I lifted the Glock, the barrel just an inch from the back of Freya’s head, her dark hair glistening like polished ebony in the sunlight. Hooking my finger over the trigger, I felt that coldness on its tip. One squeeze and it was done.
I don’t know how long my arm hovered there. So many times, I told myself to squeeze the trigger, to just get it done, and every time my muscles froze. I started to cry, silently weeping, the scene in front of me a hazy blur. Breathing was a labour, the weight of responsibility and grief crushing the air from my lungs, and I felt my arm beginning to quiver.
I broke. I couldn’t do it. As my arm fell away, I choked out a single word through the pain, every atom of me pleading, begging to take this awful responsibility from me.
“Nate!”
He was there in a second, his hand taking the gun from mine, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“I’ve got this, kid,” he whispered.
I swear there was a shake in his voice, but I can’t be sure. My memory of finer details is blurred. My head was somewhere else, lost and out of control, but I remember his stoic presence, my safe anchor in the storm of this horror raging about me.
“It’s okay, Erin,” I heard Freya say, no accusation, just more damn compassion.
Damn it, why is everyone so much stronger than me?
Freya asked one thing of me and I couldn’t do it. I was too fucking weak, and I passed that terrible burden to Nate again, just like he took the burden behind door number nine. Everyone else keeps carrying my useless weight.
“I’m sorry,” I managed to choke out, so weak I couldn’t even look. I turned away, my back to Freya’s back, Nate between the two of us. I put my hands on my knees, panting for breath through the torrent of tears.
“You ready, sweetheart?” I heard Nate say to Freya.
“I am,” she answered, not a single quiver in her voice while I bawled like a child. Such dignity, such grace. “I love you both,” she said.
“And we you,” answered Nate.
The serenity was shattered by the loudest gunshot of my life.
It broke the last of my will and my body was too heavy for my legs. They collapsed beneath me, all my strength gone. On my knees, I folded downwards, screaming a feral cry of rage, grief, and sorrow into the earth.
Then Nate was there again, picking me from the floor, wrapping me in his arms, cooing assurances that it would be okay, that he was there, that he had me, that I was safe.
I crushed to him and wept.
Freya was gone.
Shit, I need a break. I can’t write anymore. I’m bawling again and I thought these past two days had ran me dry. I was wrong.
September 21st, 2010
GRIEF
It took me a whole day before I could write again. I’ve never lost someone close to me before and it’s taking me some time to get a handle on this.
Who am I kidding? I don’t have a handle on this at all. I feel like someone has scooped out all my feelings and dumped them in the trash. I’m numb. I still don’t feel like this is real, and struggle to accept that I’ll never see or speak to her again.
Nate did it all. He took the burden from me, and now all I feel is guilty again. Freya wanted just one thing from me, and I couldn’t do it for her. The only thing she ever asked of me and I failed her, begging Nate to carry one more miserable burden, when he already carries so much. Being the man he is though, he took it from me without question or hesitation, and did it first time without wavering. I wish I had that kind of strength. I wish I could have saved Nate one less miserable responsibility, but I was too weak. I’m sorry, Nate.
I’m sorry, Freya.
Even when we buried Laura and Freya, it still wasn’t real. Norah said some beautiful words, but I can’t remember them. My eyes were fixed to the patted earth, and all I can see is Particles, sitting by the grave, staring at it while making little whines of despair.
Little dude know she’s gone, and he feels the pain as well. Dogs know this shit, feel it deeply. The two of them had a bond, and now it’s been cut. The two of us have been spending our grief these past few days together. Particles is keeping me clinging to the threads of my sanity.
I can’t bring myself to hate Laura for what she did. She was just a product of this shitty world and a victim of evil people. How can I possibly know what she went through? How can any of us know what the demons in her head whispered to her in the quiet of night, as she lay in bed alone, wondering if the door was going to be kicked open and be dragged out by her hair?
Freya’s own caring nature got her killed. Her first reaction was to help, overriding her common sense, but this world takes adjusting to. We have to rewire everything we know, and her wires were still fixed firmly in place. She tried to help when Laura was already beyond it, her undead thrashing mistaken for choking in the noose. One little bite, that’s all it takes, for a story to end, and a world to crumble. These are the fine lines of our reality now.
Grief isn’t something I understand, or I’m used to. I don’t know how to describe or manage it. Nate says there aren’t any hard and fast rules for managing grief. It’s a different process for everyone, and it’s different each time a person experiences it.
“Grief,” said Nate,
