There are moments in life where you don't feel alive, if that makes sense.
You're breathing, you're moving, you're existing. But you're not living. You're just going through the motions as if there's a disconnect between you and your body, as if your soul tapped out because it just can't fucking take life anymore. It leaves in order to save you.
That may be the only reason I'm alive right now. If I were a selfish man, I'd admit I don't want to be on this earth anymore. Once upon a time I was selfish enough but now my life is about more than just me. It's about my children. It's about my friends. It's about my family, even though my family will never feel complete again.
My wife died yesterday.
I never thought I would say those words. I never thought this would happen to me. I never, not for one fucking moment, thought I would feel this empty again. She was my soulmate.
Why do they call it a soulmate? Because when you meet the person you love beyond comprehension, the person you know you were meant to walk this god-forsaken earth with to make it just a little bit fucking bearable, your souls latch onto each other and become one. Individually your soul can only take so much but when it intertwines with another, the foundation becomes stronger. You become stronger. And you depend on that other person to carry the weight until you forget what it was like to carry it on your own.
That's why when you lose your soulmate, you can feel yourself crumbling apart piece by fucking piece. You can feel yourself hollowing out, knowing you won't ever be whole again.
I think my soul died with Emily. Maybe that's why I feel dead inside. Numb. There's no pain or anger or sadness. There isn't anything at all and I'm grateful. Without this numbness, there's no fucking way I could go through with burying her.
I feel robotic as I straighten out my tie before looking at myself in the mirror. I don't even recognize myself. My eyes are vacant, my face unshaven, my hair tousled and longer than it should be. But I don't care because I can fix all of these things. I can undo them. I can't undo Emily's death and the fact that she isn't standing beside me, straightening out my jacket and gazing up at me like so many times before, is the most unrecognizable thing about the image in front of me. I look to my right like she might appear out of nowhere, like this has all been one big joke, but she isn't there. And she never will be again.
Fuck. A deep slash cuts through me and my hand shoots out, palm against the mirror to keep myself steady. I try to draw in a breath but it feels impossible. It feels wrong. It's a reminder that I'm alive and my wife isn't. It's not fucking right.
"Fuck," I whisper, pinching my eyes shut. I'd do anything to hear her laugh right now, feel her touch, reminding me that I'm going to be okay. I don't think I'll ever be okay again. "Emily."
Her name flutters past my lips in a deep croak and a second later I sink to the bathroom floor. Another second after that my gut twists so painfully that I start heaving into the toilet, what little food I ate yesterday leaving my body in an acidic rush. Two minutes after that there's nothing left inside of me and I'm back to feeling empty. I don't have the strength to get back up so I sit slumped against the door, wishing I was dead instead of her. There's a pretty good chance the pain I'm feeling is going to kill me anyway.
I guess being numb doesn't last. I wish it did. I wish the hollow feeling came bottled up so I could inject it into my veins and stay numb. I wish I could go to sleep and pretend that this isn't happening right now. I wish Emily was still alive.
"Damn it, baby." I kick the wall in front of me, pushing my palms into my sockets to stop the tears. "How can you be gone? It doesn't feel real, Em. It can't be real."
Acceptance is the enemy. It turns a feeling or thought into something real and tangible. Feelings and thoughts belong to you but when you've accepted them, they're out there in the world and you can't take it back anymore. I can pretend Emily is alive right now. I can. But as soon as I walk out of here and watch them bury her, I can't lie to myself anymore. Maybe that's why I've been locked here for the past half hour. Acceptance is the enemy but denial is a drug. I'm addicted to pretending Emily is right here with me. I don't want to give that up. I'll deny it for as long as I can.
But I don't really get the chance. My stomach sinks painfully when there's a knock on the door and I jolt like I was burned. The thing about denial is it lets you sit in your own little bubble, protected from reality. When reality comes knocking, desperation seizes you. I'm ashamed to admit I'd do anything to jump out that little window up there, run away, and never look back. I know my kids need me. I know my friends are mourning too. But a small part of me just doesn't care anymore.
What would Emily think of me if she saw me like this? She's counting on me to be strong and hold everyone together. Hold myself together. She trusted me to do this and that's the only reason I dig deep inside and find what little strength I have left to unlock the bathroom door. I'll be damned if I break her trust even if she's not here. Especially if she's not here.
My father-in-law walks in and he looks no better than me. He simply sinks to the floor next to me and stares ahead with hollow eyes. I have no doubt the small and cramped space reeks of vomit but he doesn't seem to notice. I'm jealous of how numb he looks because I want to feel like that again. It didn't last nearly long enough.
