy. I remember her laughter that sometimes felt hollow and her eyes that would occasionally betray a deep sadness. But the cruel truth remains that I may never fully understand why she felt this was her only escape.

The uncertainty gnaws at me, leaving a void filled with regret and sorrow that I can’t shake. It feels as though I’m trapped in a nightmare, wishing desperately to turn back time and somehow save her from this fate.

Watching them try to get Nora’s body down from the treehouse was the hardest part. Theo tried to pull me away, but I resisted; I felt I had to witness it. I deserved every ounce of pain and trauma that came my way. They had to cut part of the door to make the space larger. Once they succeeded in widening the entrance, they realized they needed more hands to safely lower her down the ladder with no accidents. Theo offered to help, but they refused, stating that it would interfere with the scene.

Mom was hysterical when she realized what was happening. At one point, as they placed Nora’s body into the ambulance, I watched her, my expression stone-faced, as she ran around yelling at the police for answers. At that moment, I felt nothing but anger towards her for the upbringing she had given us. Did I blame her for Nora’s death? No. But a part of me believed she, along with our absent sperm donor, had played a role in it.

Theo urged me to get checked out by the paramedics to understand what had happened to me. I explained to the EMTs how things unfolded, and Theo shared his perspective on finding us. They encouraged me to take a drug test, which I did in the second ambulance that arrived. To my surprise, I tested positive for a small amount of fentanyl, likely from digging through her purse and then touching my face. I must have wiped some residue on my nose or mouth, resulting in an overdose, especially since I had no tolerance for it. Theo found me just in time and saved my life.

That’s just another reason I’ve been avoiding him. I can’t face him right now. How could he want anything to do with me after witnessing what he did? I feel like I’ve selfishly burdened him with my problems and trauma, dragging him down from the peaceful life he once had. I’ll never forgive myself for that.

I last saw him the afternoon after everything happened. When we returned that morning, we were exhausted and went straight to bed. In that difficult moment, I needed him close to me. We slept through lunch and probably would have slept longer if Danielle hadn’t burst into the room. That was the last time I truly slept; I think my body was in shock from everything at that point.

Once we were all awake, I asked Theo and Chase to leave so I could talk to Danielle about everything that had happened. She was unprepared for the heavy news I had to share with her. It was the first time I had broken down since finding Nora. The weight of my grief was overwhelming, and I couldn’t hold it back any longer—I needed my best friend.

Danielle broke down with me, and we cried together for hours. Since then, no one has seen me cry. Why should they? It’s not like crying will bring my sister back.

I feel so grateful for my best friend during this difficult time. She has done her best to support me while also respecting my need for space. It was so hard for me to share the news, so she took it upon herself to call Michelle and Daniel.

I was dreading this moment, and hearing Michelle’s cries on the phone was absolutely heartbreaking; it made me feel physically ill. I kept replaying the words I had promised her, assuring her I would find Nora and that everything would be alright. It breaks my heart to think about what she’s going through, losing both her son and daughter-in-law in the same year, especially on her son’s birthday, is an unimaginable pain.

These last few weeks, I’ve spent a lot of my time researching death and how the brain works when someone passes. It’s a temporary distraction that has become my addiction. No one knows about the dream I had while death almost claimed me.

Research shows that when someone dies, their brain can replay memories or moments for up to nine minutes. Many survivors who were brought back to life have spoken about out-of-body experiences.

The challenge I face is that I haven’t yet discovered a story that echoes my experience. It was an encounter so vivid, so intensely real, that it lingers in my mind. I often find myself lost in thought, pondering whether Nora was indeed waiting for me as if our souls were interconnected in that fleeting moment. It felt as though I shared a dream with her before she transitioned fully to the other side—a goodbye that was meant to happen.

I can’t shake the feeling of absence from when our hands parted, witnessing her soul gracefully depart to fulfill its destiny, floating gently towards the moon, where I believe she now resides. I know that if I tried to share this experience with others, they would find it hard to believe, dismissing it entirely. But in my broken heart, I know the truth of our connection and our last moments together—by the moon.

I’ve done my best to follow her words from our shared dream: “When you feel far from me, look to the moon. I’ll be right there, always.” Her voice lingers in my heart.

Each night, I gaze at the moon, feeling a profound sense of longing, and I cry until every tear is gone. I call out to her, yearning for a sign that she’s with me. Despite that, I find no response. It’s a heavy feeling, knowing that I’m reaching out in the darkness and not finding her. Some nights, I feel tempted to give up, but the moon’s pull demands I keep reaching for the light it offers.

Today marks a significant step for me. I’ve been staring at the two boxes sitting on my bedroom floor for an entire week. Last week, Danielle and Chase went to Michelle and Daniel’s to collect some of Nora’s belongings that Michelle thought I would want.

This was the first time I spoke to Michelle on the phone since the time I found Nora.