Loss Introspective

A woman's grief after her husband is killed in a tragic accident; their relationship is shown in retrospect as she looks back and both regrets his life and his death.

I wish you’d been normal. If you’d been normal then our marriage would have been a happy one. You wouldn’t have driven me mad and I wouldn’t have made you feel unloved or unwanted. I did want you but at the same time I didn’t. I wanted you to change and yet I was also afraid of you changing. You were infuriating, always there when needed and yet never when you were wanted. Your enthusiasm and your constant attempts to better everything you did and everything you were annoyed everyone around you. I don’t think you knew how to be ungrateful, cruel or selfish; they were alien words to you. All anyone had to do was need you and off you’d go, leaving me behind to realise what a terribly normal human being I am. That’s the trouble with being married to such a kind, special person; it makes you feel like a terrible person. I could never hope to be as selfless as you were and I constantly felt frustrated at you and guilty at myself for not being able to rise above my own needs as you were so easily able to rise above your own. We weren’t suited, not really. You gave me more love and adoration than I deserved and the guilt was destroying me and to some extent you too. If you’d been normal, it would have been so simple and painless to love you.

 

If you’d been normal, you’d still be with me today. A normal person would have done what we all did when the office building was collapsing and crumbling down, when Lucy and her two children were stuck in that s****y Mini with the faulty locks. It wouldn’t start and the ceiling was caving in. There was no way that useless car was going to protect them against all those tonnes of concrete. A normal person would have stood safe on the pavement, watching and commenting on how terrible the situation was and someone should really do something to save them. But you were never bloody normal; you were a born hero. It never occurred to you that you shouldn’t run across the road, leaving me behind yet again while you went to help someone who needed you.

 

I watched you run into the garage, dust and bits of rock raining down and almost obscuring you from view as you ran behind the car that held a terrified Lucy who screamed and pounded on the windows in desperation. You tugged on the door handle as hard as you could but it didn’t budge, so you ran round to the back of the car and you began to push.

           

As cracks thundered across the ceiling above you, as dust drifted out into the street, you slowly pushed the car forwards and Lucy hugged her children near as she watched the car begin the move. You looked urgently up at the fast disintegrating ceiling just as they were almost out and I could tell by the look on your face that you knew you’d run out of time.

 

You gave the car one last, almighty shove; pushing it free of the building the split second before the ceiling broke and crashed down on you…burying you from my sight. A hundred tonnes of concrete and rubble, I watched as it rained down on you. I watched as you uselessly raised your arms in defence until I couldn’t see you anymore. The air roared with the impact and dust billowed out from what had once been the garage entrance, swallowing the car and stinging against my face as I closed my eyes to protect myself…against the dust and the impossible scene I’d just witnessed. I tried to erase the picture from my mind, because there was no way it could have happened…but it refused to go away.

 

 

I wanted you to let that b***h and her b*****d children die. I didn’t care that those buggering twins were yours, a product of your caring nature, and the fact that you were slightly drunk and comforting that w***e as she cried about losing her home. She was the sober one of that equation, I don’t care how emotionally vulnerable she was at the time. Two of your children…didn’t you even think for a second that the four children waiting at our home needed you more? Why didn’t you ever put us first? You didn’t even bloody know they were your kids anyway!

 

I almost expected you to survive. The fire-fighters and paramedics pulled your broken body free of the wreckage and laid you in the road as they worked to stabilise the building, to make it safe…what was the point? It had already taken everything away from me.

 

The paramedics have just left you lying in the middle of the road; don’t they know that you need their help? You’re hurt! There’s a strange ringing in my ears as I walk towards your motionless body…that’s wrong; you’re never that still, even when you’re sitting down doing your paperwork you’re drumming your fingers, tapping a pen, humming to yourself or clicking your teeth; it used to drive me insane. You’ve never been so still and silent in your life.