As I stare at him, I can't help but focus on the one thing pushing at the forefront of my mind, even though it's the last thing I should be thinking of. "I hate you for moving on from Laura. I hate you for finding someone else when you lost your wife just like this. If you felt even a fraction of what I feel right now...fuck you, Greg."
He nods once. Doesn't reprimand me or put my ass in check like he's been doing for over two decades. He simply stares ahead and I have to wonder if he even heard me.
"I'll never find anyone else," I fill in the silence with a harsh whisper, my throat knotting painfully. "I'm not like you. There will never be anyone else for me."
He nods again. His patience reminds me he's the only one who can possibly understand what I'm going through right now. I think I'm also hiding out here because I don't want to hear jack-shit from my friends. I don't want to hear that they understand, that they know what I'm going through, that I'm going to be okay. They can't fucking know any of it. But Greg can. Probably more than me. He lost his wife and daughter to breast cancer, so if anyone can know what I'm feeling right now, it's him.
"Sorry," I whisper after a minute. "That was fucked up."
There's no nod this time. Instead, his arm comes around my shoulders and he grip me tightly in place. Whether it's to anchor me or himself, I don't really know.
"We lost our girl," My voice shakes. Whatever semblance of strength I have left...it's gone. A guttural sob rips out of me and pain like I've never known it stops my heart. "She's gone. She's gone, Greg. She's fucking gone."
I fall against him, showing a level of weakness I'd never allow myself to under any other circumstance. But I don't fucking care anymore. I don't care about pride or ego or being strong. I just want my wife back. God, I'd do anything to have her back. The helplessness I feel is even more painful than the loss. There's no answer or solution here — this is something I'll just have to live with.
"I can't do this." My sob is accompanied by a deep groan because my stomach physically hurts from all the crying. "I can't go out there and watch them bury her. It's too soon. I'm not fucking ready."
"You never will be," Greg says hoarsely. It's the first time I've heard him speak all day. "Whether it's today, or tomorrow, or a year from now, you'll never be ready."
"So what the fuck do I do?" I pull away from him roughly, tremors making my body shake as I shove my hands into my hair. I can't breathe. It's so hard to breathe. "What am I going to do?"
I feel his hand on my back and he pats it a couple times. I can feel him shaking, too. "Your best. Nothing can prepare you for what's next, son. You just have to do your best. For Emily."
I cover my mouth with my forearm, muffling my cries. God, they won't stop. No matter how hard I try I can't keep it together. I've lost more people than one person should be allowed to lose. I've been cursed from the start and maybe that's what gave me thick skin. I've learned not to let anything get to me. But this? This is the kind of loss that you're not meant to survive. I'm convinced of it. Fuck anyone who says time heals. From here on out, I'll motherfucking bleed open until my last breath. I'll never, ever be the same.
"I need her," I find my voice to choke the desperate statement out. "How fucked up is it that the thing I need her for most is the one thing she can't be here for?"
"I know," Greg squeezes the back of my neck. When I finally glance over at him I find his eyes swollen and red, his face glistening with tears. He looks at me, swallowing hard. "Never lost a daughter before this but I've lost a wife. I get it, Cage. I'm going to help you the best I can."
Hell. I barely manage a nod. I've never really had a father. My own was a miserable piece of shit that never took care of me a day in my life. I didn't know true fatherhood until Greg. I lacked things like discipline and mannerism because of the way I was raised — or lack thereof. Greg was my boxing coach before he was my father-in-law. He whipped me into shape and is responsible for the man I am today. I don't think I could do this without him.
"Thank you," I tell him hoarsely. The tears have finally stopped but my throat is so scratched out it hurts to speak. "I can't do this alone."
"You're not." He gets to his feet with obvious reluctance, blowing out a slow breath. "I can't let you hide out any longer. I'm sorry. It's...it's time."
Fuck. Panic seizes me from all direction and suddenly my breaths get trapped in my lungs. My chest heaves, fighting for air, but I can't find it. I've never had a panic attack before but I'm certain this is it. It feels like my lungs are on goddamn fire, spreading through my veins and gathering at my throat painfully. There's just no air and my head spins, making me see double. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Black dots appear in my vision and I panic even more. I can't do this. I need her. I need Emily. Please come back, baby.
"Jaxon," A quiet voice instructs. I drag my eyes up, my gaze locking with Melanie's. There's pain in her eyes too but an obvious calmness that I don't have right now. "You're going to breathe deeply for me. It feels like you can't but you can. Forget what your mind is telling you — just suck in a lungful of air and it'll happen."
