After an interminable amount of time and with the hands of grief still wrapped around our hearts, we made our way back to the gravesite. We chose to have a private funeral because we knew we wouldn’t be able to handle being around other people. Scott was loved by many and people wanted to pay their last respects but thankfully they understood. Our devastation was also the reason we left Chloe at home.
“I apologize, Father Henderson,” I said when we got back to the gravesite. I knew he was just a messenger of God and didn’t deserve my wrath.
I wish I could say my heart is broken because I can get over a broken heart. But my soul is broken and that is something I will never get over.
Barbara, the grief counselor we share but see separately, wanted us to reach out to one another, and while I had no intention of ever texting him, I’ve clung to the phone she gave me as a lifeline.
I can’t just sit by while he is so shattered. I have to help. So through fresh tears, I text E back.
E…you’re right. I had no intention of ever contacting you. But here I am returning your text because I also happen to be sitting on the floor by my front door. I know it’s against the rules to disclose any personal information and while I’m aware you know my husband, the love of my life, was murdered that day, I want you to know we have a four-year-old daughter. My reason for telling you this is because, if not for her, I too would be sitting in this exact spot, 24/7 waiting for him to walk through the front door.
D…the love of my life was murdered that day TOO! But not only was she killed, I also lost my six-year-old son and my unborn daughter.
ALL.
THE.
AIR.
LEFT.
MY.
BODY.
My heart stops and even though I don’t think it’s possible, it breaks even more. I text back.
I don’t want to say I’m sorry because that’s the stupidest thing to say and I’m sick of hearing it myself. But what you just texted me…I kind of understand now why people say that. My world ended the day he died and my in-laws constantly have to take my daughter because I can’t ever stop crying.
His reply is immediate.
That makes two of us.
Now I’m crying for the both of us.
E, to answer some of your questions, I am going through the same thing and I hate it. I hate all of this! I have no idea why it hurts so bad, it just does, and I don’t think we’ll ever move on. I don’t want to. All the color has left my world and I just want him back.
I knew contacting him would hurt, but in a weird way, it’s making me feel so…not so alone.
I want them back too…so badly! I can’t stop crying. This hurts so much. It feels like I’m carrying the pain of the entire world on my shoulders and I can’t seem to make it stop. I’m suffocating in my own anguish and I’m tired, D, I’m so incredibly tired.
I can’t breathe; his words wreck me. The only sound in my empty house is the sound of my pain. And even though I don’t want to, I can’t stop myself from texting him back. I don’t know why, I just do.
I can’t stop crying either. This is so incredibly wrong. It shouldn’t have been them. It should’ve been that monster! They were good people, E. Really good people. Why did it have to be them? THEY DIDN’T DESERVE TO DIE!
This time he took longer to respond, like he had to think about his answer.
I don’t know either. And you’re right, they didn’t deserve to die. I don’t understand how it happened? That intersection is always so busy. How could they have been the only two cars to be crossing at that exact second?
Oh my God! We really are feeling the same things.
I’ve thought about that a million times. It’s like the universe is out to get us! But I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m a good wife, a good mother, and a good person. He was coming home to celebrate our wedding anniversary and it was supposed to be the beginning of a happy weekend. Not a horrible end.
I watch the gray bubbles dance on the screen and wait to read his reply.
I’m a good dad, a good husband, and a good man. My son was going to get his yellow belt in karate. He was supposed to be walking through the door beaming with pride! We were supposed to be spending that weekend celebrating.
Why us, E?
I don’t know.
I don’t know either and I just curl myself up into a ball and cry. I don’t know how much time passes but I jump in surprise when I hear my phone ping.
D? Are you still there?
Oh my God, I forgot what I was doing.
Yeah, I’m sorry. I started crying again. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever really stopped and I kind of forgot about the text.
His response is swift and understanding.
I understand. It’s hard to relive this.
It really is. How is this supposed to help us?
Although I see the bubbles on the screen, this time, they keep appearing and disappearing. It’s almost as if he’s unsure about what to say.
When Barbara gave me the new phone, I never thought reaching out to you would help but in some sick way, knowing you’re going through the same thing? It kind of does seem to help.
I was right, he was weary. It’s amazing how many emotions I can discern through his texts and it’s strange how I can already sense his soul.
I agree, I don’t feel so alone in all of this.
We text some more about all the articles that have been written about the accident. He tells me how he refuses to read what some asshole wrote about his family and how he refuses to turn on the television. I really don’t blame him. I read a few articles and they destroyed me. He also tells me how he begged his friends and family not to read anything either. I had done the same with Beverly and Rodger and was thankful when they agreed. We then talk about the upcoming trial. I can’t bring myself to go and was relieved when he said he wasn’t going to be there either.
From there, we move on to telling each other about all the things our neighbors are doing for us and saying to us. We share how much we hate it but at the same time, understand they aren’t coming from a bad place and really don’t know how to react.
