by Leddy Harper
After moping around the house for a few hours the next day, I decided to get out and go to the store. I found a book about the grieving process, and while I was out, I picked up a cheap phone and had it hooked up to my number. I didn’t want to spend a lot on one, considering I hadn’t really lost mine—it was only over at Bentley’s. But I didn’t want to go over there to get it, either. And I guess part of me held on to the hope that he’d eventually come to me. I won’t lie, it really hurt that he’d asked Bree to check up on me instead of doing it himself, but I couldn’t hold it against him. After all, I was the one who’d told him to stay away. It was a selfish thought to expect him to reach out, especially knowing it wouldn’t do any good if he did. At least he cared enough to have someone check up on me.
Instead of going home, I drove to a park and sat on a bench beneath a tree. It was hot and humid out, but I didn’t let that get to me. I needed to go through this book and allow myself to learn from it, and in order to do that, I needed to be out in a neutral setting while still alone. No better place than a park.
The introduction in the book immediately calmed me and gave me a sense of comfort as it explained not everyone will experience all stages in the same order, nor does everyone go through all five of them. The important thing to remember is getting to acceptance and returning to a normal way of living. That was my goal. I knew I’d never be the same person as I was before my mom died, but at least I had hope for a new kind of normal, a new life worth living.
Denial. I read through the explanations and then skimmed through the work-through exercises. I didn’t feel I needed those considering I’d moved past denial a long time ago. I thought back to how I was during that stage of grief, and remembered the times I’d stand in the shower until the water ran cold before even washing myself. I’d just stand there, staring at the tiles on the wall, convinced it hadn’t been my mom that died. It was someone else’s mom in that hospital bed, another woman who’d lain there comatose and brain dead. It wasn’t my mom—it was a stranger. It was a bad dream I’d wake up from. It was nothing more than a sadistic prank. But then it’d hit me that it was real, it was true, it was my mom. And then I’d lose it all over again until I had no tears left to cry, becoming deadened inside and convincing myself all over again how it wasn’t true.
Anger. I didn’t need to read about that, knowing all too well what it meant and the effects it had on the people around you. So as my eyes scanned the words on the pages, I reflected to the time at the beginning of the year when I went through everything the book explained. I thought about how angry I became toward my sisters, resulting in me pushing them even further away. How I’d allowed my own emotions to cast the blame on everyone else. I somehow convinced myself that it was everyone else’s fault I was alone. They moved on without me. They’d forgotten my mom and didn’t care that she was gone. Clearly, that’s not what they did, but in my mind, it was true. And I believed that because anger had blinded me. Even though I didn’t need the book to explain how wrong that was, or why I’d even felt that way, I did find the exercises useful. I read the questions and answered them honestly to myself, accepting my part in being alone.
Bargaining. This wasn’t something I thought had affected me until I started reading about it. The what ifs and only ifs were a very real obsession I never got over. I still wondered what would’ve happened had her doctors performed more extensive tests and scans when her migraines became worse. I wondered how different things would’ve been had the insurance company given the okay for more scans instead of saying they wouldn’t cover them unless she suffered an actual head injury. I couldn’t go one day without questioning if she’d still be alive if we’d taken her to the hospital that morning instead of me telling her to go lie down. What if I’d checked on her? Gotten her to the hospital sooner? So many times I’d think about these questions, knowing full well I’d never find the answers. But I couldn’t stop finding ways that might’ve saved her life. The book said the bargaining stage was a lot of making deals with God…if you heal my loved one, I’ll be a better person. But I couldn’t relate to those bargains, because I didn’t have days, weeks, months to prepare for my mom’s death. I had no time at all. So the only bargaining I could do was to obsess over everything that had gone wrong in leading up to her death, and all the ways she might’ve been saved if… The exercises on that one helped a little, but I doubted I’d ever stop wondering how things could’ve turned out had the insurance company not denied diagnosis procedures.
Depression. I read the passages and explanations, and even went through the exercises, but I knew this stage all too well. It was clearly the one I had never managed to make it through, and I knew it would take a lot of time before it could get any better. I didn’t allow myself to contemplate it too hard, not wanting to break down while sitting at the park. This one would have to be something I worked at every day, and would probably need a lot of support. The book suggested reaching out to a professional, and I knew Bree would agree, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to sit down and talk to a stranger with a yellow, lined notepad quite yet. But before I left the park, I made a vow to myself that if I couldn’t get it under control on my own, with the help and support of my family, I would reach out to someone better qualified to handle depression.
Acceptance. The last stage of grief. All about accepting the loss of someone you love and learning how to move forward in a positive direction. I read about it, yearning to get there one day, but it didn’t do anything for me yet. I wasn’t mentally ready to listen to what it had to say or to start applying the exercises to follow in my life to gain acceptance. But I understood it, and the thought of acceptance did appeal to me. However, I couldn’t jump ahead, otherwise I’d do myself a disservice if I didn’t give my all to working through the depression. That had to be my number one priority. Take your time.
