My Dusk My Dawn

by Henrietta Georgia

  That night, David offered to settle her, and after very little protest in his arms, she went back to sleep. When he attempted to put her back in her cot, she protested dramatically. He decided to stay up with her curled up in fetal pose, on his chest.

  “She can sense your sadness,” he said. “Our sadness,” he corrected. “Get some sleep, he urged. “I’ll watch over you.”

  Too tired to argue, I listened to him and did as he’d suggested.

  “I’ll bring them both to you when they’re ready for a feed,” he said. “Try to get some rest,” he insisted. Afraid for a moment that he’d fall asleep as well, he read my mind and stated, “I won’t fall asleep. I’ll put her back in bed the moment she’s sleeping deeply.”

  I took a long lingering shower before bed and cried inconsolably for Daniel. I had prayed and pleaded with God to give me more time with him, which He did, but he was gone now. Having Daniel in my life forever was not in His plans. The last conversation I’d had with Daniel, he had urged me to find comfort in the fact that we’d known each other at all. The lyrics of George Michael’s A Different Corner came into my mind. Had things not happened the way they did that fateful night we never would have met.

  I’d loved George Michael for years. Without the promise of another song, another melody, my heart was crushed when he’d passed away. I’d loved Daniel for a time that felt like an eternity but not long enough. Without the promise of another kiss, another smile, another tomorrow, my heart felt it would die.

  David rapped lightly on the the bathroom door. I’d been in the shower for ages, and the skin on my fingers and toes was beyond crinkly. I turned off the tap and reached for my towel on the rack, before stepping out onto the bath mat.

  “You okay in there?” he asked, his voice deep, low and reassuring.

  “Yes,” I replied, opening the door, towel wrapped tightly around me. He was leaning on the opposite wall, Adalia now in the sling around his chest. I peeked into the sling. She rested in fetal pose, hands under her chin, her left cheek flush against David’s chest. Unexpectedly, David said, “She knows he’s gone.” He flinched slightly at his own words. “She’s accepting me as a substitute, which is good,” he added, his voice trembling slightly and trailing off. “He’s left some big shoes to fill,” he added.

  I felt the tears fall down my face, hot, and unabated. He reached out to me, squeezed my shoulder lightly then hugged me sideways, taking care not to wake Adalia. “How about I make up some chamomile tea for you, and put on some music for a time? Might help you sleep.”

  In between tears, I nodded to the affirmative. Planting a kiss on my forehead, he paused and uttered some words of reassurance. “We will get through this.”

  I made my way to the bedroom and turned on my Spotify playlist. George Michael’s silken voice soothed me in my pain.

  Getting through Daniel’s funeral was going to be tough.

  I fell to my knees when the casket was lowered into the ground. I felt my soul go with Daniel. David knelt down with me, wrapping his arms around me and comforting me. “Come now. I’ll take you home,” he said in a firm, reassuring voice. I saw tears rolling down his face despite the strength in his embrace. I had lost my husband, while he had lost his brother, and was trying to be strong for us all.

  As we walked to the car, I noticed Johnny leaning against a tree. Grief weighed heavily on him. He and Daniel had gotten very close in the last year. I knew it would be very difficult for him to get on with life without Daniel being there. They were best mates, and had been like brothers should be. David nodded in acknowledgement to him. “You alright mate?” he asked.

  “Alright’s not anything I am at the moment, but I’ll get there,” Johnny said, before leaning into me for a hug. “Sorry he had to leave us so soon,” he said, bringing me to tears. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll get through this somehow.”

  Losing Daniel hurt more than I thought it would. Though we had grown apart just before the twins were born, after his diagnosis, I learned of his love for me which was undying and whole. Pleasure and pain.

  Going home without Daniel hurt equally as much as losing him. Without him, the home we’d shared together felt cold and empty. But there were memories of Daniel in every room, and I couldn’t be anywhere else.

  Johnny felt differently. “I’m heading back to the UK for a bit, need to clear my head a little…I know Daniel would’ve wanted me to stay on to help you manage the firm, but I’m just not sure I can do anything competently around there with him being gone. Not to mention, with Craig being the way he is.”

  I also wanted to carry on Daniel’s legacy at the firm, but I too felt incapable of anything meaningful now he was gone.

  “Right, guys,” David said, stepping in, his voice unwavering. “I’m sure Daniel would’ve wanted you both to carry on the legacy. Take the time that you need off, but come back once that’s done,” he advised. “Remember you’re doing this for Adalia and Josiah as well.”

  “Just a bit of pressure there, David, right?” Johnny noted.

  “Don’t mean for it to come across that way, but it is the truth. Apart from Craig, he left you both in control for a reason. Honouring his wishes is the best way to keep his legacy alive,” he mentioned.

  “We’ll find a way to make it happen, won’t we Teme,” Johnny stated.

  I nodded in response.

  “I gather you’re going to Tasmania then?” Johnny asked.

  “Yep, just need to do a few things for Daniel,” David answered.

  “I’d come, but you know how I feel about that place,” Johnny stated. “I’m not ready to confront my past just yet,” he said cryptically.

