“How have you been feeling?”
“Wouldn’t you and everyone else like to know,” I mumbled under my breath.
“I know it’s hard right now. I’m so sorry for your loss.” He looked up from his pad and frowned slightly as he struggled with what he wanted to say next. “Things will get better,” he said softly. “Probably not for a while, and it most likely won’t be any easier, but you will feel happy again.” He reached out and gently squeezed my hand.
“Thank you,” I whispered, a tear falling down my face.
The lock clicked over in the door and I slowly pushed my way across the threshold, stepping into the apartment for the first time since I’d left to California.
There were pictures of John and me everywhere. The emotions that had been locked inside of me since I’d first called my mother—pushed down to look strong for everyone else—clawed their way forward, waging war on my fragile being. A shaking hand covered my mouth as terrible, gasping sobs and a cascade of tears broke free. Shutting the door with my body, I slid down it to the floor. His face looked down at me from every angle, the photos mocking my pain and loss. I cried as I looked at them, wishing that I had been able to kiss him just one more time, to pour all of my love into his soul. I should have treasured every moment we had together more. It was hard to recall what his skin felt like or what it was like to wake up in his arms.
After a long while, I pulled my shattered self off the floor. My tears splashed on the frames as I brought them to me, one at a time, hugging them—John—as tightly as possible. If I’d only offered to work more overtime or get a second job for the summer, he would still be here with me.
I slowly made my way into his office and settled into his leather computer chair. He had left a few handwritten notes out, taped to his computer screen. I ran my fingers over them, regretting the time that I’d told him everything he wrote looked like chicken scratch. It was beautiful now, something that he’d left behind for me. The whole room smelled of his cologne, like he was standing right there with me. How I wished that were true.
After slowly going through everything he’d left in his workspace, I proceeded into our bedroom. The room was simple really, a dresser and queen sized bed. We’d shared many great memories there though, including the creation of our child. I couldn’t look at anything without a recollection of him surfacing.
Going straight to the closet, I opened the doors and pulled one of his oversized t-shirts out. After stripping my own clothes off, I put it on, relishing in his scent. A quick perusal of his pillows confirmed that they shared the fragrance.
It was only mid-afternoon, but I crawled into bed anyway. Everything was so different now. I hadn’t been ready for the change. We had always talked about growing old together, seeing the world, and spoiling grandchildren. All I could think of now was what I’d lost, what would never be.
It took a while for sleep to claim me, but I finally slipped into a world where my love didn’t have to be gone.
“John, I had a bad dream,” I mumbled as I rolled over. “It was terrible.” I reached out for him in the dark. His side of the bed was empty and cold.
It wasn’t a dream.
I started crying again and hugged his pillow to me, hands shaking. When I moved to sit up, I froze. There was something wet underneath me.
I fumbled with the lamp on the nightstand, squinting as it jumped to life. Afraid of what I was about to see, I wiped my eyes and gingerly pulled the tan covers back.
There was blood—a lot of it. My panties were soaked clean through, as well as the sheets directly underneath where I was lying. Red streaked across my thighs. Slowly, like I expected it to all be in my head, I reached a hand down and touched the mess.
It was warm still. I pulled my hand back and placed it on John’s shirt, over my belly. It left a handprint, like ones in the horror movies.
The tears returned when it finally clicked in my brain what it all meant. I didn’t know what to do, just that I couldn’t stop it. Something had gone wrong—I had lost our baby, too.
They always tell you not to drive when you’re upset. Maybe that was how I’d ended up in California, staring out at the ocean.
No one knew where I was. I’d already had several calls from Mom, all of which I ignored. I needed this time.
I wasn’t exactly sure where I was, just that there weren’t very many people around. The early morning hour could be responsible though, so that might change.
Water moved in and out of the giant rocks I stood on in a way that was relaxing to most. To me it was pulling all of my hopes and dreams out and away from me.
I no longer had anything. At least before I was going to have a part of John to keep forever. The doctor confirmed yesterday morning I’d lost the baby. There was nothing anyone could have done to save it. Mom didn’t know.
That night, sitting in our home, crying over bloodied covers, I decided that I couldn’t handle any more. I broke a vase, threw the bedding into the tub, and got in the car and started driving. Eventually, I ran out of road.
The weather was uncharacteristically cold. A soft breeze blew through the grey morning. Waves started to angrily splash my pedestal. All of that was in the back of my mind though.
“You promised me you were coming back!” I yelled out to the horizon. “You said you loved me, that you’d never leave me! But you did. And you didn’t even leave me anything to say goodbye to! And then, to top it off, you took our baby with you! You left me alone . . . abandoned and empty! What am I supposed to do John? What can I possibly learn from this?”
I cried as I continued to scream, not caring if anyone was looking. I shouted until I had no voice and then kept going.
“I have nothing left,” I whispered when I was finally finished.
