by Randa Lynn
I close my eyes, praying to whoever will listen, that she pulls through this, and I force myself to walk away from my entire heart.
This is what it feels like. That fine line between wanting to fall apart and needing to hold yourself together.
I’m helpless.
Broken.
I don’t know what the hell to do.
Finding out Claire wasn’t mine didn’t hurt quite this badly. She was never mine to lose in the first place. And I knew she was okay. She is okay.
Charlie, though? I feel like I haven’t seen anything. What were the signs? Did I miss something? Why didn’t I help her more? I just need someone, anyone, to lean on, but everyone who knows and loves Charlie isn’t here.
I called Stetson and Lizzie, but I couldn’t force the words out of my mouth. I tried, but nothing would come out. I threw the phone to the cop that was there and made him inform them. I was too much of a coward.
I couldn’t even make the call to Charlie’s parents. They just left for vacation yesterday, so I’m all alone until one of the four show up here.
I’m all alone except for Charlie.
Charlie. God, her body was white, lips so blue from lack of oxygen. God knows how much brain damage she has. More brain damage. Shit. Why did I leave her? I could have cancelled that meeting. Rescheduled. Something. Then we'd be fine right now. Life would be normal. I should have seen the signs. I should have fucking got her help.
“Shit!” I seethe.
A hand lightly lays on my shoulder, startling me. I look up to see who it is. The cop from earlier stands above me, and I stand abruptly. "Can I help you?"
He looks between me and his trembling hands for a moment before handing me a folded piece of paper. He tugs at his belt. "I'm not supposed to do this because it's coined as evidence right now until it's definitely ruled suicide—”
"She's not dead," I spit out, ending his sentence. I look down at him sternly, suddenly feeling extremely defensive. He better not dare say that shit again, or I will pound my fist into him until he’s in the cubicle next to her.
"No. I'm sorry. Attempted suicide. Please forgive me, Mr. Beck.” He looks around nervously for a moment. “But anyway, I thought you needed this so I made a copy. I don't know if this will make matters better or worse for you, but if it were me...." He trails off as he lowers his head. "I just think you need to read this."
He tips his police hat before he walks away, leaving me standing with a feather light piece of paper that feels like it holds the entire weight of the world.
I look down at the paper, and when I unfold it, I successfully rip the rest of my heart in two.
Slayter,
I know you're probably really mad at me. Angry. Confused. Hurt. All the emotions rolled into one. I know you have tons of questions, and I hope this letter answers at least some of them for you.
Firstly, I want you to know that you saved me. Every single day you saved me. It seems a bit of an oxymoron since I felt like I died inside every day.
Every day I went without remembering Phoenix was another day a piece of my soul flaked off. But thanks to you, I had true happiness for the first time in my life. Or the only part of my life I can recollect. I didn’t deserve the happiness you brought me. But thanks to you, I’ll leave this world knowing how it felt to be adored.
I know that’s no consolation right now, because you’re without me. But I can’t live without my son. Not anymore. Not after today.
I remembered something this morning.
The wreck.
The 18-wheeler.
The bright lights of the truck right before it slammed into my vehicle.
I remember every detail of impact. I remember the light turning green. Pressing on the gas, ready to get home. The rain. God, the rain was pummeling down so hard. I remember looking to my left, seeing the truck flying at me at lightning speed. I remember screaming “Mommy loves you, Phoenix” right before impact. Right before life collided with death.
The one thing I don't remember, though, is the only thing I'd die to remember—Phoenix.
Was he scared? Did he suffer? Did he die immediately? Did he cry for me? Did he know I loved him? Was I the best mom I could have been to him? Did he have a life so full of love for the four years he was here that he left this world knowing without any missing piece in his life?
I wish so badly I could answer those questions. I hate not being able to answer them.
I hate it.
I’ve taken pictures because they leave an imprint in the world. The pictures I have, they give me hope that he was loved, that I was enough.
The thing about hope is it’s useless if you don’t have faith. And I lost mine a long time ago.
The pain has eaten me up, masked only by the light you brought into my life. But I’m so tired of trying to tread the waters between life and death, happiness and sadness. Sometimes the lines between each are so blurred we don't know which way is up and which way is down.
I can't take this anymore, the not knowing, not remembering anything but the moment that ripped him from me. I can't tell you what our bedtime routines were or his favorite food. I can't tell you what our favorite things to do were. I can't even tell you what his first words were. I couldn’t tell you if he crinkled his nose up when he laughed. I couldn’t tell you anything about my son. Life stripped that privilege from me.
You see, people spend their life dying to forget while I've spent mine dying to remember.
I've finally come to the realization that this soul crushing pain won't diminish or go away unless I do. I know I’m messed up. I know I’m broken. And every broken piece of me is tired. So tired of fighting a war inside of my mind day in and day out.
I don't want to say I'm sorry because I know it's nowhere near enough.
You have been incredible. Unimaginably patient. Remarkably understanding of all of my ways. You have been the only light in the midst of my ever-present darkness.
I know I said I was incapable of loving anyone, but that's not true. I was incapable of loving anyone but you.