So I took my book and my new phone and went home to reflect on everything I’d learned about grief and finding a way to live a happy life. In the end, that’s really what I wanted. But I still had Bentley at the forefront of my mind—therefore, when I pictured this happy new life of mine outside the grief, it had him in it. And I couldn’t think about that. Once again, that would be skipping ahead and taking away from my healing process. If I truly believed in fate, and if I honestly thought he was it for me, then I’d have to be patient and trust that we’d find our way back to each other. I couldn’t allow myself to put any more pressure or thought into it. Instead, I’d trust in the power of fate.
Before I got ready for bed, I sent Marlo a text, letting her know I’d be back at work the next day. I had to start living my life again, no matter how slow of a start I had. I couldn’t sit still, waiting for this illusion of happiness to come find me. I had to make it happen. And that started with getting up and doing something about it.
Over two weeks passed since my meltdown and subsequent talk with Bree, which had ultimately put me on the path of healing. Although I felt a thousand times better, I knew I still had so much more work to do. I talked to my sisters all the time, and had even made it over to my dad’s house a few times to see him. As it turns out, he had fallen victim to the depression quicksand like I had. We coined that term together the first night we discussed it. He said it was like walking through life, and then, all of a sudden, feeling weighted down, making it harder to keep going and taking more effort to get up each day. I explained it as a feeling of something gradually pulling me down, further and further the longer I stood stagnant. We agreed it was depression quicksand.
I enjoyed talking to Bree and Clarissa, but I found more solace in the conversations with my dad. I was aware that my sisters knew how I felt, understanding they had been there, too, but I found it easier to confide in someone who still seemed stuck in that same place with me. Don’t get me wrong. I was beyond elated that the girls hadn’t allowed their grief to control them, and that they’d found their way to the other side, but nothing made you feel more like a burden to someone when
they were trying to be happy and all you wanted to do was cry on someone’s shoulder. And for me, the shoulder I needed happened to have been my dad’s, just as my shoulder was there for him.
I’d actually gone to his house the weekend following my talk with Bree. He had gone through my mom’s closet and asked if I wanted to keep any of her clothes or shoes. I knew most of her things probably wouldn’t fit me, or even be my style, but I couldn’t pass it up knowing anything that wasn’t taken by us girls would be donated. For a split second, I became pissed that he wanted to get rid of her belongings. How dare he get rid of everything she had? But after I stopped and practiced an exercise from the grief book, I was able to take a step back and see things from his point of view. It’d been six months since she’d passed away, and he had no reason to keep her clothes hanging in the closet as a constant reminder. I’m sure it was harder for him to see them every day than it would’ve been to let them go. It was easy to be angry with someone for decisions they made, when in reality, making those decisions was the tough part.
It ended up being a good thing that I’d gone over there that day. Not only did I find a few sweaters that held good memories of my mom, it also gave us the perfect opportunity to talk about everything, and I was able to help him through the excruciating packing process. A week prior to that, he seemed happy, and it had led me to believe that he’d gotten to a better place in his life. After talking to him, though, I learned his illusion of happiness was no different than my own. But the smile he wore at the barbecue was real, because having his family together again meant the world to him. That was something I began to understand. Bentley’s advice to me about family coming together often to ease the burden of tragedy made so much sense, and it became a new goal of mine. I needed my family—all of them.
My dad and I had reached a good point over our time together, although I think he might’ve been a few steps ahead of me to begin with. Not only had I become idle in my suffering following my mom’s death, but now I also had a broken heart left shattered by Bentley. My heart was in no way healed, but it did feel stronger. I still thought about him every day, and would occasionally tear up over losing him, but I knew it was for the best. Each day I felt a little stronger than the last, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d be in a place where I could make the decision to see him again.
Bentley hadn’t reached out to me just as I’d asked of him. Ever since walking out of his house that night, I hadn’t heard from him nor seen him. I eventually boxed up his belongings from my house and stored it in Bree’s old room, believing there’d come a time when I would be able to return them. The box of belongings had become my inevitable excuse to see him again. And even though there were times I wanted nothing more than to reach out to Luke to find out how his cousin was, I refrained from doing so. It was imperative to my healing process that I kept my end goal in sight, and didn’t become sidetracked by things I couldn’t control.
The Thursday before Bree’s wedding, Clari and I took her out for dinner and then came back to my house for a movie. We did mud masks and soaked our feet in pedicure tubs while munching on junk food in sexy lingerie. When Clarissa had asked why we weren’t going to bars and getting drunk, I played the victim card and told her I wasn’t ready for that. It caused a little tension between us after she called me selfish and accused me of hindering the bride’s last night of fun, but Bree backed me up and told her she only cared about spending time with us, not about getting drunk. She later thanked me in private and admitted that she was happy I knew about the pregnancy, otherwise she’d never be able to explain why she didn’t want to go out for drinks.
“At least this way no one will end up nearly drowning in a lake in the middle of the night,” Bree said with a giggle as she reclined back on the couch.
“Who ended up drowning in a lake? I feel like I’m missing something.” Clarissa sat next to her, propping her feet up on my coffee table as we all got comfortable for girl talk.
