When You're Gone

The loss of a significant other is never easy, but time seems to help heal some of the wounds...

When You�re Gone



The alarm-clock screeches in the pitch black and I slowly awake. Rolling over, I look at my clock with half swollen eyes. The clock reads 5:15am. I didn�t close my eyes until four this morning, and that was only because my eyes were too weary to weep any longer. John is the first thing that I think of every morning, and when I can manage to sleep, he is the last thing on my mind. I crawl out of bed and head to the shower; maybe that will wash away my sadness. Exhausted but fully awake, I dress and go downstairs. The clock on the microwave glows 6:30.
��������I fix the kids lunch and head back up stairs to wake them up. �Mommy, I don�t want to get up, I�m sick�� says Jacob as he lets out a fake cough. Since his dad died two months ago, he�s been �sick� at least 18 times. But I can�t even blame him. I feel sick everyday that I wake up and know that I can�t share our usual morning coffee and conversation anymore. At five years old, she�s growing so big. She�s always been daddies little girl. �Khiah, wake up�� She yawns and crawls on my lap. I finish getting the kids ready for school and dress myself as 7:20 rolls by. Dropping the children off at the school, I drive to work. It�s now 7:45. That gives me fifteen minutes to gather myself before I walk into work and face my employees for the first time since John died. It�s been exactly one month since the day that he was snatched out of our lives.
��������My mind slowly starts to drift back to that horrible January day. John�s driving our family car; I sit in the passenger seat while Jacob is buckled up in the back. John never believed in seat belts, so he rarely wore one unless I hassled him. On this cold day, he chooses not to. I don�t bother aggravating him. We stop at a red light. Jacob and John are singing along to a song on the radio. �It�s green, Dad,� says Jacob. John steps on the gas as a Chevy truck attempts to run a red light. The truck hits John�s side of the car, completely crushing and pinning him inside. I black-out, and wake up to Jacob�s high pitched scream for his dad. My airbag was deflating and I could see my blood smeared on to its white surface, I then notice that my lip is bleeding profusely. I call John�s name, but he does not respond. His face is planted into the steering wheel; the airbag did not deploy. I shake his arm and his body slumps over limply falling against the car door. I begin to scream his name��John, John!� The sound of screeching tires rips me back to the present as a car peels out of the parking lot. I wipe my eyes, the car clock reads 8:10. Oh no, I�m late for work!
�Christine, are you alright?� ask Monica my coworker.
�Huh, oh yes, I�m fine� I managed to mutter.
��������I walk to the bathroom to splash my face with cool water, hoping to bring some color back to my pale face. I stand in front of the mirror looking at this woman that I do not recognize, an image that�s torn and twisted by misery and beaten up by pain stares back at me. In two months I have added at least ten years to my appearance. The dark colored bags under my eyes seem to carry the luggage of my heart. The deep creases all over my face makes sorrow the only emotion that I can convey. It�s as if I have forgotten how to smile. I want to be strong for my children but I do not know how. Who�s going to be strong for me when I loose control? John was always the thread that held this family together. Since his death we have all been tearing apart at the seams�
��������I slowly walk back to my cubicle and sit down. The clock on my computer screen reads 9:38. I find myself starring at the clock on the wall as if it will make the time pass by faster. But I soon learn that it just makes me more aware of how sluggish time really is. Time stops as my eyes glance at the photo on my desk. I am holding the camera and I manage to capture one of the happy moments in my life.
��������We all went to the big park as a family that day. It was the middle of the summer, the sun was making its presence known by shining down like a giant magnifying glass held by a boy tormenting a colony of marching ants. Jacob had on swimming trunks with no shirt, his bony ribs were sticking out and his chicken legs were exposed at the bottom of his oversized shorts that I had bought him earlier that day. He held a loaded water gun pointed towards John with a devious grin on his face. Khiah was wearing her pink swim suit with a cartoon of the Little Mermaid on the front. She was holding onto John�s leg with a death grip, as if her tiny hands could hold him in place long enough for Jacob to soak him with water. John acted as if he couldn�t get away, Jacob gave the water gun a pump and sprayed it at his dad as I snapped the picture. John and Khiah were completely soaked from head to toe. I remember we all fell over with laughter on the grass.
��������A hand touches my shoulder and I nearly jump out of my skin. It pulls me from that warm summer day and places me back into the wintry chill of February.
�I�m sorry Christine, I didn�t mean to scare you,� says Matthew, my boss,
�I was just wondering if you found the article that I left for you.�
�The one about Jaylynn Smith?� I ask.
�Yes that one, I thought it would be a good piece for you to start on,� Matthew says.
I am an Editor and Publisher of an up and coming magazine called Craze. The magazine produces stories about everything; from famous public figures to brand new fashions. We have a special edition every month for people who do something extraordinary throughout the nation. This month I am doing a cover story about a young teenage girl who was kidnapped for over a year. She escaped and helped the police catch her kidnappers before they could hurt another child. Her name is Jaylynn Smith, her story is astonishing being that she is only 15 years old, and even though she was tortured and abused by these men she still found the courage to address them in court. I don�t even have the courage to tackle my own inner problems.
At 11:08 the phone on my desk blares, and I hesitate to answer it. I recognize the voice on the other end as Mary, the secretary at the front desk.
�Mrs. Lakewood, you have a call on line 2��
I said, �Tell them that I am out to lunch, I�m not accepting any calls today.�
�It�s St. Catharine�s�, your sons� school,� says Mary.
�Thank you, put them through,� I say.
��������Oh no what has Jacob done now. I hope he�s not playing sick again, I can�t leave work to pick him up.
�Mrs. Lakewood, this is Ms. Right, I am the principle at Jacob�s school,� says the woman on the phone, �I was calling to tell you that I have noticed a difference in Jacobs� behavior lately. Today he refused to do his school work in his math class, and at recess he got in a fight with another boy. He gave him a black eye and twisted the other boys arm pretty good. I think that we should have a parent teacher conference, with Jacob present.�
�Are you there Mrs. Lakewood?� said Ms. Right.
�Yes, I�m here,� I said in a monotone voice.
�Will this afternoon at 3:30 work for you?� she asked.
�Yes that will be fine,� I said, �Am I going to have to come and pick up Jacob from school right now?�
�No,� said Ms. Right, �He will be placed in detention for the rest of the day, we will see you after school Mrs. Lakewood, thank you for your time.�

