No Goodbyes
He was just gone.
I was pulling into the Winter Garden Farmer’s Market and my daughter was in the back booster seat. I got the news. “He’s gone,” my mom texted. It was the end. It was so final. I was never to see him in this lifetime again.
I couldn’t even say goodbye. This is the darkest part of my shadow — the place I don’t like to go unless I have the time and space to fully grieve. It’s the location point of my horrible fears of abandonment. It’s terrifying to think about.
He was just gone. No more. It was like having ten tons of bricks dropped on my head. I never saw it coming. How can someone be there one minute and then just be gone the next with no explanation or goodbyes?
It wasn’t like a horrible accident or a long-drawn-out cancer battle. It was as if he was just there on the sofa at one point talking to me on the phone, and then he just gently left a moment later. It made no sense to me.
I parked the car in a handicapped spot because that’s the only place I could make it to as I was losing strength. I screamed. I held my daughter’s hand and told her to pray for him. I thought maybe there was still a sliver of hope that he was still alive. Maybe they got it wrong — maybe he was just not breathing for a minute. Maybe he could be revived. But no. It was only wishful thinking.
