Internal Storm

*trigger warning* *child loss* *grief*

The rain, drenching my clothes, sliding down my hair, my face, pouring off of me as I look up at the sky, arms outstretched wide, couldn’t wash away the pain I felt. Nothing could remove that ache. My soul was broken, unrepairable, after the loss I had. It’s been five years and I still can’t even begin to heal. Four years ago, I moved here. A new town, a new job, new friends, I just couldn’t bear the talk from everyone back home anymore. I needed to escape. Everything reminded me of all I had lost, so I left, to start over, where no one would ever know of the accident. Never ask me how I’m holding up. Never look at me with those sad, knowing eyes. I lost everything that day, my life gone, just gone. Rain, cold and hard like this is the only thing that feels a little better. Like the cool torrent against my skin quiets the fire in me. Nothing can remove the pain, but I feel calmer somehow. For the last 4 years, I have gotten up every morning to go to work, talk with my coworkers, I’ve made new friends. Not one person knows the truth about me. I have no social media, just to make sure no one from my new life sees anything from the past. I don’t know what I’d do if they found out. Probably move and start over again. I had a beautiful life before. I loved my job, I had great coworkers and friends. My home was my sanctuary, everything I could ever dream of. And my husband, he was perfect, so kind, and funny. He treated me like I was his whole world, until we had our daughter, then she was his whole world, and mine. They say, “you don’t know what you have until it’s gone,” but I knew. I was so thankful every moment for the life I had. I never took a moment for granted. But it was still taken from me. I can never come to terms with that loss. How the world can be so cruel. Such a good man and beautiful, sweet, little girl taken from this earth so young. She had just turned two. But what really breaks me, is that I was spared. Why am I still here and not them? Such a sick joke, this life, that I had to carry on with people telling me how lucky I am to have survived. No, that’s not lucky at all. If I were lucky, they’d still be here, that driver wouldn’t have hit our car, wouldn’t have taken my whole world apart in a single moment. I still relive that moment everyday. The sounds of the crash, screeching tires, the sound like a bomb going off as the truck hit our car. The screaming of people around us. The sirens pulling up. I couldn’t move. I was crushed under metal, trapped. But I never heard my daughter scream. She had been asleep in her seat. She never woke up, gone in a second. At least she didn’t suffer. I guess I find some solace in that. My husband died instantly too. The truck hit their side first. I’m the only one who lived, and fortunately, or unfortunately for me, the only one who suffered. It’s hard going through every day pretending they never existed. But it’s easier than talking about them. Easier than living in that house with all the constant reminders. Empty, so big and empty. It still sits like a tomb, I can’t bring myself to sell it, but I can’t live there either. Maybe someday, but not yet. Every now and then I have to just let the pain out, just cry for a while, be angry at the world. Then I can put on my imaginary mask and carry on with this new life I live without them, pretending I’m okay. Pretending I care about anything at all. Pretending I’m not so broken that I can never be put together again. So broken the idea of trying to get better is offensive. How could I ever even want to be happy in a world where they don’t exist. I love them more than I could ever love anything else. I know they would want me to move on and be happy, but the thought of it still disgusts me. Even living this life as I do feels traitorous. But I can’t bear to even say their names without falling apart. I’m so lost without them that it’s easier to pretend I’m someone else than admit I have to live without them. After standing here, soaking in the rain and my thoughts for a while, I walk inside and head to my room to change. Tonight will be a quiet night. I’ll pour a hot cup of tea, turn on a movie, and relax while the rain pours outside. Tomorrow is another day, and I can put on my happy mask and have lunch with my friends. I can pretend that I don’t dread the sun rising every morning. I can pretend that I don’t hate myself for being here. For existing. I can pretend for as long as I need to, that everything is going to be okay. And maybe one day it won’t be so bad. But today, right now, I just want to remember, the sounds of them laughing, the way he kissed me good morning and poured my coffee before work, the brightness of her smile when she was so happy to see me, the plans we had for the future. This ache in my chest is proof they were here, they were mine. Maybe that’s why I can’t move on, like being okay means it didn’t matter. I know that I shouldn’t feel that way, but I’m just not ready to let go yet. Maybe I never will be. Definitely not tonight. Maybe I’ll try therapy again, I couldn’t face it before, but maybe it’s time. That will be a question for tomorrow, but for now, I put on my warmest pajamas, curl up on my couch with a warm cup of tea and blanket, and turn on a romantic movie.