 

I kneel down next to you. You’re covered in dust. You look like a ghost. You’d hate that, you always loved being neat. I expect you to wake up and frown at yourself in dismay, at your dusty, crumpled…blood stained suit. I study your features like I do on those rare occasions when I wake up before you in the mornings. I used to watch you sleep and gaze at your peaceful features, waiting for your big, brown eyes to open and stare at me with a hint of confusion but warm with love. Your eyes aren’t opening this time. I drift my fingers across your cheek; you’re still warm. The dust prickles beneath my fingertips and I leave faint lines as I try to brush some of it away. I slowly run my fingers through your hair, your incredibly curly, ridiculous hair. I always thought it ironic that such a tidy person could have such insane hair; it’s so curly that if you grew it any longer you’d constantly look like you’d been electrocuted…or it would be an afro. My fingers catch right now as it’s matted with blood and dirt, and I swallow past the lump growing in my throat.

 

Where are you? You’re lying right in front of me but I can’t feel you here. Is this what a world without you feels like? It’s cold, lonely and dull…it’s frightening and impossible, I want you to wake up, no…I need you to wake up. I shake you a little to encourage you but there’s nothing; not even the slightest flicker.

“Charlie?” I force your name past that annoying lump, even I can hear the underlying hysteria in my voice; you won’t ignore it. Whenever anyone calls your name with any degree of panic in their voice you always look up, you never ignore them. You never ignore someone needing you.

 

I need you right now, you must be able to hear it in my voice but you don’t look up. I watch for your chocolate brown eyes but they never show. Tears are beginning to blur my vision and that ringing in my ears has turned into a dull roar that’s getting steadily louder. I can’t breathe and I can’t see. I can’t think or feel past this incredible ball of agony that’s burning in my chest. It fills me up and erases everything I am. I shake my head, trying to dispel the horrific reality that’s trying to push past my denial. No, you can’t be…you wouldn’t leave me, you promised, you promised me! Your promises are as solid as the earth beneath the feet of 6 billion people. The fact you’re gone is an impossible one. All I can think is…please.

 

Please. Please. Please.

 

I can hear screaming in the distance, a terrible, agonised scream of someone in incredible pain. Why isn’t anyone helping that screaming woman? She sounds like a wild animal howling in agony. You certainly wouldn’t ignore it; I expect your eyes to open and you to frown with concern and mild outrage, and I expect you to ask me why no-one’s helping that woman. But you don’t. When the screaming gets louder, I realise that it’s me; I’m the one who’s screaming. I’m screaming so loud it feels like my throat is tearing; it feels like my chest is ripping apart. My head feels like it’s going to explode and I press my hands to the sides of my head so hard I think my skull will crack.

 

I hope my skull will crack.

 

Finally, my breath runs out and a strange, choking groan replaces the scream as I try to push the world out. If it’s a world without you then I don’t want it. I want the one in my head where you are, smiling at me with that stupid, goofy grin of yours’. The one where you’re putting your arms around me, giving me a big hug while calling me a silly sausage for being so melodramatic. Your voice is kind, affectionate, warm and safe and I live inside of it, I try so hard to live inside of it.

 

But it doesn’t get rid of the pain.

 

Small and delicate hands grip my shoulders as someone crouches down beside me and I squint past my hands to Sarah's face; it's a picture of grief and the same disbelief I can feel. Tears are pouring down her face, and her dark blue eyes look like the sea on a stormy day.

 

She loved you too.

 

I always knew she was better suited to you than I ever was; she understood you and loved your quirks instead of being driven mad by them. I think you loved her, but you were always far too loyal to do anything about it…

 

After all, you’d promised to stay with me and you never break your promises. Until today. I should have stepped aside to let you be with her; everyone would have been so much happier in the long run. But I couldn’t seem to make myself let you go; I knew it would be better for all of us, I knew we’d be better as friends than as husband and wife but I needed you. I needed the security you brought me and I was selfish in a way you could never be. Too late now.

 

“Come away, come away.” Sarah is begging me in a quiet, broken voice that stings my chest. I don’t understand the meaning of her words…does she mean leaving you? The idea seems preposterous, I can’t leave you. I shake my head, trying to understand; but the concept of leaving you, of you not even being here anymore, doesn’t seem to want to compute.

 

Why the hell couldn’t you have been normal? I don’t care if I wouldn’t have loved you as much, I just want you here. It’s so funny; I could barely stand your presence before because I knew it wouldn’t last for very long, and I felt so horrible and evil in your company, listening to your goodness as you worried about a colleague or eagerly chattered about a new hare-brained plan to better the business, yourself or our lives as a whole whilst I fumed that you weren’t paying more attention to me. Now you’re all I want. I’d take a shadow of who you are if it just meant you could be back with me again.

