D, this is E.
Wow! I can’t believe E texted me. I only agreed he could because I was out of my mind with grief and had absolutely no intention of ever contacting him.
I think I’ve reread his text a hundred times. Not because I didn’t understand it; I kept reading it because I did, I do. I don’t want to, but I do. I understand it. All. Too. Well.
“He’s going through exactly the same thing I am,” I say out loud in my empty house.
Chloe’s with Scott’s parents. They take her a lot because I can’t stop crying and that both confuses her and makes her sad. In her four-year-old little mind, she still thinks her daddy is coming home. I think that too. No, I know that! So I sit, frozen, like E, by the front door whenever she isn’t home and I wait.
“Scott, where are you?” I croak out through my ever-present tears as I wonder how I’m ever supposed to live without him.
Scott is the love of my life; but unlike E, I have to move away from the door. I have to keep living for Chloe. She’s my princess, my baby girl, my reason to live. She not only has her father’s looks, she also has his personality. She lights up a room simply by being in it.
I didn’t want to reach out to E and I don’t want to respond. It makes everything even more real and I certainly don’t want to relive my nightmare or hear about his pain.
But I’m not living and he’s obviously in tremendous pain, so maybe…?
While thinking about E’s text, my wary mind wanders back to the day I buried Scott.
It was a bright, clear day, outside. Blue sky, white fluffy clouds. But inside? Inside my world was dark, gray, and so very ugly. Vicious storm clouds. Ominous echoes of thunder. Scars of lightning slashing the sky and torrential rain threatening to drown the world. It’s felt that way every minute of every day since he died and I don’t expect that to ever change.
“I can’t do this, Rodger.”
Parked in front of the hole that will become Scott’s new home at Holy Cross Cemetery in Culver City, Rodger and I sat side-by-side in his car; imprisoned by grief, unable to move. We had just dropped Beverly off at the chapel to meet with Father Henderson before the funeral. Father Henderson is a wonderful man and an even better priest. He married Scott and me and baptized Chloe. Until today, I’ve only associated him with the best parts of my life. Now, I’ll never look at him the same.
I glanced over at Rodger and noticed the toll this has taken on him. He’s a strong and virile man, with eyes so dark you can’t tell where the pupils end and the iris begins. His full head of thick hair is streaked with threads of silver, and frames his face which is punctuated by a strong jaw that houses the most amazingly deep cleft in the center of his chin. He is the kind of man who measures his words carefully before he speaks, believing that “Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools because they have to say something,” but not on this day.
On this day, Rodger wasn’t the man I knew. His hair seemed dull and thin, his features less pronounced. He didn’t look strong and wise—he looked haunted, broken. On this day, Rodger wasn’t measuring his words because on this day he had none.
“Dani, sweetheart…” He gestured with his chin to where Father Henderson and Beverly were waiting to bury my husband. At my nod, he came around the car and helped me out, but the closer we got, the more my soul and body disintegrated, sending me crashing down onto the hard grass in a field littered with the souls of lost loved ones.
I’m broken beyond repair. My spirit, hollow. A vast chasm that will never be filled.
“SCOTT!” I wailed.
“Dani, my child,” Father Henderson said in a soft voice once he was by my side.
Seeing him through tear-drenched eyes, I reached out, grabbing his robe, praying for a miracle while pleading for answers. “Why, Father Henderson?” I begged. “Why did this happen?”
“I don’t have the answer for that, my child. It was God’s will.”
At hearing his response, I lost all common sense, and found myself on my feet.
“God’s will? God’s will?!” I shouted. I was out of control but didn’t care. “FUCK THAT, FATHER HENDERSON! FUCK GOD’S WILL!”
“Dani.”
“No, Father Henderson!” I shouted while shaking my head in a vicious attempt to let him know how wrong he was. I knew what I was saying wasn’t right but I was too broken to stop. “That’s not a good enough answer!”
Rodger and Beverly rushed to my side, crying and begging me to stop. But I was too far gone.
“NO!” I bellowed.
My howls of despair were heavy and deep; mirroring the ache in my soul. Desperate and pitiful, like an animal suffering inescapable agony.
Everything is excruciating! Everything is broken!
“I won’t stop!” I wailed. “Scott was a good man! HE DIDN’T DESERVE TO DIE!”
I turned and started to run. I needed to get away from that hole! My skin felt too tight and my racing heart threatened to pound out of my chest.
This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t possibly be burying Scott!
Suddenly I was scooped up in two strong, familiar arms that felt like Scott’s. Was I wrong? Was this all just a hideous nightmare? But all hope faded when I heard Rodger say, “Dani…I’m so incredibly sorry…”
“W-why, Ro-Rodger…? W-why?” I rasped, my throat lined with sandpaper; my voice scratchy and raw. “W-w-we were g-g-g-going to, to c-c-celebrate our w-wedding anniversary…”
“Oh, sweetheart…” Beverly cried.
I looked up, into the eyes of my beautiful mother-in-law who had just caught up to us and I noticed changes in her too. On any other day, her oval face would highlight her stunning eyes which are both expressive and inviting—Scott’s eyes—but not this day. On any other day, her personality and beauty shines bright, her smile ever-present, her dimple always coming out to play. A single dimple—Scott’s dimple—but not this day.
On this day, her smile didn’t exist and that endearing dimple was nowhere to be seen. Her brilliant blue eyes were dull and lifeless. On this day, Beverly was curled into herself. Her face hollow, her body sunken. The California beauty I knew…gone.
The three of us sat sobbing in the shadow of Scott’s casket. Huddled together; clinging to one another for dear life.
After an interminable amount of time and with the hands of grief still wrapped around our hearts, we made our way back to the gravesite. We chose to have a private funeral because we knew we wouldn’t be able to handle being around other people. Scott was loved by many and people wanted to pay their last respects but thankfully they understood. Our devastation was also the reason we left Chloe at home.
“I apologize, Father Henderson,” I said when we got back to the gravesite. I knew he was just a messenger of God and didn’t deserve my wrath.
I wish I could say my heart is broken because I can get over a broken heart. But my soul is broken and that is something I will never get over.
Barbara, the grief counselor we share but see separately, wanted us to reach out to one another, and while I had no intention of ever texting him, I’ve clung to the phone she gave me as a lifeline.
I can’t just sit by while he is so shattered. I have to help. So through fresh tears, I text E back.