Grief, I Wish I Did Not Know You

The grief in my body was overwhelming. It was like I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move or speak or breathe. It was like all the wind had been sucked from my lungs and all I could do was stand there, my eyes glued to the soldier, my face contorted into a pain I could not express with words.
Every sound I heard screamed in my ears, every light that passed before my eyes was blinding like a lightning bolt. But I just stood there, my legs like wet concrete, about to collapse, so heavy that I could not move. I felt as if the cartilage in my knees were scraping against the bones in my legs— but the physical pain I felt, the ache in my chest and the skull breaking headache, was nothing to the breaking of my heart and the cold blade of truth.
My mother, whose bright face had become a dark and terrible statue, took the letter with trembling hands. The soldier who’d delivered it looked as if he was about to cry but he just bowed his head and said something about how heroic my brother had been. But I didn’t listen; I didn’t care. All I cared about was that letter, and those fateful, horrible words. I hated war. I hated life. I hated my brother for being so stupid; I hated him for being a hero. I hated him I hated him I hated him. My head was pounding and my chest was exploding with pain. I groaned involuntarily, my hands clasping my stomach as if I’d been kicked.
My mother whispered a thank you and closed the door. I could hear the heavy footsteps of the soldier grow faint. Then there was no sound at all.
My mother grasped the door knob with white, chalky hands, trying to steady herself, but she couldn’t. She sank to the floor in despair, her back sliding down the wall, and then she slumped into a heap. Her breathing became ragged. I looked on in horror, tears sliding down my cheeks. My mother seemed as if to be fighting something and I knew that she had lost when she let out a groan. As soon as that groan escaped her she completely broke. Her face collapsed and she began to weep. It was that heart wrenching, soul tearing kind of sob—the kind of sob that makes you realize you’ll never be the same again. My mom began pounding her fist into the floor repeatedly, as if the pain from a bruised hand would lessen the pain in her heart. Her face was red and drenched with tears; her teeth were clenched and her body trembled. She just lay there...I didn’t know if she’d ever get back up.
I watched her cry, my own tears running down my neck and getting caught in my hair. I couldn’t move or stop watching. I didn’t want to see my mom collapse like this in front of me…I didn’t want to have to be the strong one. Suddenly, I was angry. She was supposed to be the strong one when things like this happened; she was supposed to protect ME! She was supposed to help me. My hands clenched into fists. I dug my nails into my palms. I wanted her to get up and stop crying and come over and hug me. But she didn’t.
Then, the elbows she’d had propped against the floor collapsed and she lay completely on the ground, her head in her arms. She started screaming, the sound muffled by the carpet. I saw as she bit down on her arm to stop herself from wailing. She pushed herself into a sitting position, resting her back against the wall, not noticing me standing there. Then she started to moan, slumped beside the door, misery and pain in her every sound.
“My baby,” She moaned, her eyes clenched shut. “My boy…”
I couldn’t watch anymore. I ran to my room and slammed the door, falling onto the bed. My body no longer wanted to work; it just wanted to lie there. I could still hear her. She was screaming again. I grabbed my pillow and threw it over my head, squeezing my eyes shut. I held on tightly to the pillow, pressing against my ears until I couldn’t hear anything but my breath, forced and irregular. I tried to think about something else, but I couldn’t block out the image of my mom sinking to the floor in defeat. I had just seen my own mother crumble to pieces in front of me, and I honestly didn’t know if she would ever be whole again.
I would know this day as the day my brother died, and the day part of my mom died with him. Later in life, I thought of it as ‘that day’.
I would never forget that day.