Chapter 2

Chapter 2
Dark Days

‘Wrap-tap-tap’ a knock on my bedroom door floated through my confusing thoughts. The funeral that had followed that horrific night was somewhat of a blur to me…

…I remember watching the large machines trying to break the frozen ground where my William would lay. Sally and I had come from the wake and I just sat there staring in dumb disbelief that those men were working up a sweat in such frigid temperatures. It was almost as if I was watching a sacred moment that was raw and exposed and I tried to turn away but couldn’t. I had felt so claustrophobic in the midst of the wake that I had to restrain myself from running out screaming. Sally had followed me as I had slipped from the funeral home to make sure I was alright. I was so tired of everyone asking me if I was alright. I couldn’t wrap my mind around anything. I was unable to feel anything. I just wanted so terribly to be left alone. More importantly, I wanted my sweet William back with me.

“Cindy, sweetie, come on let’s go back inside, you are going to catch your death in this cold,” Sally said with a look mixed with horror, concern, and sadness. I remember looking at her with a glassy stare and turning back to watch the men work. I hadn’t cried since the whole thing started, not when Will’s body was pulled from the icy grips of that horrible blackness, not when the paramedics fought to breathe life into his frozen lungs, not when they covered his body and carried it off to the morgue, not when I saw him sweetly sleeping in his casket, not when the droves of people with red puffy eyes came and gave me hugs and wished me their condolences. Each ‘I’m sorry’ sent another frigid layer over my heart and I was growing more angry, bitter, and frustrated by the moment. I wanted to scream at them and slap their faces. I wasn’t alright, I was never going to be alright, there was nothing anyone could do except bring Will back, and no one could do that except maybe God, and He was the one who took my Will in the first place, and I hated Him for that…

…’Wrap-tap-tap’ another knock at my bedroom door. I felt like screaming go away, but another heavy sigh slipped from my lips as my shoulders slouched. I made my way from the window and the now snow storm that was blowing outside to quiet the disturbing sound. As I made my way to the door I looked to my ceiling with a fisted hand, “I hate You so much!” I hadn’t stepped foot back inside the doors of the church since that night nor did I ever plan to again. God was cold, unfeeling, and distant and I didn’t care what His plan was, because all he brought was pain and hurt and it was way too much to bear.

My thoughts still lingered over unbidden memories of the funeral; I had managed to squeeze some tears out so that it would look right and proper. Isn’t that what someone grieving is supposed to do? I remember the months following as everyone’s lives went back to normal and mine didn’t. Sally and Caleb wed that summer and by Christmas were expecting their first child. The holidays were unbearable as people came and went with pity and concern in their eyes as they saw me. I began to notice hushed whispers and quiet silence as I approached groups of people. They must have thought I would snap in two by their talks of parties and festivities. I found it hard not to blame them. It was nearly impossible to see Sally around that time, and she must have sensed the pain for she began coming less and less to see me.

I did go see her after the birth of her son. We both sat crying and laughing and making over the little bundle she held in her arms. I was so glad that I had decided to come see the birth and felt that there truly was a place for hope again in my heart. Sally and Caleb looked at one another and then at me and I remember feeling a bittersweet cut made in the scar tissue that still resided in my heart when they said that they would like to call their son William Luke. I couldn’t find words but I took both their hands in mine and gave them a firm squeeze. Sally and I had regular visits since that point and we had discussed the excitement that this holiday season would bring. However, as the holiday festivities began to approach and the second anniversary of Will’s death soon to follow, I found myself filled with a sense of dread and emptiness again. I tried to hide it but it showed through anyway. The Thanksgiving dinner had certainly proven to everyone, including myself that I was still in mourning.

As I reached the door of my bedroom a third ‘wrap-tap-tap’ came from the other side followed by my sister’s voice, “Cindy its Megan, may I come in.” As my hand turned the silver doorknob my thought turned once more to this distant God my family seemed to love, “Why, if you care so much about us did you allow this to happen? What did I ever do to deserve this?” As I peeled the door back my sister’s concerned eyes caused another surge of anger to course through me, when were they going to stop looking at me with pity? Then my sister said the dreaded words “Are you okay?”

“I really do wish people would quit asking me that.”

Megan made her way through the door frame and into my room. She placed her tiny frame on the corner of my bed. The white comforter dressed in cherries that Nana had made for me still hugged the four poster bed. Megan traced the cherries with her index finger, her gaze moved from the bunch of cherries to me and I saw sadness and concern in her eyes. “Please Megan don’t look at me that way. Everyone looks at me like I’m going to break in two any minute. I know I haven’t been myself, and I’m sorry for that. I just can’t shake these thoughts…happy mixed with horrible thoughts play like a merry-go-round in my mind.”

“No one’s asking you to act a certain way Cindy. We are just worried about you. I don’t think you are going to break in two. I look at Roger and think what I would do if ever I lost him. I doubt I would be able to handle it as well as you. I mean I think of our sweet baby girl and…”

The words caught in her throat and I saw the tears well up to overflowing. I came to sit next to her on the old bed and it shouted in protest as my weight was added to hers. I wrapped my arms around her waist, kissed her damp cheeks, and snuggled my head in the nape of her neck and shoulder. I held her as her tears poured out like rain. She drained her wellspring of emotion, while mine held fast, unwilling to break. I knew if I started I wouldn’t be able to stop. So I poured my emotion into soothing my sister.

A knock came at the front door and we heard Papa’s heavy feet as they made their way to answer it. It was a gentleman’s muffled voice at the other end which sounded tired and weary. A jumble of commotion was heard as apparently Papa had invited the man in from the cold. The next thing Megan and I knew Mama had made her way to my bedroom swung open the door and informed us that there was a weary traveler downstairs that would be staying a few days with us. She asked me to come down and help fix a plate for him and work on clearing the supper dishes. Eliza was protesting her Father’s attempts at pacifying the little tyke and needed her Mother in the worst way. We promised Mama we would be down shortly.