 

I feel so numb as I tiredly walk to our front door and pause before I go inside; I don’t want to go inside that house. It’s just another place you should be in, but I won’t find you here. All I will find are four sleeping children who have either your smile; your pale skin; your hair; your eyes or your innocence...or all of the above. All of them hold little pieces of you that I know will never be enough to fill the big, gaping hole where you used to be. How will I tell them? They all adore you; you’re their hero, their daddy who tells them bedtime stories in a way no-one else could, doing all the different voices and pulling expressions and funny faces to make them laugh. You treat them all as though they’re special treasures. You’re always so happy to see them all; you make them feel so loved and wanted. How am I supposed to tell them that they’ll never be greeted in that way again? No more of your smiles or your delight for them? I push open the front door and step into our warm and softly lit living room. Usually its heat comfortably prickles my skin if I’ve been away for a long time, but now I feel nothing.

 

I’m amazed I can still feel horror; but it’s there, palpable and chilling when I see that Billy, one half of our first set of identical twins, is still up and playing with his toy trucks on the living room floor. He’s dressed in the dinosaur pyjamas you bought him and Tom just last week. Tears film my vision as I stop and look at him. He looks so much like you, it’s something I used to marvel at everyday…now it just hurts me; the same hair, cut short for easy management; the same adorable puppy features; huge, chocolate brown eyes; the same mouth; same jaw line; same ears; same beautiful soul…

 

He looks up at I draw near and he smiles when he sees me and my heart breaks a little more as his big brown eyes slide to look expectantly over my shoulder for you. My breath sighs away in pain as a little confused frown bends his delicate eyebrows and flutters across eyes that are so yours it’s killing me to look into them.

“Mummy?” His child’s voice asks; light and ready with the question I’m dreading so much, he frowns over my shoulder again before those eyes pin me to my place and their innocence readies its judgement.

 

“Where’s Daddy?”

 

He asks it with no fear in his voice, no anxiety or upset because the idea of you never being there again is as alien to him as it was to me. Of course you couldn’t be gone; it’s impossible.

 

I stare into the face of my child; your face at five years old. I’ve seen pictures of you at that age and you do look just the same. I can only see faint whispers of me in Billy and Tom.

 

“Is everyone else asleep?” I ask and my voice sounds strained; Billy nods, his eyes continually flickering over my shoulder to the door; he’s expecting you to walk through at any minute. It’s a definite given for him; an event he’s not questioning. Of course you’re walking through that door.

“I waited up.” He says, “Janie fell asleep.” He explains of his babysitter who was called up last minute…I had to go to the hospital morgue with you; it was so hard to leave you in that barren, cold and hopeless place.

“Why did you wait up?” I ask and the accusation and resentment rings in my voice; why did he make me go through this now?

“Daddy promised he’d read us a story.” Billy says, looking over my shoulder and frowning.

“Of course he did.” I sigh, looking away from the wall to my son’s eyes and ignoring the grief it causes to seep through my chest.

“Where is Daddy?” Billy asks again.

“Daddy….” I close my eyes and take a deep breath, “he’s not coming, sweetheart.” The words drift quietly from my mouth. Almost soundless.

“But he promised to read a story.” Billy says simply, and I can’t blame him; to him your promises are law, as definite as the sky itself. You always think carefully about making your promises because you know you’ll never break them. This morning you didn’t think you’d be breaking this promise.

“Daddy…can’t keep that promise.” I explain as steadily as I can manage, because I’m falling apart on the inside; I have to sit down next to Billy as my legs are going numb. His eyes are fixed upon me; he’s not blinking now.

“Why not?” He asks,“when’s Daddy coming home?”

“He’s not…” I close my eyes against my tears; this moment isn’t about my pain or my loss, “he’s never coming home, baby.”

“Why not?” Billy’s voice is high with panic and upset now, the mere suggestion is terrifying him and I can imagine his heart beginning to beat at a hundred miles per hour.