You don't have to 'got' me anymore.
I won't be a burden.
If you ever think about me I hope you smile.
If you ever look for me, you'll find me in the darkest corner.
Go find happiness, Slayter. Be with someone worthy of your soul.
Hopefully, maybe, I'll find Phoenix.
All my love, Charlie
The paper floats to the ground while my heart crashes.
The tears flow like a burst pipe, because that’s what I am. I’m broken, and I can’t stop the flood of emotions pouring out of me.
Fear. Desperation. Anger. Confusion.
I have it all. I feel it all right down to the very depths of my shattered soul.
Why didn’t I stay? My intuition told me not to leave, but I did anyway.
I fucking left when she needed me the most. I left her alone, not able to crawl back up from the hole she was sinking in.
It’s my fault. Every single bit of it.
“Son of a bitch!” I kick over the table, not caring of the repercussions.
“Slayter?”
I look up from my haze. “Lizzie,” I breathe out. Without hesitation, I bring my sister-in-law in for a hug as we both fall apart.
My world is in that hospital bed barely hanging on.
I lock stares with Stetson, his eyes low and sad. He tucks his hands in his jean pockets and just nods, letting me know he’s going to stay back, giving us our time.
The waiting room is silent except for Lizzie’s cries. The atmosphere thick with pain and sorrow.
“I’m so scared,” she cries into my chest. She shakes her head, “Why did she do this? Why didn’t she call me? Why didn’t she talk to someone?”
I slightly pull away from her, looking down at her. Stetson comes in behind Lizzie and wraps his arms around her. I just stare at the love of my life’s sister, pain and agony swirling in those blue eyes of her
, and I feel nothing but guilt.
I don’t know what to say to her. What can I say to her that Charlie hasn’t said to me?
I bend down and grab the letter Charlie wrote. The letter to me. Her goodbye letter.
I can’t tell Lizzie anything other than what’s in this letter, so I’ll just let her read it if she wants.
With shaky hands, I hand her the letter, soaked with ink and truth, pain and sadness. Her eyes go wide as she realizes just what it is she’s holding. Overcome with emotion, she sits. Trembling, she takes a deep breath before she starts to read everything her sister had to say.
I wait in strained silence as Lizzie reads the words Charlie bled out on that paper for me. Everything she wrote, every word of hers I read, sliced me open. But one line gutted me more than any other.
I know I said I was incapable of loving anyone, but that's not true. I was incapable of loving anyone but you.
She said it. Those fucking words I longed to say every single day. I love you, Charlie. But I never said it because I didn’t think she was ready to hear them. I knew she wasn’t ready to hear them.
But she said it. And she said it with her goodbye. I would have rather never heard them.
No, that’s a fucking lie. I would have loved to hear them…from her and not from her suicide note.
I’m so pissed. I’m infuriated with myself that I let her sink this deep without intervening. If I would have just paid more attention to her, I could have stopped this before it ever started.
“Oh my God,” Lizzie gasps, clutching her hands over her chest. She slowly turns to me, tears free-falling from her eyes. Her lip quivers as she forces out the words, “She can’t die, Slayter.”
I just nod. Don’t I fucking know it? I don’t know what to do to make her pull through. I don’t know if my being here helps or hurts her. I don’t know if she could hear me back there or not, but I hope like hell she could. It’s not her time, I don’t give a damn what any of the doctors have to say. I refuse to let her leave this earth. I don’t care if she runs away from me, never looking back, but she has to wake up. She has to. She’s got so much left to offer this world if she just opens her eyes and realizes it.
“She loves you.” Lizzie’s voice is full of conviction.
“Not enough to want to stay,” I whisper.
But I love her enough to try and pull her back.
I just have to figure out how.
If remembering is what she needs to live a life without utter suffocation and guilt, then I’ll die trying to make that happen.
Charlie’s parents showed up early this morning. When the 5am visiting hours came, they, and Lizzie, went in. It’s only supposed to be two visitors at a time, but the nurse was very friendly and let all three go back. They needed it. They needed each other.
It killed me not going in and seeing her, but they have just as much, if not more, right to see her than I do. Kathy and Charles are both torn up and just in shock. Lizzie and I agreed they shouldn’t read the letter Charlie wrote, at least not right now. They’re broken enough as it is over the thought of their daughter’s life hanging in the balance—again. I’m sure they feel like they’re going through a spell of déjà vu.
I forced myself to get up and leave the hospital. I had to. I have to do something, and me sitting here isn’t doing a damn thing. Stetson volunteered to drive me to her apartment, saying I wasn’t in any condition to drive myself anywhere. I agreed, because I can’t see anything clearly in the state I’m in.
Now I’m standing at this door, and I’m absolutely terrified to unlock it and walk in. The last time I came through here I had no reservations about walking in. But now… I can still picture her body on that floor, clinging to that picture of Phoenix like she was clinging on to hope that what she was doing was the only thing that would bring him back to her.
But she was wrong. So damn wrong.
