Grief is a Stone

*There is a brief moment of self harm, and mental health reference in this story.

I want to fold over and close my eyes. To scream until he gets up and walks away. I want to flip the coffee table, and tell him how much I hate him. 

I breathe instead. Deeply and slowly, until the squeezing in my lungs loosens up enough for me to speak again.

“I understand,” I say to him. “I am worried too. We are trying to fix this, and we are doing everything that Cathryn told us to do.” Those are the things I say aloud. Inside, I say, We’ve talked about this twenty times. You agreed to not say anything until we know what is wrong. She is my daughter too…I love her just as much as you do. More.”

He follows me to the office. I need to work, but he is not done fighting yet.

The next morning he got up hours before me, had breakfast with Brynn, and they played Minecraft…while I slept in. When I wake, I make the bed, take a shower, and walk out into the den after 11:00. I hug them both and sit next to Brynn. 

“What do you guys want to do today,” I ask. 

We end up at the mall because Jackson still hasn’t found a backpack he likes, and Brynn still has some money left to get school clothes. 

Brynn watches us eat greasy food in the food court. She wanted nothing, and besides, she had some lunch at home before we left. I try to not make eye contact with John. I don’t need to look at him to know that he can barely eat his own food.

“I can’t believe I have to start getting up at 5:30 again,” Jackson spoke first. 

“I know! I’m not ready for this either,” I say. I’m the last one done eating. By the time I close the takeout box in front of me, they are all engaged in a conversation that I wasn’t following. “Why don’t we get going, since we’re all a little tired.”

We are a family of four, walking down the mall corridor. We are people buying backpacks and clothes for school. I need a pair of shoes, too. 

In H&M, I wander the racks on my own for a moment, touching the shirts that look soft, smooth, comfortable. I should buy myself a shirt for the first day. Teachers need to dress nicely too. It is an act of rebellion. I am not supposed to spend money on myself when the kids need so much and everything is expensive. But when Brynn finds a few pairs of jeans that she wants to try on, I go into the fitting room too, carrying a gorgeous butter yellow top with delicate flowers on it. 

I try on the flouncy top, and it looks awful, stretched over my bloated stomach. But still, it’s pretty and what difference does it make if I wear this or something more plain; I will still look menopausal, and tired. At least this top is pretty. 

Brynn opens the curtain to her fitting room to show me her jeans. I tell her that they fit well, and she should definitely get them. She nods and closes her curtain just in time to miss the sudden, horrified look on my face.

I try to gasp for a breath. It doesn’t come. The pain in my chest is searing hot. Sweat beads up on my lip and the nape of my neck. 

Panic.

I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror, and my lips are purple.

Panic.

My chest is burning. I press my fingertips against my sternum, because I do not know what else to do. 

I scratch harder and harder, until my nails dig into the flesh. Blood drips onto the shirt that I haven’t paid for yet. I press the tips of my fingers into my own skin until I feel a hard lump. I pinch and twist it.

A stone falls out, and lands on the floor. The invisible monster uncurls its fist, and I can breathe again. I pick up the stone and hold it to the light. It is deep green, slightly translucent, and sharp along the edges. There is blood beneath my nails. I close the curtain and remove the shirt. 

“Mom, can I show you these jeans too,” Brynn asks.

“Uh, yeah. One sec,” I say, taking the handwipes from my bag and wiping the blood off my chest and fingers. I put my old brown tee shirt back on.

I start to text John. I need you. Something happened, I type, but then I delete it. I'm not feeling well. Delete. If I sent it, he would come to us. But would it even matter?

I put my phone back in my bag and open the curtain.

“Those are great! Are they comfy,” I ask her. She nods and does a cute little dance. She’s thirteen, but still sweet. “Okay, let’s get both,” I say. When we leave the fitting room, she doesn't notice that I left the shirt on the floor.

John and Jackson are sitting in the massage chairs. They are both quiet again. When I walk over to them, Jackson asks if we can get Auntie Ann's. John doesn’t look at me. I smile anyway, and we head to Macy’s to look for shoes for me.

Jackson and I usually walk ahead, but today he is walking next to John. Brynn and I talk about how much we want Ladarach chocolate, our favorite. There isn’t anyone there with a sample, and we don’t say anything to John about stopping.

We are again a family walking along the corridor in the mall. 

I have a small, green stone in my pocket. 

In Macy’s, I can’t find the shoes I want. 

“I guess I’ll just order them online,” I say to John. He doesn’t respond. The torn skin on my chest feels hot and sticky.

The car ride home is quieter than usual. 

I start the laundry when we get home, while John feeds the dogs. I put the little green stone in a mason jar, and leave it on my dresser, behind the picture frame we bought on our honeymoon.