After I hear the phone click on the other end I hang it up and sit there in utter dismay, not believing the conversation that I just had. Jacob is a straight-A student he never gets in trouble, and he loved recess. He use to tell me that besides Math, recess was his favorite subject in school. I feel a massive headache crawling up the nape of my neck into the front of my brain. I sit with my elbows planted on my desk while my fingertips rub on my temples, as if to massage the throbbing pain away. I take two Tylenol to try and reduce the constant pounding that�s going on in my head. It�s hard to tell rather they are actual headaches or if they are my mental minds way to match the aching that I constantly feel in my heart.
�Take a break Christine, its� lunch time,� says my boss.
I can tell by the look on his face that he is concerned about me.
�Take as much time as you need,� he says.
He told me the same thing after Johns� funeral. I knew that it had the same meaning now as well. He did not think I was ready to come back to work, I am not sure if I am ready either.
I walk through the icy parking lot, the frosty air burns my lungs every time I inhale. I climb inside my car and recline the chair as my car begins to slowly defrost. After the ice on my wind shield melts I reverse out of the parking lot and drive to a convenient store a few blocks from my job. I buy a cup of coffee and a single red rose and return to my vehicle. I find myself consciously stopping at every red light, looking back and forth dozens of times before I cross. The cars behind me honk impatiently as I brace myself to go under yet another stoplight. I grip the steering wheel and I can feel my palms sweating heavily. I turn onto a back road so I can escape all of the busy traffic, also to avoid the constant stoplights. I arrive at the graveyard a few minutes later. The car path disappears so I have to leave my car and walk the rest of the way up the hill. The clock reads 1:32 before I turn the engine off. It�s snowing lightly and I barely even notice the drop in the temperature. I climb my way up to the top of the hill, and kneel down in front of Johns� tombstone. I place the rose at the foot of the headstone, it reads �In loving memory of John Evan Lakewood, A beloved father and husband.�
�Oh John, things just aren�t the same without you,� I find myself speaking out loud, but no ones around to judge me or feel sorry for me, so I continue to talk to John as if he can truly hear me.
�Khiah misses you like crazy, we both know she was daddy�s little girl, I let out a sigh. I am worried about Jacob, he�s gone into a shell since�� I here my voice trail off, as if the words are too unbearable to even say aloud. �I miss you too John,� I start to cry from all of the overwhelming images that are rushing into my mind, all of the things that I miss�Like our anniversary, Jacob and Khiah�s being born, all of those Christmas�. For the first time since John�s death I am coming to grasps with the reality of his absence. The tears rolling down my cheeks seem to be frozen on my face by the cruel winter. I hug the headstone as if I am waiting for it to embrace me as well. But all I feel is the coldness of the stone against me. I walk back down the hill towards my car and drive back to work avoiding any and all stoplights. I arrive in the parking lot at 2:45. I go inside and walk to my boss�s desk.
�Matt I have to leave early I have a meeting with Jacob�s teacher and principle at 3:30,� I say.
�Is everything alright?� He answered.
�Yes, he just got into a little fight at school,� I say trying to make light of the situation.
�Oh no that�s not good, well you can certainly leave, you wouldn�t want to be late for that meeting, the principle might put you in detention,� he jokes.
I manage a smile and an effortless laugh. I say goodbye to some of my co-workers on the way out and head to the door. On the drive over to Jacob�s school I am trying to think of what his teacher and principle are going to tell me and how I am going to respond.
3:15 I check the clock before I turn the car off. I walk into the school and step in the principles office. I see Jacob sitting in a chair with his head down. His brown shaggy hair hangs over his eyes and his cheeks are streaked with a trail of tears.
�Jacob�� he slowly looks up at me with his sad big brown eyes, the same look he use to have when he was little and he knew I had to punish him.
�Mom, I didn�t start it,� he said.
I said, �You know that you are not allowed to fight Jacob it doesn�t matter if the other boy started it or not.�
�But Mom, he was saying bad things about me and about Dad!� he said angrily,
�He said it was probably my fault that dad died, and that you blamed me for dads death, and that you were going to give me up for adoption.�
