Friday Fictions

Oh children, the sound of silence tonight is actually bliss. I am sitting in my house missing Jerry with every passing thought but to hear nothing tonight is a balm. I've had a terrible week and all I wanted to do was come home and sit alone for the last three days.

No, it isn't fun. Nor especially pleasurable. Perhaps a safe haven is a better term. It is like a place where time has stopped. The 29th will mark the 6th month since Jerry died. I cope. I don't want to get up in the mornings. I don't want to go to work. I don't want to do anything. I make a plan to accomplish some things but when the time comes, I have no motivation to do it. I am lonely and realize how very much we were a part of each others lives for so long.

You don't notice it, you know. You get used to it, become comfortable. And then they die and you look down and find half of you is missing. You reach for the sugar bowl and find you have no hand. You turn to share a joke and there is no one there. Jerry loved jokes. He was funny without trying at times, saying something crazy out of the blue that sent me into laughter. Or he would dance a jig. He couldn't dance! It was hysterical. Or he would grin at me acting foolish and shake his head and chuckle. But he died. And there is no jokes, no laughter, no smiles.

Someone told me not to long ago that they preferred the term "passed away". No! No, death left no dignity for us and I will give none to him. Jerry died. There was nothing soft and warm and comforting about it. He died. Suddenly, without any warning all peace was shattered in my house by an unwelcome invader. Even the apostle Paul taunted death. "Death where is thy victory?" he said. Jesus trumped death by overcoming it. I have not found peace in that thought but I will not give death one ounce dignity.

I want to go home. That is the craziest thing I've said in a long time. Mama and Daddy and Jerry are home. And they are not here. I can't go home. There are no words, nothing, nothing, nothing to say to make it better, to make it right.

I do not fall apart anymore. Sometimes I feel nothing. Today, I had a counselor's appointment. He studied me quite a bit, gauging my mood, my demeanor, my state of mind. Well, that is what I'm paying for, isn't it? And he's very nice but I think I puzzle him sometimes. I finally said, "So how am I?" He studied me a minute and then a light came on. "Oh, you're asking me?" We laughed about it. He looked away and said, "Well, I think you're better." I smiled.

I'm better. Yes.

I write fiction.