one
Lennon
When they lowered myhusband’s casket into the ground, I screamed. The gut-wrenching noise echoed out into the chilly afternoon and would reverberate in my mind until the end of time. The moment his casket sank into the ground, every ounce of happiness I ever experienced evaporated like it never existed. In its wake, pain made its home in my heart, burrowing deep enough that I knew it would be impossible to remove.
Heartbreak was supposed to be a metaphor, an unspoken step in the process of grief that you worked through in your mind. That statement no longer held any weight, since my heart was sitting in the bottom of my chest, torn into pieces. The pain rippled through me, forcing my body forward in my chair. Every part of me, from my limbs to my skin to the very atoms I was made of, writhed in agony.
No one moved, all too stunned by my sudden outburst to help.This was the first sign of any emotion from me since I received the call that my husband, my Camden, was dead.
For three weeks, I had been devoid of allfeelings. Numbness was my only companion. It followed me like a ghost with every step I took and lingered around corners, waiting to remind me that he was gone. I had built what seemed to be a thousand layers of protection around me to help me through this day. Then his casket slipped past the horizon of his grave and it all came crashing down around me.
My hands clawed at my throat as I struggled to breathe. Tears clouded my vision as I twisted myself around in my seat, searching for refuge in anyone around me. Why was no one helping? Why was no one stopping what was happening in front of us? Why was my husband being lowered into the ground?
I didn’t understand.
I screamed again and again.
My sister materialized before me, taking my face in her hands. “Lennon! Lennon!” she said, her voice full of panic. Abigail shook me, trying to snap me out of the psychosis that was continuing to set it. Her hands dug into my upper arms as my eyes focused on her through the blurriness. For a second, I was grateful, her frame blocked my view of the hole that was no longer empty.
“Help me,” I choked out in between ragged breaths. If I could count on anyone to get me out of this situation, it would be her. A realization slammed into me like a freight train. She’s one of theonly people I had left. Her and Carina, the only other friend I truly had.
Nothing worked.
My brain couldn’t seem to tell my legs to move, and everything was numb. Abigail had to physically pull me to my feet before I latched onto her to step away from the site. We walked hand in hand along the paved roads that circled around the cemetery. There were no words that I could find to fill the space around us. Instead, I silently broke into pieces in front of her. The grief was overwhelming, and with each moment that passed, I fell deeper and deeper into an endless pit of agony.
Clouds hung low in the sky as the air whipped around us. Icy as it sliced over my skin, a picture-perfect funeral if there ever was one. November was always a cruel month, gray skies that seemed to stretch on for forever and an endless amount of rain.
When the first drops fell, I tilted my head back, hoping they’d wash away the hurt that was simmering under my skin. But when they hit my skin, I felt nothing, like someone had scooped out everything thatmademe, me and left only an empty shell.
There was an endless loop of memories playing in my head. The type of memories you wouldn’t think to treasure when they were happening, but now, they were the only thing I had left. The simple way he would walk through the door after work, his voice in the shower shouting for a towel, or how his fingertips would mindlessly drag across my skin as we sat on the couch. Everything was coming to me in flashes, and I was trying desperately to grasp onto them to safely lock them away.
I couldn’t possibly begin to wrap my mind around that this was all I had left of him—brief moments that would only exist in my memories.
“What can I do?” Abigail pleaded with me as anguish flashed in her eyes. Her long chestnut colored hair billowed in the wind as I contemplated what she was trying to ask me.
Could she turn back time and give me one more day with him? Could she make it so that at the very least I could’ve been there when he passed? Could she bring him back?
That was all impossible, so no, there was nothing she could do for me.
Another wave of sobs erupted from my chest as I clutched my arms around my black clothed torso to hold myself together. I turned towards Abigail as grief continued its assault on my soul. I didn’t want to be here, and I did not want to be doing this.
He was gone.
The man I was supposed to spend my life with. The man I vowed to love for all of eternity was dead, and I was left alone, a widow at thirty-three. This wasn’t part of the plan we had for our life together. Surely this was some cruel mistake the universe wasplaying. I was going to wake up any second and this would all be a bad dream; that could be the only logical explanation.
“Abby,” my voice sounded weak and I could barely form the words. “What am I supposed to do now?” Tears cascaded down my face without pause. I was convinced I would die drowning in them.
The wind swept my auburn curls through the air, leaving strands clinging to my damp cheeks. Abigail pulled me in and enclosed me in a suffocating hug. Bunching the fabric of her black dress, I held onto her. She stroked my hair softly and replied, “You will get through this, I promise. You are not alone; whatever it takes, I will get you through this.” Her voice broke over the words. Her tears fell freely, wetting the fabric around my shoulder, as we stood among the headstones grieving under the clouds.
My eyes scanned the lawn from over her shoulder, headstone after headstone lined the perfectly manicured cemetery. Some held wilted flowers, others were overflowing with lush, fresh bouquets. Every plot contained somebody’s loved one. I took little comfort in knowing I’m not alone in my grief.
Burying your loved one is one of times oldest traditions, a cathartic action of closure, but one that never got easier. Throughout millenniums and across cultures, it’s the one thing we all had in common—no one escaped death. We were all born to die. The hope was that the time between our first breath and our last was filled with more joy than sadness.
Everything about this was wrong. Burying Camden wasn’t bringing me closure, only heartache and doubt that there was something better after this life. Anger burned through my veins that he was no longer here. I wanted to curse the sky and God and everything that was good in this world that he was taken from me too soon. Much too soon. How was I supposed to move my way through life without his hand in mine, without his light to guide me and brighten the darkness that always seemed to follow me?
I thought that if I could stuff it down far enough, I could make it through today and face it all tomorrow. It was stupid to hope when, all day, I couldn’t take a step without someone offering their condolences.
‘He’s in a better place,’ or the equally stupid, ‘he had a good life,’ or ‘he was so happy with you.’
