Page 91 of Those Two Words

But I know I’m not. I just want this to stop. The constant panic. Feeling like an alien in my own skin. Every day clouded by crippling fear, with no forecast for hope.

I’m reminded constantly that every day is numbered with the people I love and there isn’t anything I can do about it.

Today’s funeral confirmed that desolate fact.

Harriet passes me a glass of water, her face etched with worry, and when I turn to my dad, his worry mirrors hers.

The black dress that’s been choking me all day is now covered in sweat.

“I-I’m fine, Dad,” I say, but my voice shakes so badly, the words barely make it past my lips.

“Johanna, I’m worried about you. Have you spoken to a doctor?”

“I don’t need a doctor. It’s just grief.”

“I don’t think this is grief. You haven’t had panic attacks like this in years, not since your mo?—”

“No, Dad, please. I can’t think about Mom now.” I’m shouting now, fresh tears cling to my lashes as the tremors start in my hands again. “Everywhere I look, there they are. Mom. And now Ted. They’re here, but they’re not.”

Harriet takes my clammy hands in hers, the cool feel of her skin pulling me from the after-fog that usually hangs around after I hyperventilate. “Dad’s right, Jo. I think you need to speak to someone. You’re trying to do too much. No one would judge you if you took the next couple weeks off work.”

Next week the restaurant reopens for the first time since Ted’s death.

“I need to be there for Patrick…h-he needs me. I can’t leave him right now.” As the words leave my mouth, my voice cracks and I break down into a fit of sobs.

“Patrick will understand, Jo.” My dad tries to soothe me.

“I have to be there for him,” I whisper. Someone helps me lie down on the sofa and places a pillow under my head. “Like he was there for m-me.”

“I can’t watch you fall apart like this, Jo. You’re losing weight, barely sleeping, I…I don’t recognize you. We all grieve differently, but I’m worried something more is going on here. Something I can’t stop or help with. Go with Harriet tonight, take some time away from town, from work. It will be here when you get back.”

“Y-you want me to leave?” I whisper.

“I want you to put yourself first.”

From the torn and distressed look on my dad’s face, I know I’m fighting a losing battle, and it’s time to hang up my cracked armor. This is like after Mom, only worse.

I’m losing myself in this town, the memories of people I love suffocating me.

So I stop fighting and leave with Harriet that evening.

Only when I get to Tennessee, somehow things escalate. Weeks turn into months. I ignore Patrick’s calls and texts, so ashamed with how I abandoned him, but also, not wanting to give him an excuse to see me this way. Every day is a struggle. I beg my sister and dad not to tell anyone what’s going on, just that I’m safe and need some space.

I wanted to stay but needed to leave.

And I’m not sure he will ever forgive me.

The rest is history.

Only we got our timelines and stories a little wrong. Patrick didn’t stop waiting for me, he came to find me. I didn’t leave him behind to start a new life, I was trying to find myself.We’ve been through so much, together and apart, and we’re stronger for it.

What I accepted as the end of our story, now feels like the end of part one.

Yesterday, I spent my second-to-last session with Amanda preparing myself for what I knew I had to do. I know he’s looking for answers, and something deep within me feels like today, of all days, is when he needs them the most.

I don’t fear the loss of my loved ones like I once did.

I fear the loss of never feeling love.

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