I nod, following her instructions. She's right. The air does come through and I gasp, choking on the overwhelming oxygen I've pulled in at once. I cough and sputter, keeling over with my palms braced on the floor. My vision is still hazy and it's freaking me the fuck out.
"Relax," Melanie commands softly. "You're going from full blown panic to calm again and the transition isn't always so smooth. Let it happen but keep breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth."
I do it. She demonstrates by counts of three and I follow, my shoulders loosening when everything comes back into focus. My lungs expand with the sudden room they have until my breathing is back to normal, slowly and gradually. It feels like I've been hit with a fucking truck and I lean back against the wall again for support.
"Thanks," I manage, staring at the floor. It's only been a day since I lost Em and already I'm failing. I can't do this.
"You're welcome," She returns and that's when I remember that Melanie has had panic attacks all her life. Greg probably sent her in. That's two people now who've swooped in to save me. God, I'm such a fucking mess.
There's another knock and I look at the door. Cameron is leaning against it, his face grave and solemn. I've never seen him that way in all the years I've known him. It's just another reminder of how different things are going to be from here on out. Fucking none of us are going to be the same without Emily.
"Come see her," Cameron urges quietly. "You're going to regret it if you don't."
I jerk my head in a nod. I know. Fuck, I know. I just can't fucking believe my only options are to accept my wife's death or keep denying it. I never thought I'd be in this position.
Cameron holds a hand out and I take it, letting him pull me up. His arms come around me in a hug and I don't even bother stopping it like I normally would. I let him hug me, let him whisper words of encouragement in my ear, let him do all of it.
Walking out of the bathroom and back into the church hall is agonizing. With each step I take I want nothing more than to turn back around. I almost do. But with Greg on one side and Cameron on the other, they keep me moving forward whether I want to or not.
My breath knocks out of me when the casket comes into view at the front of the church. It's open and knowing that my wife is in there, that in a few moments she'll be buried deep into the earth where I'll never see her again, makes me want to rip myself apart. I already feel so fucking broken.
I look away before she can come into my line of sight. I know I can't avoid this any longer but fuck me, how can I go through with this? I know it makes no sense because she's already gone but it feels like I'm giving up on her by doing this. Nothing can be done but I want to keep fighting, to bring her back. It's the stupidest fucking thought but I can't help it. How can this be over? Just like that? How can her life be over so fucking fast? I know she had cancer for a year but it felt like I blinked and I lost her. I didn't have enough time to save her. I just want to save her.
"Emily," I choke out when I finally gain the courage to look inside the casket. "Oh, God."
My knees give out on me and I clutch the edge, fighting off a sob. My eyes trace every inch of her, knowing this is my last chance. She looks...peaceful. She'd been in so much pain this whole year, especially the last month, but there's no more of that. Her face is relaxed and her mouth is even tipped up in a small smile. She's wearing a white gown, her brown hair splayed out around her. She looks ethereal. Like the angel she now is. My shaking hand reaches forward and my fingertips barely graze her cheek. She's so cold. It's such a startling difference from when I held her a couple of days ago and felt her warmth embrace me, comfort me. It's gone now, just like her.
"You look so beautiful, baby," I whisper. I keep my voice as low as possible, feeling all eyes on my back. It feels invasive and I want this moment just for us. "I'm so glad you're not in pain anymore. You fought so hard. I'm so fucking proud of you. I just wish you were still here."
The silence is deafening. If she was here I know exactly what she'd say to me in return. But I have to imagine it instead, just like I'll be doing for the rest of my life. God, I can't believe I'll never get to hear her voice again. Or her laugh. Or the way she says my name. Or how she whispered she loves me, every single night when we were wrapped up together in bed.
"I love you so much," My voice is barely audible, so thick with emotion it's hard to tell what I'm saying. But I'm sure she knows. She always knows. "I'll never stop loving you. I'll think about you everyday, every night, for the rest of my life. It's only goodbye for now, baby. My soul will find yours, remember? Just look for me."
There's no more controlling myself. I break again, my cries echoing through the church. It's the only sound and it's haunting. It's so wrong. Everything about this is so, so wrong.
"I'll see you soon, my love." I bend down, pressing a small kiss to her stiff lips that would usually kiss me back right away. I stroke her cheek again, memorizing her image one last time. "Bye, Em."