It feels surprisingly good to have someone who understands what I’m going through; to have someone in my corner. I learned how his parents come by daily to take care of him, what he did to send them away and how guilty he feels about it. I let him know how hard it is to constantly pretend I’m okay and how hard it’s been to be present when all I want to do is disappear.
At some point, our conversation turns, and we start comparing notes about some of the stupid things people are saying to us and I actually start to smile.
Oh my God, E, I can’t believe someone actually said that to you. Who wants to even think of being in hell let alone trying to figure a way out once there. Why would anyone ever say that? I haven’t had the privilege of hearing that one yet but at least you haven’t received the ever-so-popular, “Oh, you poor thing.” Which is always accompanied by my all-time favorite, the pity stare…I think that may be a girl thing. “Oh, she’s so fragile! How can she ever survive!”
D, HAH! Your sarcasm slays me. You just made me laugh and trust me, that’s something I never thought I’d do again.
Oh my God, I just laughed too! How is that even possible?
I just laughed too and, like you, I never thought I’d do that again. I guess this really is helping.
We continue texting in this new direction. I feel lighter than I’ve felt in a very long time. And when he calls me “Little Miss Funny Pants,” I realize two things at once. First, I did the right thing in returning his text and second, this isn’t going to be the end of them.
Oh God! Parents are here for their daily visit to the “psych ward.” I was hoping they’d take the hint and not show up but you’ve made me smile so I think I can handle what’s ahead.
I suddenly feel like I can handle what’s ahead of me too, so I quickly type:
Text soon?
And I smile when
I read:
Absolutely!
We haven’t stopped texting since our first exchange. He’s making me feel better and I want to think I’m doing the same for him. I’ve started to crave hearing from him. His texts ground me. We’ve spent hours crying, screaming, and commiserating. I’m not alone anymore and that knowledge is empowering.
Halloween was really hard for E. Apparently, he lives in an area that’s very popular on that night. He told me how he kept his house dark, how he was able to hear the revelers outside, and how kids kept ringing his doorbell anyway…while he stayed home alone, in a dark house…drunk.
Thanksgiving is upon us and I know this holiday will be even harder for him, especially with nothing to give thanks for. So I’m not surprised when his text comes through.
D, are you around?
Since I know he’s worried about the holiday, I go ahead and put it out there.
You’re worried about Thanksgiving, aren’t you?
What the fuck do I have to be thankful for?!
I just thought that.
Is it morbid if I say nothing?
No, it’s truthful!
I don’t want him to spend Thanksgiving like he spent Halloween—alone, miserable, and drunk—so I decide to give him a nudge.
You’re going to your parents’ house, right?
He’s already told me his parents are cooking and how they’ve been begging him to join them.
No!
You should. They love you and want to be with you.
Really, D? Not you too!
I haven’t seen this much anger from him in a long time but I understand where he’s coming from.
Not me, E. never me! I’m on your side and you know it. I just think it’ll help.
It won’t!
I haven’t forced him to do anything yet, but, in my soul, I believe this small step will help him.
My in-laws are having a small dinner, just the four of us. Maybe your parents can do that too. Just them, you, and your sister—
I wasn’t able to get my full text out before his next one cut me off.
It doesn’t matter!
Please? For me?
Seriously? You’re going there?!
Screw this! It will help him and I am going there!
Yes, E, I’m going there.
Fine.
Wow, really? That was too easy.
Really?
Why am I now questioning myself?
Yes, really…I kind of like you pushing me and you’re probably right. I’ll ask if it can be just the four of us.
I’m proud of you, E.
Thanks.
It turns out that all his relatives were there. Apparently, I’m not the only one who’s trying to push him, but in the end, he had a nice time and was actually thankful he went.
I’m glad I pushed him to go. It was a turning point for him and also a turning point in our relationship.
Since Thanksgiving, we’ve branched into texting about other subjects. Still not crossing any lines, we’ve talked about everything from favorite books to favorite movies (at which we are still in a stand-off). We’ve covered everything from favorite food to color to music and more. We’ve argued about the different restaurants in the area. Which are best and what we like to order at each… Who doesn’t like mushrooms on their pizza?
We text daily and he’s become my closest friend.
THE MORE WE TEXT, THE closer we become. We text about anything and everything and still never run out of things to say. Even though we’ve never discussed anything too personal, I’ve become very dependent on him; I need his words as much as I need air to breathe.
Christmas is on the horizon and I’ve decided I can’t be here, not without Scott. I want to go home to San Diego but I’m afraid. So I pull out my special phone and text E.
I’m leaving.
His response comes quickly.
You’re… What?!
E, I know we haven’t talked about this in a while but I swear to God, if I hear even one more person apologizing to me or telling me things will get better, I’m going to EXPLODE! I’m the town widow. Everyone walks on eggshells around me. No one ever mentions his name. It’s like he never existed. I know it’ll only get worse at Christmas and I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it. I’m thinking about going back to my childhood home for a while to find my bearings. What do you think?