  David nodded in reply. “I’m not ready to do that either, but this is about honouring Daniel’s wishes,” he said. In addition to scattering his ashes over the Tasman sea, Daniel had wanted David to formally adopt our children and for them to take his name.

  Overwhelmed with grief, I stood against the wind and let the salty water from the ocean spray merge with my tears. Daniel, the love of my life, was gone. David and I released Daniel’s ashes over the edge of the ship’s bow, and that was it. Daniel was gone.

  As my heart heaved with sadness, David stood there with me. An ever present constant in my moment of need.

  He stood there with me, held me and said nothing, but his silence and presence spoke volumes.

  When dawn arose I gazed at the horizon. Tasmania beckoned me to start again, to find purpose anew, to find happiness, but without Daniel I felt lost. Tasmania called but I couldn’t stay. Not now. Staying in Tasmania meant leaving Texas. Something I couldn’t do just yet. For in Texas, it felt as though Daniel were not yet gone, and there was unfinished business to tend to. The life we had led, the love we had shared, the house we had lived in were all in Texas. I couldn’t leave now.

  A day in, and I refused to stay in Tasmania much longer. As beautiful as it was, I asked David to make arrangements for us to return immediately to Texas. The ship docked at the port of Devonport, and we drove to the airport hotel, in readiness for the flight leaving the next morning. All the paperwork regarding the kids would have to wait, David would deal with it in his own time.

  Though I’d completely thrown my all into loving and cherishing Daniel in his last days on earth, I felt love for David. His love was all pleasure. There was not a moment I could recall where he had set out to hurt me. Every moment was tender – he loved with his all, holding nothing back, love unabashed, love without bounds. We weren’t an item, yet he acted as though we were.

  As time went on, I feared that his love for me would wane. However as time went on, his love for me grew, and my fondness for him changed my outlook. Perhaps I could grow to love him deeply one day, as Daniel had so wanted. Perhaps losing Daniel had to happen, in order for me to be with David.

  Not wanting to move on so quickly after Daniel, I avoided moments alone with David for fear that he would sense I was falling for him.

  He cornered
me one morning in the kitchen. Hands on my shoulders, he asked, “How are you keeping?”

  “I’m…” I started, but found no words to express how I felt.

  “I hear you,” he replied nevertheless. “You know how I feel about you,” he added. “I want you to be free with me. I will be here for you, whether you want to be with me or not. Daniel’s wishes aside, I need you to take as long as you need to grieve.”

  “It feels like I’ll be grieving for a lifetime,” I said.

  He drew me in close for an embrace. “I know how much you loved him. I know how much you still love him. I just didn’t realise how much he loved you in the end. I don’t know if I could have done what he did, openly ask for another man, yours truly, to take care of you and the kids. I’ll never be him – I’ll always be the man who’s deeply in love with you – the man who’s always loved you, and always will love you. But right now, I just need you to be – do whatever it takes to just be. The kids need you, I need you,” he said, warming my heart.

  I took his advice, but I grieved deeply, seeing Daniel in dreams, most nights. At first I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep. So much to do, so much to get used to, now that I was alone. Later, I couldn’t wait to sleep. I reassured myself with the possibility that I might see him in dreams.

  David was a constant, helping where he could. I was ever thankful for the help offered by him. The twins were used to having him around, making the transition a little easier. Still, there were the moments when they would cry out at night, and Daniel was not there. David did what he could. He helped rock the babies back to sleep, but Daniel was not there. This reality hurt me deeply, and it was at these moments that I felt alone in my grief.

  I saved my tears for the moments I was alone. In the shower. In the rain. In bed. I cried myself to sleep. I never imagined that losing Daniel would result in such a feeling of void in my life.

  I was very grateful for David being around. Yet every so often, in the early morning light, when I caught a glimpse of him out my window, heading out for his morning jog, I would mistake him for Daniel for a split moment. That split moment would be enough to send my whole day into disarray. Would I ever be over Daniel? I didn’t want to forget him. I couldn’t forget him, and saw him everywhere he was not. Would I ever smile again? Would I ever find happiness again? He had repeatedly urged me to find happiness when he was still alive.

  Sensing my hesitance with him, eventually David largely kept his distance emotionally, said very little, and kept his usual banter and laughter at bay. I could see he was grieving in his own way. I felt for him. I’d lost my husband, my better half, my forever lover. He’d lost his brother, and despite the somewhat acrimonious relationship history between them, he seemed to be struggling with the loss.

  He cooked up a storm most nights. I ate what I could.

  “Please eat a bit more than you’re currently eating,” he urged one night. “Not just for yourself, but for them. Remember that you’re feeding them too,” he said, reminding me of the fact that I was breastfeeding and needed to ensure adequate nutrient intake.

  A flower and handwritten note arrived every week without fail. Daniel had arranged 52 different floral arrangements, and had completed 52 different notes to accompany the flowers. Every Friday was a new sunrise for me, and I eagerly awaited each floral arrangement and each note.

