The loss of something or someone you love is always devastating. Love, as a physical thing, is very solid and expansive. It fills you up, existing in every thought and action in its own way. The emptiness that comes with the loss of that is almost indescribable.
If it is slow, it is not as bad. It trickles away slowly, allowing you to say goodbye, getting over it and on with your life. There is still much pain, but it is rationed into bits and pieces, easier to swallow and deal with. The real pain comes in the fast unplug. Anything that sudden is jarring, and when it consists of all you own being pulled away from you in one moment it is devastating.
You are left with an emptiness paralleled with a desert with all that filled you and drove you and gave you life draining in a second. It is brutal, and as you gasp and moan you wonder what horrible thing you have done to deserve such pain. But of course the only thing you have done is loved.
Love replaces what drives you, slowly, as it blossoms within you. You forget old motivation and only focus on this new, untamed beast. You rely on it, depend on it, spend all you have and then some. It feels healthy and right, so you keep doing it. You give it your all.
And it is bound to die. Most love is short lived. But we culture and grow it anyway. Why? Because it is so worth it, beyond worth it. Once you have tasted it you can never let it go. It is addictive, both sweet and bitter at the same time. These flavors blend in you and will never let you go.
When it dies it is like you are dead. Fuel and drive, flavor and motivation gone in a whirlpool in a matter of seconds. It leaves you broken. Your shattered pieces lay across your life and each one mirrors a moment with the one you loved. All meaningless now, as you shake and shiver. All gone.
Besides her parents, Sara had truly loved two things in the world, Peter and Josh. In the space of about four hours, they had been taken from her. The worst possible scenario short of her own death had come true. And she would argue this was worse then death.
Her eyes stared at the floor, dull orbs with barely a spark of life. Drool dripped from the corner of her mouth, unchecked. She was catatonic, nearly comatose. Every couple of minutes or so she would visibly shake and cry out. She lay like this, sprawled on the couch for three days. Once she got up for water, and a snack but then collapsed halfway back and had to crawl to the couch. She was weak. She was troubled. She was broken.
After three days, at about three in the morning on the fourth day, she blinked and woke up. This was the first time she was really awake since the night of the crash. She had been in a stupor since then and now she was coming back to reality.
She wiped her mouth and rubbed her eyes. She waited, expecting tears to come but they did not. There were none left. Sara pulled herself up into a sitting position, and looked straight. She saw her reflection in the mirror across from her and it shocked her. She looked, for lack of a better word, like shit.
The shower was good and food was even better. Swallowing something else than the lump in her throat made her a bit stronger. She was taking deep breaths, coming back to the land of the living.
Sara shoved most of the baby stuff into a closet. Again, she expected tears to come but all the greif was gone. She was mechanical now, working towards a better outlook. She walked to her answering machine and listened to the messages. Multiple freinds, calling to offer sympathy. The hospital, telling her about the bill. The police, telling her that her husband had been missing for enough time after a "situation of peril" that he had been legally declared dead and she should talk to a lawyer about distribution of possesions. Nothing really about her. Nothing really about Josh.
She walked down the hall to his room, stared at the emptiness. Sara sighed, one of a broken soul. She walked back to her bedroom and for the first time in over a week collapsed into a real bed.