Bones

TW: Death, themes of grief

Bones are not malleable. They break under pressure. They deteriorate with age. Yet, they are rigid and dense. And in the right conditions, they can last for centuries.

It must be why the skeletons in the closet of my mind continue to stay preserved. Bleak memories, buried stories, and a haunted past – perfect circumstances to keep the heaps of clandestine bones heavy and intact. Such a grim, melancholy reminder of the things I can never forget.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Not quite true, I suppose.

They say if you can “deal with the past” and “work through” your traumas, those skeletons can fade away. Remnants of skeletons can linger, but the weight of the bones may pass. But I’ve found that in doing so, it requires taking the remains out of the locked closet. Unfortunately, I lost the keys a long time ago and have no intention to search for them ever again.

I think it is because I have found it harder and harder to recall the past. I see fragments and vignettes, but they fade into the shadows and the fog in my mind deepens. And yet, I cannot decide if the pain of seeing her in front of me now is worse than the pain of seeing her in my memory.

I sit in my office chair, mindlessly caressing the cracks of leather in its arms weathered with use, and stare at her looking out the window.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” I ask.

Jules says nothing. I can’t blame her.

Nothing is what she should say. I suppose her silence speaks her answer louder than her voice ever could. And what would be the difference? Her words have always fallen on deaf ears.

“I should have listened to you,” I whisper.

Jules continues staring out the window at a black, starless night. She seems transfixed in thought – or maybe memory. Good ones, I hope. Better than the one we are creating now.

I lean back in the chair, the aged recliner coughing a hoarse sound in frustration, “Can you at least look at me?”

She snaps her head toward me as if startled. Her eyes are wide and bewildered, staring into mine in an animalistic way.

“Stop it,” she commands in a cracking voice like the words are caught in her throat.

I can’t look at her. “I’m sorry,” I say into my lap, like a shamed dog.

Jules leaves the window and heads to my desk. She pulls the chair in and sits straight, searching for a pen in the mess of papers and cards and books scattered throughout. She finds one and begins to hastily sign away at a stapled stack in front of her.

“Jules, what is that?”

No answer.

“Jules.”

Nothing.

“Jules!”

She continues writing.

I stand and walk to her and she looks at me again, the chair rocking back and forth, old parts croaking in my absence.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She ignores my question and continues flipping through the pages.

I stand behind her and feel her body tense.

“Mike.” She lets my name escape her mouth like a sigh.

I peer over her shoulder.

LISTING AGREEMENT.

The skeletons begin to rattle in my mind, I feel the pain erupting and charging toward my heart.

No. No. No.

But before I let any words out, I hear footsteps pounding towards the door.

Emily.

“Mommy, mommy! I had a bad dream.”

Emily bursts in the room, her bouncing red curls loose and wild from tossing and turning in her sleep. She rushes to Jules and wraps her in a tight hug, transient tears disappearing as she finds comfort in the arms of her mother.

Jules’s attention leaves the stack of papers and attends to our five-year-old. She rubs her back and murmurs soothing words into her ear, kissing the top of her head.

“What was your dream of?” I ask Emily.

She nestles her face in Jules’s shoulder, “Thank you, Mommy.”

Jules kisses her head again and peeks at the small clock on the desk. “It’s late, sweetie. Why don’t you go snuggle in my bed and I’ll join you in a minute, okay?”

“Emily?” I seek to meet her sapphire eyes but they’re buried in her mother’s sweater. “Can I give you a hug before you go back to bed?”

She ignores me and trots out the room.

“Jules, tell me what is going on.”

She tenses again.

“Mike,” she starts, “I know you’re here. You seem to only want to torment me at night.”

“What? Torment? What are you talking about?”

She sighs. “I’m selling the house. Emily and I are leaving. We need to start a new life, Mike. We’re moving on. You need to, too.”

The memories barrel in, and my heart seems to stop. The keys unlock the closet, the fog begins to clear, and the shadows reveal the skeletons I have been refusing to face.

Fights, yelling, screaming. Divorce papers sitting on the desk from Jules. She is red-faced, tears stained on her cheek. I see myself in a fit of rage, throwing books and photos from the shelves. From the window, I see heavy snow falling outside. I’m grabbing car keys. Jules is screaming no. Emily’s door is closed. I am in the car. The roads are slick. The snow is falling fast and hard. It is getting harder to see. I am full of anger and pain and sadness. I need to get away, I need to relax. The clock on the dash reads 2:05 AM. But I should turn around, go home, apologize, and talk it out with my wife. What am I even doing? My foot begins to ease on the pedal, but it is too late. Headlights from another car blind me, and then … only darkness.

“No…” I say to Jules. “No, that cannot be true.”

“Mike, we love you. But Mike, it is time for you to go.”

The clock on the desk shows 2:05 AM.

The time that I died in the car accident four months ago.

“Not yet Jules,” I cry, “No, I’m not ready yet, Jules.”

“I forgive you, Mike. I love you. Emily and I will be okay.”

I rest my hand on hers. Her body relaxes. A tear slips from her eye.

“I love you,” I say, but I know she cannot see or hear me.

The bones begin to disintegrate and gray dust begins to fill their space. Memories of Jules and Emily cycle through my mind; laughing at the dinner table, pushing Emily in the swing in the backyard, Jules and I laying in bed looking into each other’s eyes with knowing smiles and naked bodies.

My life is immortalized not through the bones of haunting memories and the past I cannot change, but through the love that I have given and planted inside the hearts of my family that shall embrace their souls in times of grief. I am lifting the weight of guilt from my essence, and accepting that my business is finished on this plane.

Through the darkness, I have unlocked the closet of skeletons in my mind; I have collected my ash, I have blown my dust into the wind, and I have left only my love for all that I leave behind.