The flood...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
“The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.”
? F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Submitted: December 25, 2015

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Submitted: December 25, 2015

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Some say it comes in waves, but that would suggest a rhythm one can predict, like tides that run with the moon. I feel no rhythm in my grief from the death of my mother three months ago ,but I do live in a slow motion pace inside a bubble from which I see my altered world.

Outside, the bubble is a world of noise, inside is silence and muted sounds. When grief hits, the bubble bursts and a cacophony of sadness invades my head until the bubble grows again with me back in it. I don't mind the world inside the bubble, though I fear my constant retreat to it will prevent me from living in real time.

Four days after my mother died, I lay in my bathtub soaking in tepid water and rang her mobile phone. She didn't answer, but you knew that already. A man's voice took the call and I hung up. Her phone had not been used for over a year, and her number had already been transferred and her name replaced.

I can't explain why I rang her old number, no more than I can explain why I felt the need to constantly kiss her on the lips when she was in the hospital or why I apologized for not being married or my need to hold her cooling legs like marble under my hands long after she took her last breath.


© Copyright 2020 Anonymus Hopefully. All rights reserved.

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