Page 51 of Broken Bonds

After leaving my doctor’s office last week, I had already begun to work out a plan of action to help me get back to being my normal self. Unfortunately, I relapsed into a depressive state the very next day. And then again the day after that. After Forde showed up and practically bribed me to leave my house, the fog that had been surrounding me finally started to clear.

“I miss you. It feels like vital pieces of me have been cut out, and the more days that pass without you here, the more alone I feel. Our house doesn’t feel like home anymore. It feels like a prison most days because I see your absence everywhere I look. It’s been over a month, and I still haven’t been able to open our bedroom door and go back in there.”

I look up and admire the pinks and oranges painting the sky right now as the sun sinks toward the horizon. I’ve always loved a good sunset. Sitting on my porch with a throw blanket around my shoulders and a cup of coffee in my hands as the skies give way from blue to pink, orange, and white and then eventually to a deep blue so dark it’s like a void when the stars don’t make an appearance.

“The nursery still needs to be put together, but I’m putting it off for as long as I can. This was your project, the thing all of you were most excited about doing together. I don’t even know what you all had planned since you said it was a surprise, so how can I put everything together without you? All of you and your damn secrets and surprises,” I huff, rolling my eyes with a sniff.

The tip of my nose is probably bright red with how cold it feels, and I know I need to make my way home before the sun is completely gone. For one, I’ll never make my way down that hill safely in the dark, and for two, it’ll be so much colder once the sun finally sets.

I push myself to standing and take a deep, cleansing breath, closing my eyes as another breeze blows by me, this one stronger and blowing strands of my hair all around my face in a way that tickles my nose, cheeks, and neck, making me snort like I used to when one of them would tickle me with their kisses or facial hair. The feeling is almost reminiscent of those kisses and beard tickles, and my eyes close as, for just a moment, I pretend that’s exactly what it is. When I open them again, the wind has died down and my hair is back to hanging limply down my back.

I stand in front of the headstones, my lip quivering as I try to keep my tears at bay. Every time I come here, this is the one thing that I dread the most.

Leaving, knowing this is where they’ll forever be, no matter what, while I’ll continue to go on.

I’ll grow older, watch our children grow up, my clock continuing to tick-tick-tick with life. But their clocks stopped ticking. They won’t age any more. They’ll never get to meet our kids, hear their first words, or see their first steps. Take them to their first day of school or their first dance. Help them when they have a problem that only a father can solve.

It’s heartbreaking to think of the experiences and opportunities that our children will be deprived of because of this.

They won’t get to experience having some of the most incredible fathers they could ever be blessed with in their lives. The silliest, most loving and loyal men that would have shown them every day how much they loved them, no matter what.

They won’t have the opportunity to see Van and Lake as the large children they were or benefit from Rule’s teachings about building things. They won’t have Ollie there with his invaluable guidance and loving tone when they feel like nobody is hearing them.

I hate it. I hate that we’re not giving them the life we’d all dreamed of for them.

Not having a family ourselves, the prospect of being able to give our children the security and love of a big family made us all practically ecstatic and filled with hope. We were healing the inner children inside of us that yearned for so much, and we were doing it together. Every year, we picked something new to do from a jar we kept with all of our childish dreams and whimsies inside.

Amusement parks, camping, horse riding.

Last year, Van picked, and he pulled out a piece of paper with only one word scrawled across it.

Family.

That one was mine, so I wasn’t confused in the least by the singular word when I’d read it, but the guys had all worn confused expressions. I’d bit my lip to hold my grin in, but Rule, my ever perceptible alpha, caught it and tickled me until I caved and told them what it meant.

When I’d breathed that I wanted a baby, well… I’m sure you can imagine how that went. So, during my last heat, it was no holds barred. No more birth control, no more holding back.

And then there were three… and one very sad Mama.

“I love you. More than all the stars and planets in the galaxies.”

As I walk away, I run my finger along the tops of their headstones, just needing some kind of connection to them, even if it is cold, hard rock. I make it back to my car just as the final bit of light from the sun sinks below the horizon and the night sky falls into place.

* * *

Here I am, standing outside the building Doctor Moreno mentioned I should go to if I was feeling ready for a grief support meeting, just looking up at it. I keep attempting to make my feet take a step forward, to walk in and face it, but it feels like my feet have been weighed down by an invisible force, like cement was poured on them to keep me in place.

Come on, Ramsey. You can do this. Walk in there so we can get started on healing.

White clouds form in front of me with each breath I take, and I clench my hands tightly in my jacket pockets.

Maybe I’m just not ready.

But I have to be.

It’s been long enough, and other than that one day where Forde took me to that rage room and a few talks he and I have had together, I’ve stalled. I need to do more if I’m serious about getting better. This is the third time this week I’ve shown up here, but the other two times I couldn’t get myself to go in. I’m determined to go inside this time.

If I can take the first step and walk across that threshold, it’s a positive beginning, even if I don’t speak yet. I can just listen this time. I don’t have to contribute to the conversation. I can just sit and assess if this will be beneficial to me or not.

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