The steel sky loomed high and threatening overhead. A rough wind blew from the coast and you could just feel the tang of the sea in the air.
Alice stumbled along the river, hands in her pockets. It was raining hard, and you couldn’t see further than 5 metres. The sweet smell of damp earth wafted through the air, soothing all the sullen souls roaming these streets by night. All but hers.
She stepped into a deep puddle. Her boot soaked through. She kept walking. Where was she going? She had no idea– all she wanted was to get away. She let the hammering, repetitive sound of the raindrops numb her thoughts and let the penetrating, wet cold numb her pain, and let the forces of nature take her away.
She was headed for the park without even knowing it. Of course, that would be her first instinct: so many firsts had occurred in the innocent surroundings of this child paradise. His first steps, his first laugh, his first soccer goal. She stood still, staring blankly at the deserted play area. Her tears rose to the surface, mingling with the rain. She wept, silent, still, suffering.
The sun was beginning to set. She hadn’t moved, and the tears still flowed freely. She kept trying to stop them and kept breaking further. Her tired legs trembled and caved, and she fell to her knees on the muddy ground. This time, a terrible keening accompanied the crying. She sobbed uncontrollably, chest heaving, images flashing before her eyes: his eyes fluttering shut, his toddler’s hand going limp in hers, the nurses rushing in and dragging her out, the consistent beeping of the machine… the line going flat. The cold rush of shock, the deafening realization, the screaming. She curled up on the cement.
It was irreparable, this grief. It was too big, too overwhelming, too constant for the mind to even comprehend. It was ever-growing, for nothing could replace a loss of this kind. Nothing ever would. This piece of her so suddenly torn away from her, this four-year-old wonder she had brought into the world, had vanished in a heartbeat. And there was no heartbeat anymore, only the rain, and the cold, and the wet, and the broken mother mourning her deceased son.
Passers-by didn’t stop to wonder why this woman was crying. What did it matter? They didn’t know her. She was probably crazy. And so they kept walking, and life went on, and his ended, and hers came to a stop.
Alice stumbled along the river, hands in her pockets. It was raining hard, and you couldn’t see further than 5 metres. The sweet smell of damp earth wafted through the air, soothing all the sullen souls roaming these streets by night. All but hers.
She stepped into a deep puddle. Her boot soaked through. She kept walking. Where was she going? She had no idea– all she wanted was to get away. She let the hammering, repetitive sound of the raindrops numb her thoughts and let the penetrating, wet cold numb her pain, and let the forces of nature take her away.
She was headed for the park without even knowing it. Of course, that would be her first instinct: so many firsts had occurred in the innocent surroundings of this child paradise. His first steps, his first laugh, his first soccer goal. She stood still, staring blankly at the deserted play area. Her tears rose to the surface, mingling with the rain. She wept, silent, still, suffering.
The sun was beginning to set. She hadn’t moved, and the tears still flowed freely. She kept trying to stop them and kept breaking further. Her tired legs trembled and caved, and she fell to her knees on the muddy ground. This time, a terrible keening accompanied the crying. She sobbed uncontrollably, chest heaving, images flashing before her eyes: his eyes fluttering shut, his toddler’s hand going limp in hers, the nurses rushing in and dragging her out, the consistent beeping of the machine… the line going flat. The cold rush of shock, the deafening realization, the screaming. She curled up on the cement.
It was irreparable, this grief. It was too big, too overwhelming, too constant for the mind to even comprehend. It was ever-growing, for nothing could replace a loss of this kind. Nothing ever would. This piece of her so suddenly torn away from her, this four-year-old wonder she had brought into the world, had vanished in a heartbeat. And there was no heartbeat anymore, only the rain, and the cold, and the wet, and the broken mother mourning her deceased son.
Passers-by didn’t stop to wonder why this woman was crying. What did it matter? They didn’t know her. She was probably crazy. And so they kept walking, and life went on, and his ended, and hers came to a stop.