I unlock the door and slowly turn the knob. When I get the courage to open the door to enter, it’s like every ounce of life has left her apartment. The only thing remaining is stagnant, dead air. Chills creep up my spine and every muscle in my body is screaming to run. Run back to that hospital and hold Charlie’s hand, never letting it go. Because if I never let it go, I know she’s still here.
But my holding her hand won’t do anything to help bring her back to me, bring her back to the light I know she so badly needs.
I just have to figure out what I need to do to accomplish that.
And the only place that holds the key to that lies within the walls of this apartment.
I take a deep breath and walk deeper into her space.
There’s nothing on the walls. Nothing that shows who Charlie is. No, she’s kept that locked up, put away for no one to see. Not even herself.
Stetson falls behind, just standing around the living room, anxiously waiting for me to finish what I came here to do. He has no idea I plan to turn this place upside down if I have to. I will find something. Anything.
He thinks I’m crazy. Insane. I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. But I’d rather lose my mind than my heart any day, and if I lose Charlie, that’s exactly what will happen. That is not an option I’m willing to live with.
My head spins as I decide where to search first. Then I think of all the photos in the living room. I dive on my knees, kneeling in front of the drawers, and open them. I grab every photo album out of there, flip through them, trying to find something, anything that will help me—help her.
When I clear out the drawers and come up empty handed, defeat washes over me. I was hoping something would be in there that would help me unlock that mind of hers.
I have nothing.
I stand up and scream through gritted teeth, letting out my pent up frustration boiling inside of me. Feeling helpless is not something I handle well. I march my way to her bedroom, flipping over her mattress, hoping something is under there, pointless as it seems. I have no care for privacy right now. I’ll rip everything apart in search for something that catches my eye. I’ll rip everything apart if it means stitching her back together.
I make my way to her dresser, pulling out black shirt after black shirt. Nothing falls out but cotton and polyester, pissing me off even more.
“Come on, Charlie. There’s got to be something here,” I say to no one but myself.
“Hey, bro. You don’t need to destroy the place.” Stetson leans against her door jamb, arms crossed in front of his chest.
“Destroy this place?” I fume. “Do you see this?” I slam my fist over my heart. “This is fucking destroyed, and it will be obliterated if that woman doesn’t pull through. I promised her, Stetson. I fucking promised her that I had her. And look what I did!
“She’s lying in that hospital bed, machines breathing for her because I didn’t do what I promised her in the first place. Stetson, I can’t fucking live without her. I know you said that night of your wedding rehearsal she has too many problems. But the thing is, I love every inch of her, problems and all. I don’t want her to be perfect, I just want her to be okay. And if this stupid idea I have makes her come back to me, makes her remember the son she lost, then I’ll fucking do it. I’m going to, because it’s the only damn thing I have control over right now.”
I fall onto my knees, beating my fists against the floor because it’s the only way I can feel anything other than heart crushing pain. This feeling, this truth that I’m living right now—monumental pain.
“Bro,” Stetson says, crouching on the floor beside me. “I don’t really know what to tell you. But I need to get back to my wife, so I’ll help you if you want. I think this whole idea you have is insane, but if me jumping on this crazy train helps you, I’ll do it.”
I nod, and when I finally get myself up off the floor, Stetson brings me in for a hug, clapping his hand on my back. “Thanks,” I hush out. I’ve gone from a grown man to a freaking morsel of a human.
“I love you, Slay. Just promise me you’ll keep this together. I can
’t have you and Lizzie completely falling apart. I’m worried about her, man. About her and the baby. Let’s find whatever it is you need, and get back to our girls. Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
We spend the next thirty or so minutes combing through Charlie’s bedroom—nightstand, under the bed, and closet—coming up empty handed. I’m about worn for the wear, ready to give up when Stetson calls for me. “Come here.”
I get up from the pile of things I’ve just sifted through and walk towards the bed where Stetson sits. “What is it?” I ask, looking down at a journal of some sorts in his hands. I jerk it from his grasp, flipping through the pages, curled up and stiff from being wet. My eyes snap to his. “Where did you find this?”
“In the box right here,” he says. “It was wrapped around this blanket. It just fell out.”
I grab the blanket—baby blue with little airplanes on it—from him. It’s tiny like a baby blanket, soft and warm.
I flip through the pages some more, looking at dates, reading lines, reading memories.
Charlie’s memories.
“Stetson,” I say. “This is it. Holy shit.”
April 20, 2007
As I sit here and rock you back and forth in my arms, I can’t help but wonder how I got so lucky.
Your hair-I can already tell it’s going to be blonde just like your mommies mommy’s. (sorry for the scribbles. I’m one handed right now.) You came almost two weeks early. I wasn’t prepared. Your bags weren’t packed. But thanks to your Aunt Lizzie and Honey Kathy, we got everything ready in record time.
You are beautiful. Your skin is so soft. I can’t believe you’ve been on this earth for twelve hours already.
I knew the very moment I herd heard your cries that you were the most beautiful thing in this world. Your cry is the music to my heart. Your touch soothes my soul.
My little Phoenix Blake McGee, I love you more than all the fish in the sea.
I can’t wait to watch you grow.
I’ll try to write in here every single time we do something worth remembering. We’ll call it: Remembering Phoenix.