I sat silently in my seat, feeling very much like a fly on the wall in my own house. It was no secret that these two had grown considerably closer in my absence. But at least we were all together, laughing, talking, and having fun. That was the important part. I couldn’t allow what I’d done in the past to affect the relationship all three of us could have.
“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” Bree’s quick dismissal piqued my curiosity, but before I could ask for more details, Clari beat me to the punch, not relenting until Bree gave us something. “After your bachelorette party, Clarissa, I went to that lake out by the motel. You know the one in the field Axel takes me to sometimes? I don’t really remember too much about that night, but I do recall standing on the dock and watching the moon reflect off the water. The surface was so still it looked like glass. I was entirely too wasted to form rational thoughts, and for some reason, I thought I could walk on water. So I stepped into it. I honestly don’t remember anything after that. But unbeknownst to me, Axel had been there and pulled me out. Imagine waking up the following morning on some strange couch, wearing men’s clothes, and staring into the face of a ghost from your past.”
“Didn’t we drop you off at your car that night? How did you expect to drive home if you were so drunk?” I asked, trying to think back that long ago. It’d been less than a year, but with everything that had happened since then, it felt like several lifetimes ago.
“Yeah… I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened had I gotten behind the wheel of my car.” She shivered and stared at the wall behind my TV, probably thinking about the horrific scenarios that could’ve taken place.
“Wait…Axel was there? You said he came back into your life the day Dad got in that accident. That was after my wedding.”
Bree waved Clari off and filled her mouth with a scoop of ice cream.
“Oh, no. If you think I’m gonna let you off the hook that easily, you’re sadly mistaken. It’s bad enough I had no idea who he was when he came back. I think it’s about time you fill in some holes for me.”
Bree glanced my way, rolling her eyes. I’d known the entire story ever since Bree came to live with us, but it was never my story to tell. It did, however, surprise me to hear that with as close as my sisters had become, Bree hadn’t ever told her the real truth. I sat back in my seat and listened as Bree started from the very beginning, going back to when she walked into her classroom after Christmas break and found her future husband sitting behind the teacher’s desk. I could’ve listened to that love story a thousand times and it would never get old.
We had a good night with each other, talking and laughing about anything and everything. It felt like old times again. And for the first time in weeks, I hadn’t thought about Bentley or spent too much time examining the depths of my pain—which had grown considerably shallower. It proved to be exactly what I needed.
“I know I’ve asked this a million times, but please just answer me once more to ease my panicked brain…you are on vacation next week and watching Ayla for us, right?” Bree stopped right before walking out the door and spun around. The moment she opened her mouth, I knew that’s what she wanted to ask me. She had, in fact, confirmed it about a million times.
“Yes. Everything is taken care of. Stop worrying.” The first time she’d asked—which had only been days after I told her I had the time off and was looking forward to keeping my niece for a week—I’d lied and said Marlo wouldn’t give me the week off. Then it took almost thirty minutes to calm her down. I learned after that not to joke around with her about anything going wrong in regards to her wedding or honeymoon.
“Good. Just double checking.”
“Bree, double checking was like fifteen times ago. I don’t even think there’s a word to call what it is now. Oh, wait…yes there is. Paranoia.”
She rolled her eyes and turned around, heading for her car, but I heard her laugh as she walked away. I’m pretty sure her obsessive worries annoyed her just as much as everyone else that had to dea
l with them.
Once I had the house cleaned up, I changed out of the black lingerie we’d worn for our girls’ night and slipped into one of Bentley’s T-shirts that I’d kept out of the box. The only reason it stilled smelled like him was because I’d spray his cologne on it to keep it fresh. Then I crawled into bed, ready for my nightly routine. Every night before falling asleep, I counted off three positives for the day. They couldn’t be the same as the day before, and had to be something that had happened since waking up that morning. Then, I had to think of one negative thing that I’d work on improving the next day. It was something my dad and I came up with when we made our quicksand survival guide. It sounded lame to begin with, but after a few days, I had to admit it felt good to do it.
On my list that night was time with my sisters, laughing with Bree about Axel’s poor grammar, and convincing a client to go darker instead of lighter—it was a hard sell and smart decision. The negative moment I’d work on the next day was not telling Bree I loved her before she left. That was something I tried to be very conscious of: always telling my loved ones how much they mean to me before parting ways, whether it be on the phone or in person. It was my way of rectifying the guilt I’d harbored over never saying it to my mom before she went to her room the last time I saw her awake.
Sleep no longer evaded me, and the moment I closed my eyes, I drifted off peacefully.
If Bree ever taught me one thing, it was to never get married—or at least never have a ceremony. More accurately, never have a ceremony while being hormonal and pregnant. No matter how hard we tried to keep her calm, nothing worked. She turned into a raging bitch to the wedding staff, and a sobbing mess around Clari and me. Granted, the staff deserved it since they couldn’t seem to follow simple instructions. I even offered to handle them for her, but she wouldn’t let me get two words out before speaking over me. So I finally gave up trying and let her deal with them.