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An agonizing guttural wail rips through Lucas, breaking the silence, calling me to join him. I stroke his back, unable to speak, finding it hard to breathe. Instead, I clutch onto him, holding his breaking pieces in my embrace, and pray for strength to withstand this sorrow. In the midst of my own heart’s wrecked chaos, his pain cuts me, my soul like a tunnel, scraped wide open for all that suffering to flow like a river of never-ending agony. We both weep, trying to soothe each other’s souls that will never heal.
When the rest of the family returns, we are both numb, unable to move our tired bodies. My mum comes closer, and I see the pity written all over her face; words of sympathy are on her tongue. So, I close my eyes, surrendering to the darkness, because I don’t want to know.
Someone placed me on the soft clouds to rest, wrapping me in warm blankets, whispering healing words. My strength is ebbing and flowing, both filling the abyss of my heart and drowning in the sea of devastating sorrows. Soon, I will have to begin the journey of grief again, learning to cope with another hollow loss. I’ll face loneliness and guilt, then learn to forgive and force my soul to live when it yearns to give up.
For now, I will draw on the comfort my family provides until I grow strong enough to rise and walk, able to breathe through the shards of despair ebbed into my soul. My existence is pure agony, a hollow emptiness full of guilt and darkness, eating away my humanity.
Unfortunately, I don’t get to give up. The promise to my husband is pulsing in my veins, forcing me to fight it. And I will, for him, for us.
THE END