“There was an accident at Daddy’s work today.” I explain, tears blurring the image of my son and for that I’m grateful; grief I’d hoped never to see is beginning to show on his tiny features. “The building was blown up because of a gas leak, and it was made very unstable; it started falling down.” I force the words past the huge lump of cement sitting in my chest, “and Carol was stuck inside with her children; Emma and Belle…your daddy was very brave and he ran into the building to save them, and he did save them! Just in time…” I swallow. “But he wasn’t in time to save himself, baby.” I whisper, “the building fell down when Daddy was still inside”.

 

Billy pauses as he processes the impossible, the inconceivable, and I watch and wait to endure his tears of his pain and anger. He looks at the carpet for a moment before he switches his gaze to mine.

“But…he promised to read me a story.” He says flatly, like he’s amazed that I’ve forgotten the simple fact that your promises are always kept.

“He would keep that promise if he could.” I tell him, “but he can’t…because Daddy’s in Heaven now…”

 

Would you be in Heaven? Yes, of course you would be; you’re beautiful, your soul is a piece of Heaven anyway; you’ve never said an intentionally nasty or cruel thing in your life.

“Can’t he come back from Heaven?” Billy asks,

“No…he would like to, but it was his time to go and it’s not possible for him to leave Heaven now that he’s there.”

“But I need him!” Billy’s voice rises in pain and child-like hurt that’s melting me away like acid searing my body.

“I know.” I whisper as the last shards of what was once my heart all melt away, “I’m sorry, baby, but he’s gone. He didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to leave you and I know that if it had been his choice then he would have stayed…”

 

But it was your choice, wasn’t it Charlie? You chose to run back into that falling building to save Carol and her kids, you chose them above your own family, you chose to leave us. You knew you could die, you risked your life and you lost and the infuriating thing is…if you’re aware of anything right now, if you are in Heaven then I know you wouldn’t change what happened for the simple fact that Carol and her two small children are alive and well. They haven’t died and neither have they lost anything. You wouldn’t choose to come back if it meant sacrificing their lives.

 

Do you remember when that man kept trying to kill you? He had some kind of disorder, schizophrenia or something, and you pissed him off as was your talent. You stuck in his mind, for some reaosn. He hated you so much that he just kept trying to get you killed; cutting the brake lines on our car, putting a piece of string across the office building stairwell…you evaded him every time by just pure luck. I was the unlucky one; I was driving the bloody car when the brakes finally failed. Luckily, we finally realised that there were far too many accidents for coincidence, and the police caught him before he could succeed in hurting you.

 

I think it’s ironic that you ended up getting yourself…

 

You’d have been amazed to see the amount of tears the children gave for you when I told them all that you weren’t coming home; I don’t think you ever really realised how much they loved you. You didn’t dote on them, play with them, entertain and cuddle and read them stories to earn their love; you did it all because you loved them, and you never even considered that you’d be loved in return. I have to look at their faces and see you there; I have to see sadness where once there was happy innocence when they didn’t know the meaning of loss.

 

I wish you were here with me today. But if you were here with me then I wouldn’t really need you, because it’s your funeral I have to force myself through. I can’t do it, Charlie, I’m sitting here at my vanity table and I’m staring at this stranger staring back at me with hollow eyes and a blank expression. Her eyes keep flicking to look in the mirror at the bed behind me…you should be there; you should be crossing the room from the bathroom for a tie or a shirt as you get ready for work. Your work’s not even there anymore, it’s almost as though you never existed; you’re gone, the business is gone. But you were here, the fact I’m now empty inside is proof.

 

How can I go to your funeral when you can’t be gone? You are so permanent, so tangible and vibrant. Your noise couldn’t be extinguished; I thought it was going to drive me mad forever. That man couldn’t kill you, that rampant madman couldn’t kill you although he had a bloody good go at it. You should be here, but I can’t find you anywhere.

 

I walk into the kitchen where my four once vibrant, noisy and energetic children are quietly sitting at the table with Janie supervising them. Billy is working quietly on a crayon drawing while his twin, Thomas, is sticking what looks like pasta covered in glitter in order to make his picture. I think it shows the differences in their personalities; Billy is quiet and happy to play alone, he’s small and sweet while his brother is louder, brighter and has more energy…I could never decide which one of them is more like you. You, who can be both quiet and noisy, subtle and painfully obvious…they’re your two extremes separated into two people and I hope that will make their lives easier than yours was…is.

 

I don’t want to look at either drawing, I’m afraid of what I’ll see.

