OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

one-hundred-sixteen.

FEBRUARY 14th, 1999, LOS ANGELES, CA

          EVERYONE HAD SAID that it would eventually get better. From Kate to Chris to even Richard, everyone had been in Reagan's ear assuring her that time would heal the gaping wound of her and Dave's divorce.

Nothing was finalized yet, which had either been the most relieving or oppositely, one of the most stressful parts of the entire ordeal. Although Reagan and Dave had filed amicably for the divorce with no contest, the waiting period had so far been grueling, dragging out what Reagan had hoped to be a relatively quiet end to their relationship.

He had moved out at the end of January. It had been his choice. Reagan had protested in the defense that she could get a place of her own, but he'd insisted that she keep the house. After finding a new home in the Valley, Dave had told Reagan that he was leaving and had somehow managed to pack all of his things in a single day. The decision had been for Gracie's sake, he'd said. He didn't want to confuse her. Reagan had protested in the defense that she could get a place of her own, but he'd insisted that she keep the house.

The most excruciating moment had come when they'd finally told Gracie what was happening after New Year's. Gathering together as a completely knit family for the last time, Reagan and Dave had sat her down in her bedroom and gently disclosed the truth to their daughter that they'd been dreading to deliver.

It hadn't made sense to Gracie at first. Her youthful mind couldn't piece together that her mother and father were separating, that although they still loved her and each other very much, they weren't going to be together anymore.

It had taken several attempts to make her understand before she'd eventually gotten it, still bewildered but somewhat aware of the situation. Reagan had been almost thankful that she wasn't older, aged far along enough to grasp what divorce meant. To Gracie, it was simply another change to adapt to, a new cog in the wheel of her childhood to be complicit to in the way she'd been complicit to Dave's continual absence.

The tears hadn't started until she'd seen Dave gathering his things and walking out the door.

That experience alone had nearly been enough to make Reagan change her mind. No amount of hugs and kisses and whispered words of reassurance had consoled Gracie as she'd all at once figured out what a divorce really was, realized to fill fruition when Dave had taken his things along with him.

For her, it hadn't turned out to be like all the times before when he'd left with his usual 'see you later' and a small collection of clothes and other possessions. It hadn't been like the tours he'd gone on, leaving the bulk of his things behind that Gracie could visually see in order to be reassured that he was coming back.

It had been hell. Sheer hell, the ninth ring of it, and Reagan had cursed herself as she'd cradled her daughter and explained once again the technicalities of what was happening. She would have traded anything, including her own happiness, if it would have meant making Gracie happy again.

Gracie was resilient despite it all. She'd accepted that Dave was no longer a part of their household unit, though he still was her daddy through and through. Even though she'd gradually become more amenable, that hadn't stopped Reagan from allowing her to sleep in her bed at night, crying silently to herself as Gracie snoozed in the crook of her arm.

Of all the things she'd ever done, maiming her own child in that way had been the worst, even if it was for the sake of her own sanity.

The house was colder without Dave. The empty spaces where his things had once been felt foreboding and Reagan struggled to get accustomed to it. He'd asked her if she would move back to Washington, where she'd always wanted to be, and she'd told him no.