Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
That’s the good part. That’s where it ends.
I close my eyes for a moment, preparing myself to go back to that day, to the pain, knowing it comes with anger, confusion, grief, and even after all this time, love. Because I did love Michelle. I still do, in a way. It’s just different now, like an echo, hollow and remembered more than an active sensation in my heart.
“It was a regular Tuesday. I went to the office, Michelle dropped off Grace at preschool, and on her way to work, she was hit head-on by a truck crossing the median. He was driving into the sun and didn’t realize he was in the wrong lane until it was too late. It was an accident, but she was gone like that.” I snap my fingers. “And I was alone, with Grace to take care of.”
Not wanting to linger in the horror of that day, I mentally move past it, forcing myself to remember the rest. “I blocked out a lot from that first year. I spent too much time drunk and depressed and stumbling around in a fog. I went through all the stages of grief, first drunk and then sober—mad, sad, bargaining, denial, a lot of guilt—and what did it get me? Nothing. She never came back. And now I wouldn’t want her to see what I’ve become—a shell of a man, because I’m empty inside.” I swallow hard, the pain from acknowledging that just as real as if I’d been punched. In a way, that’s what Michelle’s death was—a sucker punch.
“But eventually, I came out of it for Grace. Not quickly enough, but I had to. She needed me. Or maybe I needed her?” I sigh, shrugging because I’m not sure what it was, but I’m glad that I didn’t stay in that dark place any longer than I did. “It was so tempting to drink myself into oblivion to avoid the new reality I found myself in—and for a while, I did just that—but one night, Grace crawled into the bed I’d shared with her mother and touched my face, and in her little-bitty voice, she told me to smile. And I did. It was fake as hell, but I did it. That was the moment I started healing.”
I don’t remember a lot, but I vividly remember holding my little girl as she slept that night. I’d stared at the ceiling, lit by the crack in the bathroom door because she was afraid of the dark back then, and realized that I had to get my shit together. She’d lost her mother. She didn’t deserve to lose her father too.
“Everything changed. The dreams I had of the future, what I hoped and planned for, were gone. Friends drifted away because they didn’t know what to say. My parents and siblings took care of me and Grace… fuck, they still take care of us… basically doing whatever they can to keep us on an even-keel, all the while watching to make sure I don’t fall back into that black hole because Grace is all I have. She’s it for me.”
My throat is rough from everything I’ve said, but I grit out, “Everything I do, it’s for her. Grace first.”
I risk looking at Riley, praying I don’t find pity in her eyes. I hate that look, and it’s become one I’m all too familiar with over the years.
He’s a single father, you know?
Poor girl, only has a dad, no mother.
He spoils that girl rotten like it’ll make up for her mother being dead.
But what I find isn’t pity. It’s understanding. It’s comfort. “I’m sorry, truly. Michelle must’ve been an amazing woman, wife, and mother for you to love her so much. And Grace is doing great, which is because of you, so I’m really glad you found the strength to come out of that dark place for her.”
People often don’t know what to say in the wake of a loss, whether it’s fresh or long past. They want to sidestep it, or minimize it in some way, spouting platitudes like ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ and ‘Everything happens for a reason’, or the worst, ‘They’re in a better place now.’ Every one of those clichés made me angry in the weeks after the accident, when I didn’t feel strong, and there was no good goddamn reason, and Michelle’s place was at home with Grace and me. Honestly, they still piss me off now, sounding like script-filled sympathy cards with lazy attempts at comfort.
But Riley doesn’t say any of that. Instead, her heartfelt words acknowledge that my wife existed, was important to me, and that her loss will always be a wound that doesn’t heal. She soothes the soul-deep doubts that, even though I’m doing the best I can, I’m not doing enough for my daughter, because there’s no denying that Grace would’ve been better off if she’d had her mother all these years. But she is remarkable and I’m proud of whatever small hand I’ve played in that process of whom she’s become.