Chapter 2: Picking Up the Pieces

Functioning is harder than people make it out to be. I was lucky in some respects. I had Beth. She drug me by the wrist to my classes, she drug me to my tutoring job, she made sure I visited the cafeteria at least once a day, she kept me from lying in bed and staring at the ceiling until I melded with the mattress. She was always there, making sure I did what I had to do and acting as a buffer between me and the rest of the world. I don’t think I would have survived losing Mary without her. The other people just made things harder for me. Everyone was telling me how I needed to feel, how I should feel, what would help, what would hurt, It was a barrage of completely pointless and often self-contradictory advice. The truth was no-one could understand how I felt. Nothing I could do would help. The greatest task I’ve ever faced in the last thirty-five years was getting up every morning after I lost her. The truth about grief is, it never goes away. It never stops. It’s always a piece of you. I still feel the pain of her death, I still hurt. My birthday is the worst, hers is next, and September 12^th is high on the list. A song, a scent, a phrase, driving past the restaurant she worked at, the little things set you off, even years later.

As the sun broke through the aluminum foil, I knew only one thing.

The world is wrong.

It was the first time I had woken up in a world without Mary. The world was broken. It was less tolerable. Existence was more of a pain than ever before. I disentangled myself from Beth and rose. I grabbed my hygiene bag and walked across the hall. I performed my morning rituals. They were a habit and habits were good. It was simple, something I didn’t have to think about, something that didn’t remind me of her. My limbs felt heavy, leaden. I caught a glimpse of the distorted face in the mirror above the sinks. It took me a moment to realize that the face was my own staring back at me. I didn’t know who I was anymore. Without Mary, I didn’t have a future, I didn’t have a plan.

My very identity was locked in her and now it was gone. I had been John, the man who loved Mary, the man who would never hurt her, but I had. I had been the one she looked for when she needed comfort or help. I had been her savior and soul mate. What was I now that she was gone? I didn’t know and I had no concept of how to find out. Beth entered the bathroom in a near panicked state. I turned to her, “Morning Darling.”

‘I was worried about you.

“You don’t need to be.”

‘You had a gun to your head yesterday.’

It was in my mouth. I guess that is technically ‘to my head.’

“What’s your point?”

“You aren’t alright.”

“I didn’t say I was. I said you don’t need to worry about me.”

‘Too late.”

“I need to make some calls. See if Robert will lend me some money.’

“For what.”

“A funeral, burial costs, a gravestone. Hopefully he can or I’ll have to take out a loan. Unfortunately, Lucy isn’t worth that much.”

And I burned through most of my Dragon horde helping out the love of my life.

“How much could It cost?”

“Several thousand dollars, I don’t make enough tutoring to cover it. I’ll have to get a real job to pay Robert back or the loan.”

“What about Anne?”

I recoiled at the very idea, “I can’t ask her for her father’s money, especially not for Mary. She is my responsibility.”

“She’ll help; she loves you.”

“She does, but I couldn’t ask that of her.”

“Everything will be okay.”

“I wish that were true.”

I spent most of the day embroiled in details; all the little things you forget about. Calling her landlord about the lease. Calling the police about the report. Cutting off the utilities I could. Finding a funeral home to schedule an appointment with and arranging for them to pick up her body after autopsy. Calling Robert to beg for money for the first time. Even if I hadn’t started the day wishing I was buried myself, I would have by the end of it.

That night, 26 hours after Mary;

As I lay down beside Beth for the second night in a row, my thoughts were hoarded around the silver box and its contents. She was the bright spot in my life, but the box held the end of my torment. She lay beside me asleep, her form begging me not to slip from the bed and retrieve the weapon and end my pointless existence. She was in no position to stop me, but her very presence was preventative. I knew she would be upset and I had no desire to cause her pain. I didn’t allow myself to think of Alex. At the time, I tried to blame her for my actions. This was of course nonsense. I had chosen to sleep with Alex. I had no excuses and her method of seduction only minutely mitigated my guilt.

My phone dinged. I still wasn’t used to it, so I began to read and tap back messages while wondering if Morse code would be more effective.

At least Anne used actual English.

Girl in question: I talked to Alex last night. I made a deposit in your account and made a call you have a few funeral plots in your name at the willow creek cemetery.

Light: I ... Thank you, but you didn’t need to do that. Mary is my responsibility.

Girl in question: I know, but you loved her and I love you. I can make this easier, so please let me.

Light: Alright, I love you too.

Girl in question: I know. I know you’re reeling right now, but if you need someone to talk to, to vent to, to just listen to you cry

anything. I wish I could be there for you physically, but I can’t.

Light: You’ve done more than enough

I’m not really functioning right not

sleeping a lot, etc.

Girl in question: Have you thought about seeing someone? A grief counselor ... a therapist? I’ll help if I can.

Light: I’ll think about it. I’m in the right program to get a recommendation if I decide to go that route.

Girl in question: How long are you going to blame Alex?

Light: I don’t. I fucked up. It’s my fault. I’m just not sure I can be around her at the moment cause all I see is my fuckups.