Prologue
Dwight
3 Years Ago
Inever in a million years anticipated that I’d be standing here. I’m surrounded by a hundred others, all wearing grave expressions on their tear-soaked faces at the edge of a huge six-foot deep hole, watching as they lower her into the ground, her crisp white coffin slowly disappearing from sight. I stand looking down with my hands clasped together, my head bowed slightly, wishing to God it was me inside that coffin instead of her.
I never thought for one second that when I stood at the alter and said,‘I do’, that I’d only have four short years with her before she was taken from me. I always imagined that if this day ever came, I’d be old and grey and knocking on death’s door myself, not a twenty-eight year-old who should be spending the happiest years of my life with the woman I married.
All of those moments that I took for granted are now my most treasured memories.
Grace was my everything.
My love.
My life.
My other half in every sense of the word, and now that she’s gone, it feels like she took the other half of me with her, as though I’m not whole, that a part of me is missing.
The day after she died, I locked myself away and cried for an entire day until no more tears would come, and since then, I haven’t allowed myself to cry once. Crying won’t bring my wife back, all it will do is make me feel worse than I already do, so what’s the point?
The priest is talking but I don’t hear a word he’s saying. In truth, I haven’t heard a single word he’s spoken since the funeral began, since I, along with five others carried her coffin into the church. I don’t remember a single thing from the whole ceremony, it’s all a total blur, like I’m on auto-pilot or something, physically I’m here, but my mind is elsewhere.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my sister, Tori, step forward, tossing a red rose on top of her coffin, shortly followed by my mother who does the same. A hand lands on my shoulder and I look up to find my dad giving me a comforting smile. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my dad cry before today, his eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, his eyelids heavy.
His touch should comfort me, but it has the opposite effect.
For the past two weeks, my family have barely left my side, there’s always been someone there with me every minute of every day, checking on me to make sure that I’m alright. Making sure I don’t do anything stupid more like. I understand that they mean well and they’re only there because they care, but at times it’s suffocating.
I just want to be left alone to grieve for my wife on my own.
There’s times when it all gets too much and all I want to do is just scream until my lungs are empty and pound my fists into something hard until the pain in my hands overshadows the crippling ache in my chest.
I glance up, and catch sight of Grace’s mom and brother, Logan, who’s been my best friend since Grace and I met. Her mother looks at me with kind eyes filled with sadness and I avert my gaze quickly, my stomach already knotting with guilt.
I can’t bring myself to face her. I’ve barely said two words to her since she lost her daughter, and I hate it. She must wonder why I’ve been so distant, wondering if she’s done something wrong, but like the cliché goes, it’s not her, it’s me.
What am I supposed to say to the mother of my late wife?
I’ve never dealt with pain or grief very well in the past. From losing distant relatives, and my grandparents, when I was younger, I’ve always closed myself off, cut myself off from the world, but this time around it’s even harder than I imagined, and I’m struggling.
Reallystruggling.
As soon the funeral began, it is all over, and the crowd surrounding the grave disperses, some remain, offering their condolences and commenting on how lovely the service was before they too disappear. I stand there for what feels like hours, unable to move as if my feet were made of concrete. Every so often more people turn to leave and soon enough I’m the last man standing.
It’s beginning to rain, thick droplets of water splashing onto my suit jacket and dampening my hair, droplets splashing onto my face.
I stare down at her coffin in the ground, trying to wrap my head around the fact that she’s in there. She’ssoclose yet so far.
“Are you ready, Son?” my dad asks, startling me.
“For what?”
“The wake, of course. The car’s waiting.”
“Oh… yeah.”
Fuck.I forgot about that.
