Denial

Trauma is a black hole. It opens without warning, draining the life and abolishing the meaning of everything that surrounds it. Grief is a star that tries to shine light, but only gets absorbed into the darkness. Sometimes a star will grow too large, and buckle under the pressure, becoming it's own black hole. That's when you're in trouble.

Kain Suro stood limply in the dewy morning grass under an oak tree that spread its branches across the grey sky. Dank and still, the graveyard that morning was as cold and thick as the ageing gravestones that covered the lot. He choked and sputtered as his knees gave way from weakness and he fell to the mercy of the words etched in stone he couldn't bare to read. 'Emily Suro, an angel in our midst, taken too soon November 2^nd, 2003-February 11^th, 2011'.
The damp grass had quickly soaked through the legs of his trousers and he intertwined his fingers tightly into the earth, twisting and pulling in frustration and unguided heartache. If cries of despair escaped his lungs, he wouldn't have known. His eyes blurred with tears and his eardrums pounded loudly, steadily, fogging the world, overcome with too much sorrow.
The caretaker, near by doing his rounds took notice. He bowed his head in silent prayer for the man, a stranger to him. He prayed for the soul that had passed and the souls that remained here to grieve.

One month later within the morning silence, dawn had cracked but the songbirds had withheld their songs. Kain Suro descended the stairs of his modest castle, centred in suburbia, without an ounce of human quality showing in his sunken cheeks and darkened eyes. His once beaming presence was now limp and lacking, like month old celery left and forgotten in the back of the fridge.

His new routine, or lack there of, included slouching halfheartedly into the creaky oak chair at the far side of the kitchen table and staring straight ahead, or sometimes, slightly to the left. A cheery 'good morning' or kiss on the cheek to his beautiful wife Julia, or teenage son Porter was now solely replaced but the ominous groan of an old chair in need of some fixing. Porter, who had long since given up on old routines, slouched in a chair of his own, rolling a pen back and forth on the table in front of him. Julia stopped for just a moment; she looked at them both individually, then together and choked back a defeated sigh. Then, as brief as she had paused, she cleared her throat and smoothed her hair more firmly behind her ear, as if it had been out of place. She quickly went about continuing to scramble eggs and butter toast, making more sound than necessarily to combat the silence.
“Bon Appitite!” She chimed, setting full plates in front of her boys. She saw their silence as rejection but took it in stride sitting down with a plate of her own and began to nibble. “You should eat Porter, you'll have to leave for school soon and-”
“I'm not hungry.” Porter interrupted bluntly and rose to his feet while swinging his bookbag onto one shoulder. Julia matched his movement and in one swift motion grabbed toast from his plate and positioned herself between him and the door.
“A slice for the road, just in case.” She grinned, but not a true grin, and he reluctantly accepted before trudging through the front door. 

Julia stared after him in a trance before the rumbling of his cars engine coming to life brought her back. She breezed back into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, arms folded, debating within herself. She looked to Kain, but saw just his body.
“Your son needs you.” She spoke, hollow and pained, “I need you.” This time her poise left when confronted with silence; she wanted to speak but choked on her tongue. She walked briskly out of the kitchen pausing only to hiss ever so quietly “This isn't easy on any of us”.

Julia took the stairs two at a time to the bathroom; only once the shower was running and she was firmly seated on the edge of the bathtub did her head fall to her hands and her strength turned to sobs.

Wouldn't we love to think that time moves in a forward direction, that it brings us along and we learn and grow, live and become. When truthfully we become what we live and live based on our past experiences. We reflect, we mourn; we reminisce and replay a constant loop of nostalgia. There is only past and present that we know. Our future is reliant on present action, choices and decision, without those there is no future. With nothing new, without thoughts or actions and living on past experiences we don't just spin our wheels, we move backwards. But as we all know, time itself as an entity, isn't so flexible.  

Later that day when Porter returned home, predictably, nothing had changed. Julia greeted him as he entered the door and as she was coming down the stairs, with a basket of laundry securely tucked on her hip. Their voices carried up the stairs and were audible, though muffled to the ears of Kain Suro, who lay submerged to his jawline in lukewarm bathwater.
“Where's dad?” Porter asked
“He's... not having a good day today..” Julia sighed
“Yeah, he never has those anymore.” He scoffed.

As an indirect response Kain slid farther down in the tub, taking a long breath before fully submerging his head in the water, blocking any other sounds, shutting out any more overheard conversation.
Porter pushed passed his mother on the stairs, not aggressively, but assertively and quickened his pace significantly passed the bathroom and into his own, shutting the door securely behind him.