Greg has to physically pull me away because I can't do it on my own. I don't go easy, struggling against him in desperation. But he can take it, and he does. He holds me back against him, letting me cry until I can't breathe, the firmness in his grip never slipping.
"You did good, son," He whispers gruffly. I can hear in his voice that he's crying too. "You did good. Good man. It's over now."
But that's the problem. It's over. It's really fucking over.
"Your kids need you." His arms squeeze me for just a second. "And you need them. The only thing that got me through losing Laura was holding Emily and reminding me that I still had so much to live for. I...I don't have any kids to hold anymore but you do. Go to them."
Fuck. I turn around in his arms and hug him back, hug him tight. This time it's him who breaks and I feel my throat lodge painfully, the sound of his crying so foreign. "I'm your kid too, old man. You still have me."
He nods against my shoulder, hard and quick, before pulling back. He looks sick and I don't blame him.
"Go," He repeats.
He's right. My kids need me. And when I finally go over to them, they watch me like they've seen a ghost, reminding me that I haven't been there for them all day. Fucking shit. I need to get it together. They're my sole responsibility and they need me, now more than ever.
"Come here," I open my arms.
Landon runs into them first, his wails breaking my goddamn heart. He's just a kid. A baby. This isn't fair to him. He might be almost as tall as me now, growing so fucking fast, but he's still just a kid. My baby boy.
"I got you, bud." I stroke his hair the way Emily always did, hoping he can find comfort in that somehow. "I'm here."
"But she's not," He sobs. It rips me apart all over again.
"I know," I whisper. "I'm so sorry."
He shakes his head, taking himself out of my hold and going back to Lizzie. He hugs his sister, crying into the crook of her neck. Lizzie meets my eyes sadly and I nod. I'm not offended. It's okay if he needs her more than me right now. I haven't exactly been the most dependable parent so I can't blame him.
Lucas is leaning against the benches, sadness etched onto his every feature. It's so different from his usual anger. So out of place. My boy and I haven't exactly been on the best terms to put it mildly. He gives me a fucking run for my money, every bit of his stubborn ass just like me. Which is why I know exactly what he's feeling right now and how bad he's hurting. His mother was his favourite parent. His best friend. He feels as hollow as I do. Love is hard for me and Luc and losing one of the few people who loved our asshole-ry, helped us understand love better, is the kind of pain that's immeasurable. We both feel it right now.
"Hey," I say quietly when I reach him. We're unpredictable right now. We made up the day Emily's health took a turn for the worse. We were all so wrapped up in her that there wasn't any room for anything else. I don't know what to expect.
So I'm not the least bit prepared when he visibly crumbles and throws his arms around me, crying so fiercely that for a moment I'm stunned. My arms hang in the air, frozen in shock. It isn't until a loud sob tears out of him that I snap out of it and hug him back, holding him tightly. I've never seen my boy like this. Not once in his whole life. Not even when he lost Eli. My son has seen more loss than he should have, just like me, and it breaks my fucking heart. From the moment he was born I've only ever wanted to protect him and I've failed miserably. I tighten my grip.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," He insists against my shoulder. "It's not fair."
"It's not," I agree, chest tight. Even though he's as tall and built as I am, he feels so much like a little boy. Lucas has an overwhelming presence. He's never felt little or innocent but right now he feels like both.
"What are we going to do without her?" He whispers brokenly.
"I don't know," I tell him honestly. Like me, my boy values the truth above everything and that's what I give him now. "But we're going to figure it out together, okay?"
He nods, pulling away and wiping at his face. He clears his throat uncomfortably and refuses to meet my eyes. But he sticks by my side, never straying too far as our family and friends collectively make our way out of the church. We drive to the graveyard, the very one where Laura is buried, to lay her daughter down in the grave beside her.
There are no words as we all watch. The casket disappears into the gaping space and the dug-up soil is shovelled back in. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to stop this from happening, to take Emily home or I'll never get to see her again, but I can't. Standing here and watching my wife being taken away from me, knowing there isn't a fucking thing I can do, is the most painful thing I've ever experienced. I feel hopeless. Destroyed. Desperate.
The soil is packed into place and then...it's over. It's really over. Our friends and family gather around her grave, tears present on everyone's face. I hold my three children as they cry against me, making their peace with losing their mother forever.
I close my eyes, imagining my wife. Her eyes. Her smile. Her laugh. Her heart and all the love she gave me. She marked me for life, in this one and every single fucking one that comes after this.
I'll find you, Emily, I think and just know she can hear me. For a second I swear I can even feel her. I always will.
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A/N
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