The breeze had turned into full on wind and the water was hitting hard enough to get me wet. I turned to leave, my vision blurred by tears. As I wiped my eyes, my tennis shoes slipped across the slick surface. Panic seized me as I lost control, arms flailing in an attempt to regain my footing. It was no use. I tumbled down in what felt like slow motion, cutting myself on jagged edges and slamming my head onto the cold, unforgiving stone. The world darkened around me as I slipped into the water.
Chapter Three
I needed to kick my feet, or something. The salt from the water stung my eyes, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to actually do anything. A fuzzy feeling had invaded my head, distorting the edges of reality and fiction.
The waves pushed me back down whenever I would get close to surfacing, bouncing me against the rocks and preventing me from coming out of my haze. The need to breathe was overwhelming, my lungs burning from lack of oxygen. Finally, my body went into survival mode. My arms started moving and I kicked off one of the boulders the best that I could. Unfortunately, I also sucked a mouthful of water into my lungs.
Once the first swallow was in, it was like I couldn’t stop. I kept gulping water down, trying in vain to get air. My chest felt like it was going to burst. Losing strength, I slowly stopped moving. In a last desperate attempt, I tried to shove off of the stones around me again. All I succeeded in doing was getting my foot stuck.
Consciousness was drifting away ... My lungs were full of liquid and every part of me felt too heavy to even try and move. When I closed my eyes, I saw John.
Maybe we would be together after all. I didn’t necessarily want to die, but if I was going to perish now, at least he would be there waiting for me on the other side. I wouldn’t have to be alone any more.
I was vaguely aware of the sea swirling around me in a way it hadn’t before. Air started to hit me and I weakly tried to take a breath. It was too late though—the water had taken up all the room in my lungs.
I felt like I was floating on my back, water covering me there and air brushing over my front, but my foot was still stuck in the rocks. Somewhere in my mind, I registered that as being impossible. With my last bit of strength, I fluttered my eyes open.
> The man in front of me was majestic. The ocean spun around him—us—and I swear I heard it whispering to him. He was talking to me, but I couldn’t understand anything he was saying. I coughed weakly, some water coming up.
The man suddenly slapped his open hand on my chest and jerked it away like he’d been burned. The water in my lungs seemed to follow his hand as I heaved it up and sputtered, gasping. The water started closing in on us, and my mind finally went dark.
“Somebody call an ambulance!”
My body was freezing. And somehow I’d managed to get sand in my pants.
“Is she breathing?”
“What happened?”
My throat hurt. Why was that? I was pretty sure I was laying down, too. I tried to sit up, but everything hurt. What the heck?
“They’re on the way. It should only be a couple more minutes.”
“We need to cover her up, her lips are turning blue,” a gruff voice said.
Finally. I felt strong enough to at least open my eyes.
What I could see of the sky was grey—the crowd of people around me blocked out everything else.
“She’s waking up!” one of them said.
Another person’s face filled my view. He was soaking wet, his hair dripping onto my face. Astonishingly blue eyes stared into mine, looking for who knows what.
“Do you know what just happened?” he asked.
“No?” I rasped out. “Do you?”
“Only that you almost drowned.” He smiled apologetically and then looked up at something.
“Everyone out of the way,” he continued. “Let them do their job. We can’t do anything else for her.”
Soon I was strapped to a backboard, rolled into the back of an ambulance, and racing down the road while being poked and prodded.
“Can you tell me your name?” the paramedic asked.
“Audrey,” I rasped again.
“Audrey what?”
“Audrey Willis.”
“All right, Audrey. My name is Mike. We’re going to take good care of you. Do you remember what happened?”
“Not really,” I admitted.
“Okay. How are you feeling now?”
I then proceeded to answer the next several questions the best I could. The most infuriating part was that they had taped my head down as well. I couldn’t even look at Mike unless he leaned right over the top of me.
When we arrived at the hospital I answered several more questions, all while being poked with needles, moved into an emergency room bed, and still not able to move my head. When they called Mom—my new emergency contact—I could hear her panicked, high-pitched voice from across the hall. After several tests that I couldn’t even remember the names of, I was admitted for monitoring.
All anyone would tell me was I’d almost drowned. I couldn’t remember anything no matter how hard I tried.
“Mom, for the last time, I didn’t try to kill myself!” I sighed exasperatedly.
“How do you know if you can’t remember what happened, Audrey?” She hadn’t left my side since she’d arrived, literally. She had taken up residence in the chair next to the bed I’d been sequestered in, sobbing and trying to interrogate an answer that didn’t exist out of me.
Three days have passed since my accident. I knew everyone was thinking I’d tried to end my own life, especially after Mom had filled them in about everything I’d been going through. She especially thought that losing the baby had pushed me over the edge. I knew I hadn’t done anything though—I wanted to live, is spite of everything.
“Your doctor agrees with me,” she said lovingly.
“About what?”
“We think that you should spend some time in a rehabilitation cent—“
“Mom, I’m not on drugs!” I said incredulously. “I have absolutely no reason going to rehab!”
