Black

Today is black. There is no other way to describe it, black. I opened my eyes to sunlight streaming in through the window. I hated the sun this morning. I hated it for shining when all should have been dark. Maybe I hated it most of all for its helplessness to penetrate the black.

Will was up, rocking in his favorite chair, the chair that I rocked Damon in the last night he was ever in this house. It still smells like his vomit but apparently I’m the only one who can smell it. When he rocks his chair squeaks, it always has, the sound makes my stomach turn. I want to scream.

My stomach growled and I turned my fury inward. How could my body call out for food when all my heart wants to do is die? How do my lungs still take in air? My heartbeat is like a mocking voice “yes, you’re still here.”

I laid there, unable to move. My stomach growls, my heart beats but the parts of my body that are supposed to be under my command refuse to respond. Nothing. Finally, the familiar sounds of that chair bore into my brain and I run. I run to the front porch. I sit, alone. People drive by and stare. The rational part of my mind tells me they are probably looking at the assortment of flowers that now adorns our porch but I want to scream at them all the same. There is no refuge here.

I venture back inside and am driven to the back of the house by the incessant squeak, squeak. My path takes me past Damon’s room and the fury explodes. I screamed and beat the closet door. I screamed and screamed. It was sound I didn’t know I could make, feral. I collapsed on the floor in sobs. My husband came to me, held me, and I screamed. My hands hurt from the beating
and my throat is sore and raspy. Good, I think, good. All I can think over and over and over is “I want to go home. I want to go home.” Jesus, come soon.