 

Our two little girls are sitting in their special chairs that are a cross between high chairs and normal chairs. At three years old they’d insisted they were too big for high chairs anymore, but it became apparent to you that they were too small to sit on normal sized chairs so you spent an entire two weekends searching for the right chairs in every store you could find. When that didn’t work, you bought two big car seats without backs to them and you tied them so tightly to two of our dining room chairs you gave yourself bad rope burns on your palms and couldn’t pick up anything for a week.

 

You didn’t want our daughters to slip, fall off and hurt themselves.

 

Millie is quietly eating her cereal and she’s glancing up around the table every few minutes…because she knows someone’s missing from breakfast. Cara is sullenly making a finger painting and I don’t care that she’s already covered in paint at nine in the morning. Our girls don’t look so much like you; they have your smile and your ears (which they’ll complain about when they’re older), their eyes are a lighter brown than yours but they’re the same shape. The rest of them is me; I never thought I’d be so grateful for that.

 

“Right.” I say, trying to keep my voice light for them when all I feel like doing is screaming and crying, “you be good for Janie, alright?”

“Where are you going?” Tom asks, looking up with wide and innocent eyes at me…usually they’d be bright and happy, but not today.

“She’s going to say goodbye to Daddy.” Cara speaks up,

“Why can’t we say goodbye to Daddy?” Millie takes an interest and I can feel Janie’s sympathy radiating through my gritted teeth.

“I want to say goodbye to Daddy!” Billy whines, well on the way to a full blown crying fit, “if we don’t go to say goodbye then he’ll be sad!” At this, all four children look stricken, and ready to cry.

“This is just for grown ups.” I say desperately, “Daddy is watching over you because he loves you so much, but there are some of Mummy and Daddy’s friends that he didn’t love as much as he loved us. They want to say goodbye so he knows how much they care about him. He’s spending all of his time watching over you, he doesn’t have time to watch over everyone else as well, but he’ll hear everyone at his…funeral, today.” I'm babbling; I can’t handle anymore of my children’s tears.

 

Today holds enough grief for me, regardless.

 

Another thing that’s not normal about you, Charlie, is that twins run in your family. Your father was one and so was your grandfather and your two younger brothers; so many Charlie look-alikes sent to torment me today but none will compare to your twin brother. Whilst your father is a fraternal twin and therefore not identical to his brother, your uncle, I was given no such respite with you. Harry is your face, your eyes, your mouth and your voice. Only…not, it’s not going to be you behind that face. He's just another reminder to make me ache for you to hold my hand, to give me a big hug so I can bury my face in your chest and breathe you in; soap, sweet, clean fabric softener and the spicy tinge of your deodorant. You always smelled nice and comforting, somewhere I could hide after a hard day. I spent the entirety of last night not sleeping; I just buried my face into your pillow and imagined you were still there with me. I’m both dreading and looking forward to seeing Harry today; maybe you’ll be there with him.

 

“How are you doing?” Sarah's face is pinched and she looks tired…come to think of it, I probably look a lot worse.

“A couple of tranquilisers…anti-depressants…I think they’re just kicking in.” I sigh through the relieving haze that’s beginning to blanket my brain and protect me from the worst effect of the blows I’m going to be dealt today. I don’t want to realise what my rationality already knows.

“His twin brother’s coming isn’t he?” Sarah asks with all the foreboding I feel; it’s nice to be with someone who understands and feels the same way I do.

“Yes.” I nod, “Harry…Harry” I murmur, the drugs doing nothing to stop me feeling the wave of dread that washes over me at the thought.

“Come on.” Sarah says warmly, putting her arms around my shoulders, we walk united into the church, ready for what’s waiting there.

 

I’m throwing fish at you. After years of sitting back and fuming about the lack of time you spend with me, I came to the office to have lunch with you and you swore to the heavens that you’d have lunch with me. I prepared it all and everything, laying out all the plates and the food, lighting a candle. You’re lucky I’m not throwing that bloody candle at you. Inevitably, something in the store drew your attention away and you forgot about our lunch date; I was left sitting there in your office fuming while you ran around the building sorting out fire codes or something equally safety and work related. I finally got your attention by sending Carl, one of your employees, to you with an envelope full of soup. I am so upset with you, my fuse is well and truly broken and I’m throwing fish at you because I know you’re not going to hear anything I have to say.