I know I’m rambling. I also know I’m running away but I don’t care.
Go.
Wait… What?
Now he’s pushing me?
Go.
You said that, Einstein.
I’m not enjoying being on the other end of this.
D, you pushed me to go to Thanksgiving dinner. It turned out to be a good thing and I think this will be good for you too. Christmas is going to be hard for both of us. If you think going home will help, I think you should go.
I see why he agreed with me about Thanksgiving because that just made a shit-ton of sense.
Okay.
I’m serious, D. Like you said, a change of scenery might be the best thing for both of you. So go.
I’m scared, E! This is the first big thing I’ve done since my husband died and I don’t think I’m strong enough.
Babe! We text daily and I can assure you that you are strong enough.
Did he really just call me babe? And why do I kind of like it?
Babe?
Hah! That’s what you got from what I just said?
Yes, that’s what I got from what you just said and I like it. I seriously consider you my best friend, E. Your opinion means so much to me and with you by my side, I know I can do it.
You’re my best friend too and I’ll always be around to guide you. So are you going?
Yes, you know I always trust your opinion.
Well, babe, I’m always happy to give you my opinion because it increases the odds of me being able to say, “I told you so” in the future.
Yep! I like hearing him call me that. I love when I can sense his smile coming through his texts, and I really love when he gets all cocky and confident.
Hah! And (eye roll) I’ve never known you to ever shy away from giving me a good “I told you so,” E.
So when are you going?
This weekend.
Well, be safe, keep that little girl of yours safe, and don’t forget about this decrepit lab partner of yours.
Ever since he referred to his house as the “psych ward,” we’ve joked about how we are a science experiment gone wrong.
We are quite the science experiment, aren’t we? And, E… I could never forget you.
We are indeed! And back at ya, with the never forgetting part.
Chloe and I arrive at my mother’s house by two in the afternoon the next day.
I kept the goodbyes to a minimum because Chloe thinks we’re just visiting, even though I’m considering moving home permanently. Though, when I refer to where my mother lives, I wouldn’t exactly call it “home.”
I grew up in a small town called Escondido, just north of San Diego. My childhood home is in a nice, well-kept, middle-class neighborhood, on a lovely tree-lined street. Before my dad died, the two-story house was yellow with white shutters. I was always embarrassed because I was the only one with a yellow house and really, who painted their house yellow? Looking back, yellow was the perfect color. It represents life and happiness. It’s sunshine on even the darkest days. My house was always filled with music and love and life and that color represented that. The house is now white with black shutters. The color died with my dad and it shows.
“We’re here, baby doll,” I tell Chloe as I put the car into park. It’s a three-hour drive from Hermosa Beach to Escondido and aside from having to stop a couple of times, she’s been a perfect angel.
“YAY! I get to see Nana!” she squeals, delight radiating off her.
I sigh. If she only knew…
Chloe and I let ourselves in and I call out, into an otherwise em
pty room. “Mom?” She could at least be outside of her bedroom. She knows we’re coming and I saw her car in the driveway, so I know she’s here.
Finally making her dramatic appearance, she saunters out of her bedroom, dressed to the nines.
“Is that my daughter and beautiful granddaughter?”
“It’s us, Nana!” Chloe yells, rushing towards my mother with her arms open wide.
My mom squats down and gives Chloe a big hug, while I thank God for small favors; she seems sober.
When she stands up to give me a quick peck on the cheek, I notice a huge difference in her appearance. Alcoholism has never looked good on her. My once beautiful mother is now anything but.
“Are you two hungry?” she asks, even though she and I both know there’s no food in the house.
“Chloe and I aren’t hungry, Mom. We ate on the way here and picked up food from the market for dinner tonight.”
“That wasn’t necessary, dear. I’ll be out this evening,” she informs me while following both me and my groceries into the kitchen.
Of course, she will be. Ugh! I’ve been here a whole ten minutes and I’m already ready to leave.
“I wouldn’t expect anything different,” I say more to myself than to her. I knew she’d be going out. When will I ever learn? I had hoped her priorities would be different with Chloe here, but sadly, I was wrong. She didn’t come up for the funeral so I’m not surprised she won’t be here for us now that we’re here.
While Chloe is busy visiting with her, I head up to my old bedroom to text E. We make it a point to carry our special phones with us at all times so we can always be there for one another and right now, I’m glad we do. I need him. I feel like I’m drowning and texting him is the only thing that can rescue me.
Made it safely, thought you’d want to know. Thankfully, my mom isn’t completely drunk…yet.
Oh shit! I just broke the rules by telling him something too personal. I need to fix this so I quickly add:
TMI! Sorry, I broke the rules. Don’t think you have to reciprocate! I guess severe frustration’s gotten the best of me.
He responds right away and when I read his words, I immediately relax and smile.
Saving Each Other (Saving Series Book 1) Page 4