Elliot
Four Years Ago
The numbness never lifted. Not when the priest droned on about God’s plan, nor when the tiny polished oak coffin was lowered into the ground. None of it mattered because the brightest light in my life was extinguished.
I would never see my son’s toothy smile or hear his excited Da-da when I walked through the door. My fourteen-month-old son was sealed in his coffin and forever silent. Every stage of Elias’s life was seared into my core and played on repeat.
Julia began to cry. I reached for her. My fingers brushed her shoulder, a reflex more than comfort. She stiffened. Shrugged me off like a stranger. The fracture had been widening for months. First, it was the spare bedroom.
I need space.
Then, the silence. Meals were eaten in shifts to avoid speaking. Now, flinching from my touch at our son’s funeral.
The writing was on the wall. It was only a matter of time before she asked me for a divorce.
We were two parents grieving separately under one roof.
My profound sadness, despair and loneliness were in a constant battle with my anger and resentment.
I tried to be there for Julia, but I could only cope with so much rejection.
I drowned myself in work. The irony wasn’t lost on me—ushering life into the world while mine rotted in the ground. I didn't need to know what hell was like because my life was hell on earth.
My fists clenched so tight my nails drew blood. My soul trembled, screaming to tear open the earth, to claw through polished wood and drag him back. To shake his tiny shoulders until his laughter bubbled up again.
But I stood there frozen and let the wind freeze the tears on my face.
Life would never be the same again.