From this moment on I would grieveGrady,there would never be anything else for me.
“Liz, what was Ben talking about? Why did he want to see you tomorrow night?”
I looked at my beautiful, young, carefree sister and desperately wished I could trade places with her for just a few hours. I closed my eyes against the agony of my grief for just a moment before I met her curious gaze. “No reason,” I told her hoarsely.“Just neighbor stuff.”
“Sure, neighbor stuff.Because that’s a thing.”
I didn’t say anything and she didn’t push me. Emma always knew when not to push me. We dried off and put on our regular clothes again. The rest of the night was spent drinking the second bottle of sangria and watching reality television.
And I tried not to think about Ben Tyler and the date that I nearly ruined.
Stage Two: Anger
Denial came first. Then anger.
I thought working through denial was the hardest thing I would ever do.It had been crippling. But the problem with coming to terms with something as heartbreaking as losing the love of my life is that now I had to live with it.
This is my reality.
This.
This is who I am. Grady’s death made me this.A widow.A single mom.Heartbroken and lonely and frustrated and overwhelmed andgutted.
And more than everything else, angry.
I’m only thirty-two years old. I shouldn’t have to go through this at thirty-two. I shouldn’t have had to face Grady’s illness or the horror of his treatment or the traumatizing experience of watching my husband fade away.
I shouldn’t have to figure out how to raise four children on my own, without a partner, without the daddy they loved and looked up to. I shouldn’t have to comfort my sons who lost their hero or my daughters who lost the man that they should compare all others to.
I shouldn’t have to hurt like this. Weep like this.Longlike this.
But I have no other choice and that made meso veryangry.
While my heart and mind continue to work through my loss, life around me continues to go on. It moves without my permission. It propels me forward without my consent.
I need time to process everything, to work through these five stages and deal with each as they come. But that isn’t possible.
Time doesn’t stop and the days keep ending and beginning again and I move from denying that my husband isn’t coming back to feeling absolutely furious that I will never see him again. Never be with him again. Never touch him or look at him or breathe him in.
I can’t even be satisfied that I get to move beyond denial.
I am far too angry to care.
Chapter Nine
“Abby, hurry up!Your cereal is getting soggy!” I whirled around, armed with orange juice and a spoon for Lucy. There was a possibility we would be on time for school today.
“Mom, I have a game tonight, don’t forget.”
“Chuck!”Jacesquealed. I pushed his toast back in front of him.
“Please don’t forget,” Blake pleaded.
I looked at my eldest son and felt pangs in my chest. When had he gotten so old?So mature?His burnished red hair needed a trim, but the tussled look suited him. His bright green eyes were sleepy still and I swear he had grown two inches in the last month. My heart ached watching him become a bigger kid and slowly turn into an adolescent.
“I’ll remember,” I promised him. “It’s on the calendar.”
He grunted into his cereal bowl. “I packed all of my stuff, so we can go right after school.”
