Week 47 – Back to school

She never would have guessed this day would hurt so much.

It was like her heart was being torn to shreds. She hadn’t felt this bad since it happened.

Part of her knew it was bound to happen, these first few months were going to be the worst, and even with time the wound would heal but it would still leave a scar. A scar that would be a constant reminder of what she had lost. A scar that would be a constant reminder that she could never get it back. A scar that would never let her forget.

Not that she wanted to forget.

In her memories he remained alive. He lived on. He wasn’t completely gone.

Gone.

He was gone.

Some days she still couldn’t believe this was real, that it wasn’t just some horrendous nightmare, that it was her new reality.

Her tears came in a rush, flooding down her cheeks, and dripping onto her t-shirt, quickly soaking it.

It was too much to bear. She’d rather be dead that have to feel this pain every single day for the rest of her life.

“Honey?”

Arms came around her and she was pulled against a hard chest. The hug was comforting and yet it couldn’t ease even a molecule of her pain. It was just too big, it was going to destroy her.

“What happened?” he asked quietly. Her husband didn’t need to ask why she was crying, only what had set her off this time.

“Back to school,” she whispered through her tears. Their little boy should be starting the third grade, instead four months ago they had buried him.

It wasn’t fair.

Eight year old little boys weren’t supposed to be struck down by cancer that ate away at them until there was nothing left.

Eight year old little boys were supposed to be running around outside, getting filthy playing in the mud, kicking balls through windows, riding their bikes, telling silly jokes.

Eight year old boys were supposed to live.

She couldn’t do it.

She couldn’t live like this.

She was being eaten alive by grief.

She wanted to die.

She wanted to be with her baby.

“Don’t leave me,” her husband whispered against her hair. “Don’t give up. I can’t lose you too.”

Was she strong enough to stand by her husband in their grief? Was she strong enough to hold his hand and let them help each other try to rebuild their lives? Was she strong enough to find a way to live when her heart was already dead?

She didn’t know.

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