Love Persevering: Chapter Two

The Moment

Whether anticipating it or not, when the moment comes along, it feels like a wrecking ball has just collided with your entire world. Not just once, or twice, but over and over and over again as you breathe in each remembrance that they’re gone.

Honestly, it feels almost exactly how you’d imagine it to feel but when you’re in the moment, you know it’s a million times worse. It’s your dreams, your nightmares, coming to life while your eyes are wide open.

I’ll never forget the day Kathy passed. Some people may have vivid memories, be able to tell you every last detail, while others disassociate. They do enough to get by, watching as those details someone else will remember begin to fade into the background.

For me, I remember the start of my day to just about two hours after she passed perfectly.

I’d woken up knowing that everyone was already at Hospice with her. While I’d traveled home from work two nights prior, I’d been exhausted. The nurse had told us we had about a week, maybe two. It would be similar to what we were already experiencing. Much less talking, more delirium, and lots of quiet moments.

So, I’d taken that morning to myself. My mom’s dog hadn’t spent a lot of time with her or Kathy due to them being in the hospital, unfortunately. I took that time to get ready and then go downstairs to throw the ball around outside with her. I thought I had time.

Then, I was off. My mind was set on Chick-fil-A for breakfast because I was starving. Pulling up to the light next to the shopping center, just four lights before the turn to the breakfast I was already salivating over, was when the text came through.

My sister’s then husband.

Him
Are you on your way?

Me
Stopping to get breakfast. Then, yes.

Him
She’s passed. You should come now.

That’s how I found out. A quick text from a man that is no longer in our lives. A quick text that he didn’t realize would shatter the world around me.

Now, this is a place of contemplation if you are preparing to lose a loved one or just if you have had this thought about what it would look like for you to lose someone. Part of this may be my own fault, but a piece of my heart has harbored a disdain for him due to that text. I’d told my family that it didn’t matter if I was there when she passed. I was in the area, I would be there eventually.

Then, it happened. She was gone and I was the only one who’d stayed home. I stayed to sleep in, to catch up on rest, and in the meantime she was leaving this world.

And I found out from a man who I haven’t spoken to since the funeral.

I remember him apologizing, profusely apologizing, for texting me. He said he didn’t know, that it wasn’t his place, that he wasn’t sure why he did it. Unfortunately, that didn’t take away from the fact that it happened.

So, there I was. Four stop lights away from breakfast and fifteen minutes from Hospice. I knew the food would have to wait.

I sped down the highway, checking my breathing as my car carried me along the road I’d driven a zillion times to go to basketball games, dinners with friends, and hikes to our favorite place in Harpers Ferry. Denial was already creeping its way into my brain.

“Maybe she’d not dead yet.”

“Maybe you read the message wrong.”

“Maybe the nurses just didn’t hear her heartbeat. Maybe it’s just weak.”

“Maybe this is all a dream and you’ll wake up when you get there. Kathy will be fine, she won’t even have cancer. You’ll wake up, like it’s any other morning, and everything will be fine.”

But it wasn’t.

And I knew that, truly. Deep in my chest, I felt that I was just placating myself until I made it there. It was my only way of making it without meeting her in the afterlife. All I had to do was make it there.

My mom came out to meet me, tear stained cheeks in tow. I had my glasses on, the ones I’d only just been getting used to after not wearing any for 22 years. Handing them over, I can hear myself say to this day, “I’m going to break them if you don’t take them.”

She did, and then it hit. We were walking through the sliding doors, ignoring the people at the front desk who were most likely used to moments like this, before we turned the corner. My mom, the saint she was and is, used the strength I learned from her in that moment before asking, “Are you ready?”

I nodded, walking through the door and into the room where Kathy laid, lifeless.

Immediately, my legs gave out. Looking back, it feels theatrical. Your legs gave out? Really? But yes. They gave, and I caved. My body hit the wall, sliding gently down as the sobs erupted. I didn’t care for attention. My whole life had been making sure that I didn’t get any attention. So this moment, as I lost all control, I stopped caring.

Whoever looked, whoever passed by, I stopped caring. The tears, the sobs, the aches and groans flowed through and out of my body. My best friend, my rock, my person was laying in front of me without her soul tethered to her human form.

I don’t believe I begged aloud, but I know I did internally. I begged and screamed for God to wake me up. That’s the least He could do, right? He’s all powerful, all knowing. He could fix this if I asked Him enough. He could do that for me.

