Once...

Once... Once I had a family. Don't get me wrong, I still have a family, it is just that my wife... she passed away. She died in a car wreck, or a bank robbery, or even a drive-by shooting. Look, I had to, I can't just tell the truth. It's more complicated than that. I have kids also, two to be exact: Grayson and Owen. Even they don't know the truth. I can't; I mean, how do I tell them?

Now, I know what you are thinking. "This guy is lying. All he wants is attention." There is no attention. There is no happiness about what has happened! If I could, I would want to stay far away and be all alone, but I can't. I need to talk about this--I need to get this off my chest. The truth about how my wife died is it was dramatic, was tragic, was horrifying... I need, to tell the truth. No, I can't to tell something like this. It is like saying how simple the world is. Or how easy it is to fly.... I have so many emotions about this; how do I just say it just once? Once: what a funny word, once —it's past tense— once was a cow, now food for your family. Family: loving, caring, whole. But we are not that; we are torn apart, yet still family. They blame me, my kids. The twins, sixteen years of age, blame me for their mother's death. That just breaks my heart even more. No words can describe the emotions in those two wonderful, handsome boys. I can't feel sorry for myself; it should be for them, not me. Why waste such important emotions on an old man like me? I'll tell you why. Why are fam— why we deserve it.

Her name? Oh, I haven't even told you her name. It's Maria--Maria Gold. I wish, no, even if I wish, what will come true? What if I pray; who would answer me? Is there a God, and if so, how would he answer me?

My boys don't know, and that kills me. I want to tell them, but how do I, you know, how do I tell them that their mother died because sh—. See, I couldn't even finish my sentence without stopping. It is just too hard. You'll understand when I tell you if I tell you. Could you please shut the window? The wind is making me nervous. I SAID SHUT THE WINDOW! Sorry... sorry, I just get mad for no reason sometimes. That's why I'm here.

My boys wanted me to tell my story to a suit. Because I sure wouldn't. They don't listen to a word I say since their mother, you know.

I know, I've said I couldn't say how she died, but that's the truth. I can't here is why... I— can't. I'm sorry, I can't. Believe me, when I say this, you don't want to know. I don't even want my kids to know, let alone you. Who are you? You're just my therapist sitting in that chair judging me. Writing on your clipboard, writing good or bad, something big or little. You're just sitting there doing nothing, while I'm over here telling you everything, going through the emotions, and you're just sitting, staring at me. Why do you do that? Why do you do this--I mean, listen to other people's problems? Does it make you feel better about your problems? Does it make you happy? Why? Why? Why did this have to happen to me to my fam— to my boys? Is this fair? Do people feel this way? Why are you not talking? Still, why are you just staring at me? That's all you do; why? Just look away, I can't take your soft brown eyes anymore. They are not heart-warming anymore. They are just. Judgmental, just like you.

I'm sorry, you just don't understand. My wife died, and you have never experienced that. Just like her, my heart died the same way. Are you still listening? Good, good. Now. Listen closer my wife died, and so did I. My boys haven't talked to me since, neither one of them. You're pathetic--you think this is helping me? No, this makes living ten times worse. If I could take all this pain from my boys, I would. It doesn't matter if I have this pain, I just want my boys, my kids, my family to trust me again.

Don't say telling the truth will help. You know it won't, it never will, it will just make things worse. But you are right, and I do need to tell them. I will, but how? How would you? Never mind, you don't know the pain we have been through--they have been through. No, I know I'm here for me, but how can I fix myself if I don't have a strong foundation, a strong family to help me? She was supposed to be with me that night. We were meant to be going to Le Consultant for our anniversary; she was so excited... Oh you, you tried to trick me into telling you what happened, didn't you? It almost worked a good job. I know, I did no such thing. You make me laugh... no, I'm sorry, it's not your fault. It's no one's fault. I just can't believe she is gone. I still have my boys; isn't that all that matters? Then why do I feel so empty?