I pick him up and scoop him onto my lap like I use to do when he was a little boy. I start rocking him back and forth as he whimpers sobs.
�It�s my fault Mom, I shouldn�t have told dad that it was green, I should have waited until that truck passed, and now he�s gone because of me,� he screams.
�Oh baby it is not your fault, you have to know that,� I say, �Some people are going to be cruel and mean to you, but you can�t go fighting everybody, you have to learn to ignore their nasty words.� �Because after all that is all they really are�Just words. They are only as powerful as we let them be Jacob.�
I hand him a tissue to blow his nose as Ms. Right opens her office door and waves me in. I leave Jacob sitting there and enter Ms. Rights� office in silence. She lectures about how fighting is not allowed in school, and how Jacob will not receive special attention because of our family problems. I nod and am floating in and out of her words. I am only thinking of Jacob. How could I let him believe it was his fault? This is my fault I should have sat both of the kids down and talked with them a long time ago.
I grab Jacobs hand and we head towards the front of the school. I pick up Khiah from afterschool daycare and start the long drive back home. I avoid all of the stoplights that I can but this one can not be avoided. I am at the same intersection where the accident happened. Luckily both of the children have fallen asleep. I grip the steering wheel hard as my palms begin to sweat again. The light turns green and I sit there for a while debating rather to go or not. I can hear angry horns blowing behind me. I find the courage to step on the gas. I pull into the driveway of our house at 4:45 with relief. I carry Khiah into the house and come back for Jacob.
I wake up and start this day off the same way I have since John�s death, I wake up exhausted get myself and the kids� ready, drop them off at school and then head for work. The only difference today is that I have a doctors� appointment. I drive towards my doctors� office during my lunch break. I walk in feeling sick, the regular pounding headache seem to return, along with a noxious ache.
�Hi Mrs. Lakewood, how are you today?� ask Doctor Smith.
�I am doing ok, could be better,� I say dryly.
�Well after running a few test on you I have some news for you,� said Dr. Smith.
I start trying to read his eyes I feel as his the news can only be bad because good seems to be hiding from me lately. I prepare myself for the worst and swallow down the fear that�s building up inside of me.
�What�s wrong with me? I ask.
�Well there is not necessarily anything wrong with you Christine. I would not exactly call pregnancy bad luck,� he says.
�Wait you mean I am pregnant!�
�Yes you are 4 weeks along. You will be due in October,� he says with a grin on his face.
I sit there in silence, not fully believing what I just heard. I feel as if I am dreaming, but I hope not because the pain of waking up to harsh reality would be too unbearable. I cross the unforgivable intersection again, but this time with a smile.
I pick up the kids from school feeling closer to them than I�ve ever been before. I wait until we get inside to tell them the good news. Jacob smiles at me for the first time since I can remember and Khiah ask with a pout, if she will have to give up her room for the baby. We all laugh at the thought of it. I have to explain to Khiah that I will not be having the baby in a few days. She does not believe that she will have to wait a whole 9 months. Her expression is a mixture of confusion and disappointment, but I reassure here that time will go a lot faster than she thinks. I put the kids to sleep after their dinner and go upstairs to my bedroom. I have a feeling that the baby will be a boy even though I won�t find out its gender for a few more months. I decide that if it is a boy it will be a junior and carry on Johns� name. I close my eyes at 11:30pm, and go to bed early for the first time in a long time.
There is a saying that goes �every time a person leaves the world a baby is born.� I know that John is looking down on us, protecting us all. He left me with the most precious gift of all, and that is the gift of life.

Reviews

[ShadowWolf]

Sad story but one well written! To be honest I get so sick of people telling me "time heals all" because it is simply not true.

It does not make the go away nor does it lessen the pain of losing someone we dearly love. Perhaps though it is with time we learn to deal with it a little better. None the less we do have to continue living and caring for those close to us.

[wizthom]

time is like a wound leave the wound alone so that it may heal..
peace wms