But the more I begged, the more I hated Him. The more I realized that He wasn’t coming to help. No one was coming to help me. My world was on fire. Everything around me was in flames, leaving me alone with the ash and remains of what once was.

Those memories that I’d live with for the rest of my life remaining just as that, memories. Like the nights she’d watch Game of Thrones with me after telling me it was stupid, or the trips to any fast food restaurant where she knew my orders by heart, or dinners we had where she’d bellow that deeply unique laugh after making fun of one of us.

All I would know from then on was this new world, this ash ridden, empty world that was void of the best person in my entire life.

She laid in her bed, a ridiculous top that she’d never have chosen herself draped over her body. It was comical in part knowing that she probably wanted to give us one last good laugh, but it wasn’t enough to chisel through the wall that was building in that moment. After I’d made my way next to her, whispering because they’d told me she would still be able to hear me, my chest tightened.

How was she gone? How was this real? How could the world, how could God, have let this happen to her?

It wasn’t fair.

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs until she heard me in the afterlife and came back to tell me it was all just a dream, but she was gone. There was no coming back, and every second that passed was a reminder.

After some time, I’d taken a seat in front of the window just to the left of her bed as everyone said their goodbyes, talked about next steps, and everything else. I’d been asked to make a post about Kath so that everyone would know and begin preparing for the news of a wake and funeral. So, there I sat, typing up a quick goodbye and posting as though it wasn’t nearly killing me to hit confirm.

Posting that meant it was real. I couldn’t take it back now, I couldn’t say just kidding. The public would know, and that meant people would reach out.

I hadn’t realized in that moment just how quickly the fire would catch, but looking back now it makes sense. Kathy was so loved and everyone who knew me, my mom, my sister, or Kath herself were aware of how absolutely devastating her death was. Many people hadn’t even known she was sick, which was definitely not surprising. If there was one thing about Kath that I know for sure, it was her ability to hold her pain close so that no one would worry.

Makes me wonder where I learned that from myself.

From there, the messages and comments rolled in. Flooding me, my mom, and my sister almost instantly. Luckily, we all have a village that takes care of us and loves us dearly. With that, they knew that us responding immediately was almost impossible, but watching the messages build up brought a confusing feeling.

Comfort in the terms of knowing how loved Kath was but accompanied by anxiety from the mass amount of condolences we were receiving.

Pile that on top of tough emotions, a family that doesn’t always grieve in the nicest way, and a person who has dealt with the fear of this loss for their entire life. It was a disaster waiting to happen, and it was a disaster once it did.

I didn’t go home with my family that afternoon. I couldn’t. Even looking at them made me want to scream because I was so angry. Not with or at them, but just in general. I was fuming by this point because I couldn’t believe this was real life. I couldn’t believe that I’d done all this work, all these things, and somehow had managed to deserve losing a parent at only 24 years old. How was this fair? How was God ever going to explain to me how taking my person away from me was okay?

When I’d heard about anger in the stages of grief, nothing could have compared to what I was experiencing there. I don’t think I could replicate it if I tried. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced, like a bonfire burning me from the inside out, like the universe had figured out how to tint my vision red, like my body was working on figuring out how to combust without killing me.

To this day I’m still very thankful that I was able to recognize this and walk away without taking it out on anyone, but it’s a feeling I’ll never forget. Absolute Hulk-like rage with no known outlet to release it whatsoever.

But, everyone is different. Some people leave sad, they leave confused, they leave denying the truth or bargaining for another chance from God. Whatever the vice may be, the reasoning behind it stands firm. Grief, as I’ve said before and will continue to say, is not just the loss of a person but also the loss of an outlet, a safe space, of normalcy. Losing someone so close to you is not just the loss of their physical presence but everything that comes with them as well.

That immediate burst of emotion with no where to go is intense. It feels as though you’re going to meet them again very soon, but you’re not. You’re here to stay, and live, because of them and with what they’ve given you. The moment is excruciatingly devastating, and your feelings throughout are valid no matter what.

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Thanks for reading my second chapter to Love Persevering: Unraveling Grief. I hope you’ll come back around for the third chapter! You can subscribe to be updated when it drops below! If you enjoyed this one, a like and comment about what stood out to you would be greatly appreciated :)