Page 65 of XO

“R-Rosie,” her voice cracks. “We’ve been through this, darling. He suffered a terrible stroke.”

I watch her face flood with tears waiting for her to say it’s all a joke. But she doesn’t. She just keeps crying as if this is our new reality.But how can this be reality?

“No, you’re lying.” Flipping the blankets off, I jump out the other side of the bed. “You’re lying,” I yell.

Mom’s trembling hand covers her mouth. “I’m not, honey. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” I seethe. “Stop being sorry. Where is he? Where’s my dad?”

She’s up on her feet, catching me before I fall into a heap on the floor. Lowering us both down, she rocks me back and forth, stroking my hair, repeating the same gentleshhsounds.

I sob, the gut-wrenching type that tears you apart from the inside out.

“Why is he gone? Why did he leave me?” I mutter, the words on repeat like a torturous song.

“There’s nothing any of us could do, baby. Nothing.”

For the next hour I sobbed on her shoulder as she attempted to comfort me. For hours after that, I sobbed even harder into the pillow, pummeling it with my fists, my wails loud enough for the neighbors to turn up their televisions.

I cry so hard, my eyes feel like they’re bulging from my head, my rib cage aching like it’s been punched on repeat.

I wish right now I could die.

I want to die.

I don’t want the grief.

I want to tear my heart from my chest, or what’s left of it.

I don’t want to live in this world without my father in it.

~

I want to be numb. But I’m not.

The pain is so indescribable, I can’t see beyond it. I can’t see how I will be able to just move on. I can’t imagine how I’m supposed to live every day without seeing my dad. I can’t fathom never hearing his voice again. I simply can’t understand him beingdead.

I stare at the Lynch’s house. It sits there like every other normal day. It looks exactly the same. I wonder if my house still looks the way it did yesterday. Or whether it’s now wearing a great big scar across the front. I wonder how men like Mr. Lynch go on living their lives beating up their family members when my incredibly kind and loving father is fatally struck down.

What the hell happened in the world yesterday?

And why?

In a daze, I ring Jacob. Eight unanswered calls line my recent call list. Make that nine. Pressing end, I stare at the list, my eyes taking a moment to focus on what my head is telling me.

Dad.

I click on his name and listen to the rings. I listen until the rings run out, trembling as it switches to voicemail.

“Hi, John here. Sorry I missed you. I’ll call you back if I know you.”

“You know me, Daddy, please call back,” I cry, feeling my way back to bed. Crawling under the blanket, I hit dial again, and again, and again. “You know it’s me. Please answer.”

~

By day four, I’m completely numb.

In my dazed state, I wonder if this is what it’s like to be a zombie. The body moves instinctually, but the mind is completely blank, all human emotion dried up. For those around me, my father passing away is only just hitting home. Under the gray sky above, they cry fresh as they listen to Pastor Bryant give his Godly speech. The one where they justify your time on earth being up and how the deceased is now in God’s hands.

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