There’s a certain kind of pain that becomes commonplace to us, that we learn to live with. It’s a kind of pain that walks with us through our everyday lives. And eventually, over time, it becomes a part of us. You can wear that pain as a shield and use it to dull the world around you. Or you can harness that pain and use it as the chip on your shoulder that carries you through.
But it’s there, it’s always there. And it seeps in at the most insidious of times.
It’s pain that we learn to live with. And in some cases, it is pain that we learn to love.
But there is another type of pain. A pain that is so sharp, so forceful, and comes on so quick, that it is debilitating. This isn’t the pain that curls up with you in bed on a bad day. This is the pain that brings you to your knees and prevents you from functioning. This is the pain that catches in your chest and traps your breath there. This is the pain that shoots through your veins like fire. This is the pain that takes over every facet of your life, obscuring who you are until it is all that is left.
I had lived with the first kind of pain for years, since the death of my father. He passed when I was younger. The pain dulls over time. You lose memories. You forget those little mannerisms. And then out of the blue, it hits you in the face clear as day. But still…you feel guilty. Guilty for moving on, guilty for no longer holding that pain so close to your heart. I knew he would have wanted me to move on, but what did it say about me when it finally started happening? That pain, that dull throbbing pain, I knew. It was my friend. My longtime companion.
Sometimes I forget what it’s like to not be in pain, to not have this core of heartache that you carry with you at all times.
But that pain…I would take that pain over the pain that is currently shocking my system every day.
It’s one thing to lose one parent before their time. Accidents happen. Nature claims people too early. It is what it is. These are all things that are told to you again and again. People mean well, they truly do. But it does nothing to ease the emptiness inside of you, the hole where part of your heart once was.
To lose both parents so early…it’s a crime against nature. A crime against family. I don’t understand how it could happen to me, how it could happen to anybody.
I don’t know how to inhabit a world that my parents do not.
I hadn’t cried yet. They say that’s normal – holding the pain in, not having a release. A cathartic release, is what they call it. I didn’t want catharsis, I didn’t want a release. I still don’t know what I want.
No, that’s a lie. I know exactly what I want. But it’s something that I’ll never be able to have.
I haven’t gone back home yet. I’d been driving for four hours, avoiding every road that would take me there. Is it home when your parents are gone, I wonder. Is it home when your brother is in a coma? Is it still home when everything inside of you dreads setting foot on the land that was once your safe haven? Home is where the heart is, right? But what happens when your heart is broken, shattered into pieces on the ground, with no path to put it back together again? What happens when your heart is buried six feet underground?
What had once been the comforting crunch of gravel underneath the wheels of a sports car – the indication that I was pulling into the sweeping cul-de-sac driveway – was now the dreaded beacon of a return I had avoided for as long as possible.
The cold bit at my face, and I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. It was always a bane to me. Whenever I drank, and whenever the wind whipped, my cheeks showed it starkly, red spots flushing high on the bone structure.
I shoved my hands into the pocket of my wool trenchcoat, as if that small warmth could soothe the chill that went deep into my bones. It did no such thing.
My breath clouded in the air as I exhaled slowly, trying to breathe past the slow burning stemming from the approximate location of where my heart was. It hurt to look at my home, even from the driveway. It hurt to be on this land. There was no part of this that didn’t hurt me, down to the core of who and what I was.
I wasn’t entirely sure who I was anymore.
The sudden sound of happy yips and barking took me by surprise, and soothed me like a balm to the spirit. Two years ago I had discovered abandoned Siberian Husky-wolf hybrids on our estate. They had been abandoned by their mother at approximately six weeks of age, and my parents had been unable to deny my request to adopt them; especially after Kieran had promised to help me take care of them.
They ran to me at a quick pace. I think they sensed what I needed. As they approached, all the pain overtook me at once. I fell to my knees before I knew what was happening, all strength leaving my legs. The mud slid against my jeans, and I couldn’t find it in me to care. All I could find it in me to do was cry, as I wrapped an arm around each of the animals, holding them close to my body, burying my face against their fur.
I don’t know how long I sobbed for, there in the grass of the sweeping front lawn. All I know is that I couldn’t stop, not for the life of me. All the pain of the past month – of the past years, since my father’s death – it all came out. But there was no catharsis, no release, nothing soothing. I still felt empty. There was still a hole in me.
In that moment, there was nothing but me, my pain, and the only beings to have brought me any solace in the past month. I realized I couldn’t be here, not at this house. Not knowing that Kieran was in there, lying comatose in bed. Not knowing that at any moment, a sibling may happen upon me. I can’t…I just can’t see them, not yet. I thought I was ready, but I am so far from it that it’s almost laughable.
It didn’t take long for me to sprint through the saturated grass and down to the stables. My parents were adamant that as children we begin developing a large repertoire of skills and abilities. One of my favorites had always been horseback riding.
There’s nothing quite as freeing as riding horseback, galloping across the grounds. And that freedom is what I need right now.
Zeus was named for the thunderous noise that his large hooves caused. He’s been mine for several years. It took a short amount of time to saddle him and escape, with the wolfdogs trotting along behind us.
Finally, we reached the small lakeside cottage. Several miles away on the estate from the main house, situated on a lake nestled within the hills, it was like a world unto itself. It had been the solace of my parents when they decided that they were fed up with us, and a secret escape for each of their children at some point during their lives.
My breath hitched on a sob stuck in my throat as I entered. It smelled like home. My mother’s favored perfume hung in the air. The candles that she’d always lit were strewn about. There were mementos everywhere. I could see an old sweater of hers draped across the arm of the couch, and I stripped off my wool jacket and pulled the Irish seaman’s cableknit sweater on over my head.
I took a deep breath as the man’s-sized sweater hung on my frame. It was like the ghost of her was there with me. Like I could almost, almost feel her.
The animals were sniffing around, nudging against my legs as a reminder that they were still there, that they weren’t leaving me.
Exhaustion overtook me, even as tears began to silently fall down my face. They didn’t remain silent for long, though. The sounds that came out of me were sounds I’d never made before, sounds that were alien to my ears. I couldn’t have been more thankful that none of my siblings were here, witness to this breakdown.
Instead, Apollo and Artemis sidled up to either side of me as I curled into a ball on the carpet in front of the fireplace, my dead mother’s sweater wrapped around, a pet on either side. Maybe they were right about catharsis. Because even though the pain was still there, I a sense of exhaustion was beginning to come over me. I hadn’t slept more than three hours a night since my mother’s death, and I could feel the sweet release of exhausted slumber creeping into the edges of my vision.
I gave in without a fight, sinking into the darkness with the hope that it would provide me any measure of comfort.
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