“You promised!” I shout at you, tears running down my face as I smash a plate on the floor, well aware that I’m being stupid and over dramatic and the guilt from this just makes me cry harder. You’re just standing in the corner, staring at me with a confused and worried expression creasing your eyebrows and clouding your deep brown eyes. I sniff and sob into my wrist, hysterical and in a state by now as I search blindly around for something else to throw at you. “You promised to be here and you weren’t.” I whimper as I accidentally scatter plates onto the floor and sob at the mess I’ve made. I heave in ragged breaths and try to stem whatever the hell is trying to pour through my nose while I try to clean up the broken pottery at the same time.

 

You stop me before I can hurt myself on the shards.

 

 I feel your hands wrap around my arms and a strange soothing feeling spreads from your touch, like you’ve got magic powers that sweep away my upset and hysteria. I sniff and squeak something even I can’t understand as you turn me around and wrap me up in your arms, safe and warm as your shirt soaks up my tears. You gently shush and rock me side to side until my breathing calms down, rubbing my back as you do so, and when I’ve calmed down enough you pull away slightly and rest your forehead against mine. You don’t say anything, you don’t really need to; it’s all in your eyes. You think I’m insane but you’re sorry and you love me anyway. Your lips are firm and warm against mine, taking my painful breath away as they steady me and you convey all the comfort and reassurance possible in that kiss. It doesn’t matter that we’re surrounded by debris that could rival that of World War Two, nor does it matter that I have tears running down my face or that the entire room now smells faintly of fish. You’re all that I know at this moment and I cling to you as tightly as I can because I know I’ll have to let you go soon.

 

So I live here in this space, in your arms and your embrace because I can’t bear the thought of you not being here when I open my eyes.

 

 I entwine my fingers through your hair and hold you hard to me because someone’s trying to pull me away, I can feel them nudging my shoulder and I pull away from you to stare deeply into your soulful eyes.

“You promised you’d be here.” I whisper sadly, tracing the shape of your face and your lips and I drink the image of you in. You carefully brush away my tears because you can’t stand to see me cry and you draw me in close to you so I rest my head against the hollow of your shoulder and enjoy being surrounded by your warmth.

“You promised.” I whisper and you stroke my hair as you rock me from side to side and your lips find my ear.

“I’m sorry” you whisper softly.

 

Someone nudges my shoulder again.

“May.” Sarah's voice whispers softly from my side and I open my eyes to the bright and cold Church, the memory of your warmth fading away and leaving me feeling chilly. I look around to her, her hand is resting on my shoulder and I study the concern on her tired features; do you see how much she misses you? Do you see how much I miss you and how sorry everyone is? The vicar is droning on about you like he knows you and I turn my gaze to look at him, reading from a speech resting on the podium…

 

Oh god, the coffin is behind him; you’re only a few feet away.

 

Please. Please. Please.

 

I mutter it under my breath, not caring if Sarah sees or hears. I turn my gaze to my own lap and the small hands clasped there; I don’t want to risk seeing any of your family members, Charlie, certainly not Harry. I don’t think I’d survive. Sarah's getting up, she’s the one giving a speech about you; I can’t stand to do it. I don’t want to listen, I don’t want to hear her talking about you in the past tense. I tune her out and I close my eyes and suddenly I’m back with you again, back in your arms and the kind laughter in your warm brown eyes.

 

I think it was a nice service Charlie, but to be honest I can’t really remember most of it; I spent my time with my memories of you. Everyone’s gone now, Charlie; it’s just you and me as I stand in the quiet and waiting room beside your coffin, staring down at your name…it really shouldn’t say Charles Timothy Donahue, that wasn’t your name, you were Charlie.

 

You…were Charlie.

 

No amount of tranquilisers or anti-depressants could dull this pain; it feels like a huge hole has just torn open my chest and I wrap my arms around my body as I feel like I’m falling to pieces. My breath screeches against the block that’s appeared in my throat and your names blurs as I’m blinded by a sheen of tears that harshly sting my eyes. My knees give way and I sink to the floor as the final, terrible realisation that you’re gone and you’re not coming back slams into me. I may as well have been hit by a truck…please God, let me die now at this moment, I can’t stand this agony, I just want to die and go to you.

