Grief

Nathaniel Aurthor Presley

The phone rang at five o’clock in the morning. A sound I will never forget. One that constantly taunts me when my phone rings that early. The phone call of death.

A sinking heart torn because of a few words, “I’m sorry, I know what we said but he’s gone.” Words that I could never completely comprehended. Did they understand what they were telling me?

A brash of anger passes through as if in denial, then the offering of proof. Have they lost their mind? How am I supposed to function? He was more than my brother, the one that we all looked after, the one that bridged the gap. Now you are telling me he’s gone.

My heart sinks to a new level - a heavy anchor that can't be lifted. I feel as if I have been crushed by a thousand pound weight. My heart feels like a mirror that has been obliterated in a million different piece...not pieces that can be taped or glued back together, a million micro slivers of glass. No amount of glue can put my heart back together. My body aches, it screams for the loss.

I start to think about his children, his daughter, not yet 1 year-old, not yet ready to walk. His son, who would give him the comfort knowing his father was a good man. His father took excellent care of him. Again a feeling of insanity sweeps over me as I feel my heart in my throat as it being ripped out over repeatedly.

“You were my best friend. How could you go and leave me like this?! Why did you die on me? We were supposed to spend more time together. You were supposed to be here to see her take her first steps and watch her grow up. You are going to miss out on so much.”

Lost, recent memory, not even saying good-bye or saying I’ll talk to you when you get back. Everything comes to a halt. Everything stops. Time stands still as my heart aches for the closeness we once had…never to be had again. A constant reminder since our birthdays are so close together. Now time slips away.

Innocent children are lost without their father. A mother lost without her young son. A sister mystified without her comfort. A brother vulnerable to the devastating blow. A father consumed by grief for his baby boy.

Tears burn in my eyes as I lay in my bed in a fetus position and try to give myself some kind of comfort by reciting the Lord's Prayer until I fall asleep.