Death's Toll

Death’s Toll

As the warm sun shone down on my face, promising happiness and bright tomorrows, I couldn’t help but envy those who walked slowly past me. They were here, and they shared my sorrow, but they could never know the emptiness, the loneliness, and the complete and utter feeling of total aloneness that was now mine. When my eyes met theirs – quite by accident – I could see their pity, but as quickly as they glanced over they looked away again. I didn’t want their pity. They could never bear the burden I’m now forced to carry. Although they feel sympathy, they’re glad it's me, and not them. They make small talk with one another as they make their way to their cars, anxious to get back to their lives. Their lives, with their children who were alive and well, that was what mattered to them. I, too, wanted my life, the way it was. But it was gone forever.
We reached the car and began our journey home along the muddy waters of the Ohio River; the sun peeking brightly between the tree limbs. I couldn’t seem to concentrate on any one thought. My mind just wandered aimlessly with no purpose or intent. Finally, I gave up trying to make sense of the words, faces, and feelings in my head and leaned back in my seat, closed my eyes and tried to wish it all away. If only . . . if only I could bring him back; if only I could hug him one more time; if only I had said, “I love you,” that night; if only he hadn’t fallen asleep on his way home; if only he had woke up in time to stop the car from plowing into that tree; if only I hadn’t gotten him that job working third shift; if only I could wake up and realize this was just a horrible nightmare; if only. . .
Pulling into the driveway and seeing all the cars and people brought on a new wave of fear, sadness, and an obligation to ‘be strong.’ Right then I didn’t want to be strong. I didn’t want to play hostess to all those well-meaning relatives and friends. I didn’t want to fake another smile or tell another lie about being okay. I wasn’t okay! I was crumbling in my own grief. My knees were threatening to succumb to the weight I was forced to carry, my eyes barely holding back another onslaught of tears, my heart ready to burst with the pain that saturated my entire existence. Every breath was a painstaking chore; every move literally commanded by my brain, nothing was automatic anymore. Yet, as these people in my home greeted me, hugged me, and conveyed their condolences, I wanted more than anything to be alone. I just wanted to fade into the woodwork, to share my misery with the only person who really understood how I felt – me. I wondered if anything would ever be the same again. Of course, I knew it couldn’t be.
As the day faded into evening and the sun shone red in the night sky, the crickets began their sweet singing that would last into the night and the fireflies danced against the darkness. I realized these simple things would never again bring the same joy I had once known. The crowd of well-wishers began leaving one by one, and the house grew quiet; I almost wished they’d come back. I didn’t know if I could handle my mind drifting without the buzz of activity to help keep me focused.
Grateful my doctor had prescribed sleeping pills at my last visit, I swallowed two of them quickly with a drink of warm tea. Wanting nothing more than to drift off into oblivion where thoughts are lost and dreams are wasted, I laid my head on my pillow and shut my red, swollen eyes. The last thing I remember is a vision of my son, barely twenty years old, lying in a cold wooden box, being lowered into the ground, covered only by the soil of the earth . . . then sweet nothingness.