 

Please. Please. Please. I just want to die.

 

My sobs echo around the chapel as I pray for a release to this unbelievable and unbearable agony. I think maybe it was sent to me, although not in the way I was hoping for. Hands the exact size of yours grab my shoulders and someone kneels down beside me as I try to keep a hold on your coffin to pull you back to me, to get myself back to that numb place where I could still believe you were coming back to me.

“Helen.” Your voice whispers close to my ear and I squint through floods of tears to see your face, creased with grief, pain and anguish as your eyes look sad and filled with empathy.

 

Somehow, I don’t mistake it for you; my heart doesn’t jump with hope then fall with crippling disappointment. I know that it’s Harry, I know that it’s Harry because I know you’re…you’re dead.

 

You’re dead.

 

I scream at this, possibly making Harry jump, but I don't notice. I clutch my head with clawed hands as Harry’s arms wrap around me and hold me tight. I was right, he doesn’t smell like you at all; he smells nice but…not the same. He knows my agony though; you were his second half too after all. You grew up together; he knew you in a way no-one else ever did. He was a part of your soul and you were a part of his…just like you were a part of mine.

“He’s gone.” I moan, choking through tears.

“I know.” Harry’s voice is thick as he answers me.

“It’s not fair.” I whisper weakly.

“I know that too.” He chokes and his breath shakes when he breathes in.

“Why…? How…?” I whimper almost incredulously, disbelievingly.

“Because…he was better than us all.” Harry says firmly, “and yet he was still human, still so breakable.” He pulls away and smiles bravely at me through his tears as I try to wipe away my own and remember to breathe steadily. “He’s still here.” He says in a sad little voice; I snort in response;

“That’s what I told the children” I say critically.

“I don’t know if I believe in God or Heaven.” Harry says softly, “but I do know that Charlie’s in every memory we have of him and as long as we don’t let those memories fade…then in a way, he is still with us. In the way he affected our lives and what he left behind. Me.” He said pointedly, “you, the children…I know remembering him will be painful, but right now it’s the only way to keep a part of him with you. He loved you, more than anything, Helen. He told me that and I could hear it in his voice when he talked about you. He loved you.” Harry says firmly, holding unblinking and steady eye contact with me as my tears stop flowing and the agony fades down to a dull ache I know will stay with me for a very long time.

But it’s a start, I suppose, towards learning how to live without you.

 

I don’t know how long it’s been since I finally said goodbye to you, Charlie. I’ve let you go…I think, at least I’ve accepted that you’re dead and gone but I can’t seem to stop missing you with everything in my heart, soul, body and mind. I wake up in the mornings early, around five, and you’re there lying beside me, your liquid chocolate eyes warming my skin. We lie on our sides, just staring at each other in complete silence; I’m afraid that if I speak too loudly you’ll disappear, your apparition is so delicate but so tangible I almost feel as though I can reach out and touch you. But the last time I reached out for you, you faded away like smoke wafting away through wind.

 

So, today I just lie there and stare at you, wishing that you’re real, wishing that I could feel your warmth against my skin. This isn’t real; it’s a poor imitation of you, just a shadow, a memory too faint to make up for the loss of the real thing. But it’s all I have and I’m going to hold onto this moment for as long as I can, until the real world intrudes in as it always does.

 

Remember when you used to be part of the real world? It seems like a long time ago.

“I miss you.” I sigh, quieter than a whisper as the first dawn begins to light up the world outside, bathing the room in an ethereal , soft glow, golden in colour.

 

"I miss you."

Author's Note

Any advice on the grammar or fixing punctuation mistakes would be highly appreciated, especially where the dialogue is concerned.

Reviews

[Taylor]

Wow! When I first began reading this -- in present tense and first person -- I thought that you wouldn't be able to sustain interest throughout. How wrong I was. It is extremely powerful and there were very few places where I felt it could be improved. Those were a word here or there, which aren't worth mentioning. I think if you put this piece away for a few weeks and re-read it, you would see those for yourself. The only false note for me was the introduction of the person who wanted to kill Charlie -- perhaps you were trying to explain the gas explosion? At any rate, I don't understand the function of that reference. Really terrific job. You write beautifully.