This choice: You purposefully become busy and forget about dealing with Deborah • Go Back...Chapter #8You purposefully become busy and forget about d... by: takacube   The next two weeks had become almost a blur to you.
With Sarah's family flying in, signing the documents needed to authorize the release of the body from the morgue, and quickly making snap arrangements for the cremation, you found yourself easily slipping into a robotic-like state. Everything was neatly organized and arrayed before you on your wall as each step was plotted and connected to the next, sort of like storyboarding a chain of events.
Her family, plus yours, had swelled the house up quickly enough, each person knowing not to step on the others' toes but yet wanting to be close by, just in case, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lower your guard down and practically mourn the loss of your wife with her family and yours. You couldn't remember a time when you saw her mother crying to the extent she needed help standing but that's what happened and, luckily, your brother and you had managed to make it over just before her legs gave out and gently helped guide her to a chair. She had remained in a curled up fetal position for a few hours after everyone else in the neighborhood had left upon saying their last respects and you thanked everyone for coming. Kind words and nice thoughts aside, you were almost glad it was over.
The nights quickly grew quiet after everyone had left, your brother and sister-in-law being the last to leave to ensure that you would be able to hold up fine and then, assured you would, gently had closed the door earlier in the afternoon. Now, with the house eerily quiet, you at last could start.
Boxes that you had purchased and sat upstairs in the attic were brought down into the living room, cleared for the sleeping bags for your nephew and nieces, and each box was quickly labeled "donate", "trash" and "recycle". Picture albums, clothing, bedsheets, chinaware, everything had been systematically categorized on your chart and you pulled album after album from the shelves. It had been almost a morbid task that you had set yourself out to doing but each step, every single picture, helped calm your nerves and helped smother out any fuel from feeding the burning flames that threatened to burn everything down around you.
Your wedding albums? Trashed. Favorite trips? New travels awaited (trashed). Even everyday photos that you had loved to walk past in the upstairs hallway came down and were sorted (mostly trashed). A few that you knew your mother-in-law wanted, or your sister-in-law, you put aside in a pile that soon began to fill up a box. It would be easily taken care of had you just donated it to some charity organization or Goodwill but you figured it had some sort of sentimental value to that family and it would make closure a bit more practical and easy for them. Plus, the less you had to connect with her, the easier it would be for you to let it go.
"Sarah..." you whispered, fingering through some folders and files that had been wedged inbetween a stack of old albums. The idea of your wife being dead, her body cremated and now on its way back to her parents' home out of state, everything about this whole situation seemed comical, almost sci-fi in its nature, but you just shook your head and continued sorting. A few hours later, and the sore back to prove it, you found yourself with three boxes for her family, two to take to Goodwill later on, and a whole shitload of stuff that were consigned to become incinerator fodder.
"This is going to suck..." you exhaled before slumping back down onto floor and looking at the ceiling. "shit..."  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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