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My Entry
“It gets better you know.”
Everyone said it. Her mother had held her hand as she did, her father had patted her shoulder as he did and everyone else had shuffled awkwardly as they uttered those same words like a memorized script.
It gets better you know.
Exit stage left.
But no one said when.
And without knowing when, what use was the platitude? It was like saying it’d be sunny soon, but she couldn’t plan a picnic if she didn’t know when the weather would permit it.
Andrea was thinking those thoughts days after her husband’s funeral. She hadn’t yet changed out of her mourning dress, afraid that if she did it would show her acceptance. An acceptance that she was wasn’t willing to feel just yet.
In the garden her daughter was playing with her mother. At first she’d hated the idea of being taken care of, as if she’d reverted back to childhood. She glanced out of the window at the cloud streaked sky . . . she was glad for the help now, knowing that she wasn’t in a good state to do anything.
Not even cry.
Her eyes burned from the constant tears of the previous day and her throat had never felt so dry before. Her mind was an entirely different matter, shot into chaos without a hope of return.
Lord, but it hurt to think and even not to think.
She hung her head in her hands and Matthew was sitting next to him. He said nothing but she recognized the masculine scent of his body.
Still in silence, he sighed and showing no hesitation, pulled her against his shoulder. The two had become closer since the death.
She had lost a husband and he had lost a brother.
She kept her eyes closed and imagined just for her a moment that Matthew was her husband, holding her as he used to but the memory twisted and contorted her wishes and all she saw was his mangled corpse in the car.
A sob threatened to burst through her mouth and Matthew shushed her, rubbing her back with slow warming movements.
“Andrea?” he asked so tenderly.
“Don’t tell me it gets better,” she choked, still not opening her eyes.
His hand tightened on her shoulder, just a little. But it was enough to let her know she wasn’t alone. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Andrea felt the truth in his voice. Neither cared for lies and coaxing words but company was a different matter even if it wasn’t an optimistic sort.
“Thank you, Matthew,” she whispered.
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m going to need you much more than you’ll need me,” he said, trying to lend a little lightness to the words.
And she loved him all the more for it.
467 words
@Afsaneh_Dreams
Everyone said it. Her mother had held her hand as she did, her father had patted her shoulder as he did and everyone else had shuffled awkwardly as they uttered those same words like a memorized script.
It gets better you know.
Exit stage left.
But no one said when.
And without knowing when, what use was the platitude? It was like saying it’d be sunny soon, but she couldn’t plan a picnic if she didn’t know when the weather would permit it.
Andrea was thinking those thoughts days after her husband’s funeral. She hadn’t yet changed out of her mourning dress, afraid that if she did it would show her acceptance. An acceptance that she was wasn’t willing to feel just yet.
In the garden her daughter was playing with her mother. At first she’d hated the idea of being taken care of, as if she’d reverted back to childhood. She glanced out of the window at the cloud streaked sky . . . she was glad for the help now, knowing that she wasn’t in a good state to do anything.
Not even cry.
Her eyes burned from the constant tears of the previous day and her throat had never felt so dry before. Her mind was an entirely different matter, shot into chaos without a hope of return.
Lord, but it hurt to think and even not to think.
She hung her head in her hands and Matthew was sitting next to him. He said nothing but she recognized the masculine scent of his body.
Still in silence, he sighed and showing no hesitation, pulled her against his shoulder. The two had become closer since the death.
She had lost a husband and he had lost a brother.
She kept her eyes closed and imagined just for her a moment that Matthew was her husband, holding her as he used to but the memory twisted and contorted her wishes and all she saw was his mangled corpse in the car.
A sob threatened to burst through her mouth and Matthew shushed her, rubbing her back with slow warming movements.
“Andrea?” he asked so tenderly.
“Don’t tell me it gets better,” she choked, still not opening her eyes.
His hand tightened on her shoulder, just a little. But it was enough to let her know she wasn’t alone. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Andrea felt the truth in his voice. Neither cared for lies and coaxing words but company was a different matter even if it wasn’t an optimistic sort.
“Thank you, Matthew,” she whispered.
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m going to need you much more than you’ll need me,” he said, trying to lend a little lightness to the words.
And she loved him all the more for it.
467 words
@Afsaneh_Dreams
Your writing has such grace and maturity. You convey heartbreak with the genuine emotions that accompany it...beautiful writing!
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