  Two months passed, and the twins were fully on solids. David went to great lengths to ensure all they ate was homemade and not store bought for convenience. Daniel would have been pleased.

  When not helping out, David spent time at the dental clinic and hospital. He managed three days a week, the other two days were supervisory in nature, which gave him time with me and the kids. I managed a file here and there – Craig was a big part in ensuring my legal career stayed on track despite the time off.

  Jolène’s decision to contest Daniel’s will hit me like a slap in the face. That she was not going to succeed was irrelevant. I was more hurt at the fact that she refused to see that his love for me had been real.

  Daniel’s Last Will and Testament was unambiguous and unequivocal. “To my wife and the love of my life, apart from the individual bequests I have made to others, I give her one hundred percent of my estate.”

  Nowhere in the Will was there any mention of Jolène. Though Daniel hadn’t openly expressed his displeasure over her role in ordering that David be killed at birth, he had clearly expressed it in death. She was not to benefit in any way from anything he had. His Will made specific reference to the children, and mentioned his intention that she not have a role in the children’s lives.

  The news that Jolène was persisting on contesting the Will had me a little shocked, though not worried about the outcome. The shock came from the reel of emotions I felt at having to recall the animosity between myself and her in Daniel’s last days, and the feeling that the children were not acceptable to her.

  Craig allayed my fears, and brought out the big guns so to speak. Daniel had done a video in which he read out the terms of his Will. Such was the nature of the indisputable evidence that we had against Jolène.

  “I heard about Jolène,” David stated, later on that day. “You alright?”

  “I’m fine,” I replied. “I’ll be fine.”

  “She’s got the nerve,” David stated, angrily.

  Grief. A single word to surmise a myriad of emotions and memories. Some days the memories evoked laughter. When he was with us, Daniel was always casting light on darkness, shining rays with such abandon on everyone’s fragmented lives. He was gone now.

  Some days the memory of him stired up ambition. He was the embodiment of carpe diem. Other days, hearing John Legend on the radio caused pause. There was no true love story without music and the rise and fall in tempo he had once said. No true love story without some pain. Yet other days, a fleeting memory of the times we shared over the years caused a pain unequalled, one that failed to subside, unifying and familiar to all of us who knew him. Gone too soon. Never should have gone.

  He lived well, gave well, and loved well. We all missed him well.

  The flowers that Daniel had arranged every week were eagerly anticipated week after week. The arrival of his flowers, and the mere anticipation of reading each note ignited passion and zeal for life within me. He was gone, but it was as though we were loving and living together in an alternate plane.

  The last flower, last week of the year came with a note that saddened me deeply:

  Sugarpie,

  I will always love you. I know you’ll always have the memory of us on your mind, but I want you to find happiness now. Please do not mourn me any longer. Find happiness my love. This’ll be my last flower to you, my last love letter to you. You were my all, and you will always be my love.

  Always,

  Daniel.

  Though I knew it would be my last letter from him, I yearned for more. I was heartbroken the weeks nothing came. Daniel had left a big void in my life, seemingly incapable of being filled.

  Eventually I took his advice, and I turned to David, who despite his feelings for me was my friend, my confidant and my eventual destiny. He was all too happy to find ways to fill the void.

  To commence, he suggested that we start remembering Daniel in a different way. By looking into his past and piecing together as much information as we could, we could grow to know him more, and create a record of the past for the kids to look at in the years to come.

  Every Friday evening, we sat down together and went through old photos of Daniel, school awards and books. Despite the friction experienced between he and Jolène in the end, Daniel was loved, and had been loved by her. She loved him as only a mother would love her child. Deeply.

  As we went through Daniel’s belongings, I felt a deep sadness for David who had had everything but the idyllic childhood. He tried to pretend it didn’t matter, but I knew it did. I carried this intimate knowledge of David’s pain with me, and resolved to be a part of making the difference
to him one day.

  23

  THE WAKE

  I stood on the sidelines and scored the room for familiar faces. There weren’t any. Not yet anyway. Shania had promised to join me but backed out at the last minute. Some friend she’d turned out to be. Though it’s not as though I’d been there for her. She and Jonah had their forever after, Daniel and I didn’t. I tried to be a friend, but I kept my distance. Since Daniel had gone, I hadn’t felt like doing much at all.

  I really didn’t want to be there, but had agreed to as the function was in memory of Daniel. The people that had failed to honour him when he was alive had chosen to honour him in death, through the creation of a foundation in his name, to raise awareness of brain disease and ailments of the mind in the legal profession.

  The waiter offered me a spritzer, which I accepted. I made my way to the balcony, where a few of the other waiters and kitchen hands had gathered. One of the waiters recognized me. “Teme!!!”

  “Long time, me love you long time even still!” he said.

  I chuckled in response, laughter only lasting for a moment. Malik called out, “Hey Teme.” I acknowledged him with a nod. It was a few moments later before he approached. Greeting me with a kiss on the cheek he asked, “How’ve you been?”

  “I’d be lying if I said I was okay,” I stated.

  “I’m sure it’s not easy,” he said. “Daniel was a standup guy.”