“Not that kind of rehab,” she said hurriedly. “Simply a nice place where you can relax, be taken care of, and overcome these feelings that you’re having. I know that you need to mourn the loss of your family, but I want to see you feeling better as well.” She patted my hand, tears forming in her eyes. “I just love you so much, sweetheart. You’ve been through more than most people could handle in such a short time, no one would judge or blame you for doing this.”
“I didn’t try to drown myself,” I said through gritted teeth.
“It’s okay to admit that you need help,” she urged.
“She’s telling the truth,” a voice said from the doorway.
I looked over to a man who—while strangely familiar—was a stranger. His short, brown hair was wet and slicked back, like he’d just been swimming. His white t-shirt and blue board shorts suggested he’d been doing just that.
“She slipped. I saw the whole thing,” he continued.
“And you are?” Mom asked politely.
“They call me Sy,” he answered, coming in and shaking Mom’s outstretched hand. He then turned to shake mine as well. “I’m glad to see that you’re recovering nicely.”
After looking into his eyes, I finally remembered him.
“You’re the man from the beach, right? The one who asked me if I remembered what happened.”
“Yes,” he smiled softly. “I was the one who pulled you out of the water. Do you remember?”
“No, I don’t,” I told him apologetically. “Thank you very much though.” Was that relief I saw on his face?
“Yes, thank you—thank you!” Mom said through a few tears, missing whatever it was that had just dashed across Sy’s features. “We would have lost her if not for you. How can we ever repay you?”
“I just saw someone in trouble and came to help,” Sy said, holding his hands up. “No payment required.”
“Why are you here now, if you don’t mind my asking?” I asked, curiously.
“Everyone was talking about the girl who tried to kill herself by jumping into the ocean,” he laughed. “I figured I should come share what I saw.”
“Well, thank you for that as well.” The light drumming that signaled a beginning of a headache was starting at the back of my head. I’d been diagnosed with a pretty severe concussion that made for some bad pain, but at least I wasn’t going to be forced to deal with them in rehab now.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Mom asked. I hadn’t realized I’d gone quite for a few minutes.
“Yeah, just tired. My head is starting to hurt, too.” I smiled weakly.
“That sounds like my cue to leave,” Sy said. “Would you like me to send your nurse in on my way out?”
“Thank you. For everything.” I smiled warmly. He reminded me of John a little—always polite, considerate, and now—literally—my lifesaver.
John. I felt so empty without him. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do or where to go from here. Every time I’d tried to figure it out, the pain was too much for me to handle. A future without him felt impossible and I was being forced to realize my greatest fears.
As Sy left the room and Mom fiddled with the blinds, I decided to concentrate on just me. My life was different now—there would be no going back. There was time to mourn, and then there would be time to pick up the pieces.
Chapter Four
One year later
“Well, it does get easier I suppose. The pain is always there, tucked away under everything else, but it's manageable.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the heat of twenty-four eyes burning my skin. They all looked so engaged, especially Mary, the therapist I had been meeting with one on one for the past eight months.
Mom had been right to suggest I get help. The only difference was I didn't need suicide counseling—grief had taken over every part of my life in the months following my discharge from the hospital in California. Living on my own, surrounded by the remains of my former life, felt like a constant battering of my fragile being. I had nowhere to go since my boss insisted I take a leave of work. It was a miracle if I even got out of bed most days.
“H
ow wonderful, Audrey.” Mary smiled as she stood from the chair next to me and walked to the center of the circle. “Thank you for sharing your journey with us. I knew you would be a great help to our group.” Several members nodded in agreement, one of them even wiping a tear away.
“As we all just heard,” Mary continued, slowly turning to face each section of the circle as she spoke. “Audrey has been through a lot in the past year. She could have let it overwhelm her, she could have given in and done something that would have hurt those around her even more. But she didn't! She got help and she picked up what was left of her life. And here she is today, strong, independent, and doing everything she can to move forward with her life.”
A round of applause broke out as she finished and I squirmed some more in my seat. I hadn't chosen group therapy for myself, because I didn't want everyone else's opinions on what I should do with my life. I already had that at home, with every family member trying to tell me what I needed to feel better. So I'd chosen just to speak with Dr. Young-Mary-and it was exactly what I'd felt I needed.
The group began to break up and leave, some of them staying to talk with Mary, other's stopping to shake my hand as they headed toward the door. When everyone else had finally gone, Mary turned to me.
“So, how did that feel Audrey?” She smiled softly and sat back down in the chair next to me.
“It was pretty much what I expected . . . and also not,” I laughed. “I knew it would be hard to drag all of that stuff back up to the surface, but it wasn't as scary as I thought it would be. There weren't any panicked feelings and I didn't feel uncomfortable sharing everything. I still feel sad, but it wasn't too much. You know?”
“That’s wonderful! And I do. You have made such progress Audrey. I'm so proud of you.” She grasped my hand as she spoke, happiness radiating from her. “I think you helped the people here today, too. Thank you for coming to speak.”
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