Tag Archives: grief

Fiction: Losses (530 words)

Edith sat on the edge of her bed. She was waiting for something that was never going to happen. There was no one coming home to her. Her father was gone. Her husband was gone. Her son was gone. Literally, everything that this war could take from her short of her own life–it had. She sat alone at the edge of her bed, watching her door as if one of them might come walking in any way.  And with each second that passed with no one there, her heart grew a little heavier.

She allowed herself exactly ten minutes that morning to sit there in blind grief, silent and afraid. Then she had to stand up and face the world again. She’d been sitting in silence and fear without noticing time passing since she was first brought her the news. She’d stay here forever if she didn’t press forward today. Those soldiers, her men, didn’t go off to fight for her to fall apart. They didn’t go out and die so that she could spend the rest of her time moping and wishing that they hadn’t gone to fight for her country and everything they believed was right and good.  She pulled herself to her feet, tied up her hair, and headed out into the living room.

Her neighbors looked up in surprise at her reappearing. “Edie, are you okay?” Her friend Marie asked, before wincing, “I mean, of course, you aren’t okay, but I mean–” Marie shook her head again and tried to offer Edith a sad smile. “What I’m trying to say is that we understand if you just want to have a quiet day today.”

“I don’t think that sitting alone in my room dwelling on my sadness is going to be much help to anyone,” Edith answered with a perk in her voice—it sounded terrible even to her own ears, but she wasn’t sure what else she might sound like if she tried. “Please, Marie, give me something to do. Don’t make sit in there alone.”  This desperate tone was no better at all—she almost preferred the overly cheery tone.  But it seemed to be exactly what Marie needed to hear from her.

“Of course, of course. Do you want to work on something small or something big today?” Marie asked gesturing to the other women in the room.

“Big, I think,” Edith answered quickly, so she wouldn’t have time to analyze the tone that her voice was taking now.

“Okay then. Talk to Eleanor,” Marie gestured to the oldest woman in the room, sitting near the fireplace, “She’ll give you something big, and keep you as busy as you want to be.” She reached out and took Edith’s hand, pulling her in closer so that Marie’s next words could only be heard by Edith. “But as soon as you need an out, go. No one here will fault you for leaving work undone for a while, okay? Don’t feel pressured to get it done.”

Edith nodded slightly at Marie. “Thank you. But—I need this.”

Marie nodded as well, and let go of Edith’s hand. “Go see Eleanor, She’ll get you set up.”

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Posted by on July 18, 2017 in Stories


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Fiction: Acceptance(100 words)

My parents are dead. My Dad’s truck slid on a patch of black ice coming home from their anniversary dinner and ran them into a concrete wall. They were both dead before the paramedics even got to the scene. There’s nothing I can do to change that. And that’s okay.

I’m going to miss them for the rest of my life. It would be ridiculous to imagine that I wouldn’t. But if I don’t find a way to move forward—then I’m just disrespecting the memory and the legacy they left in my hands. I will do right by them.

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Posted by on November 18, 2016 in Stories, Uncategorized


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Fiction: Depression (99 words)

It felt like I didn’t know how to not be sad.  Not anymore. Even the things that amused me just floated by, an occasional smile in the world of things that were weighing on my heart.

How was I supposed to make things right again? Without them in my life, I didn’t know how to move forward. I didn’t know how to do anything. I didn’t feel like I was supposed to exist without them there to be with me.

They told me the loss would be bad. And I did believe them, but I never imagined this bad.

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Posted by on November 17, 2016 in Stories, Uncategorized


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Fiction: Bargaining (99 words)

What if I had offered to cook for them that night instead? A romantic dinner made by their loving only daughter.  That’s an anniversary present, if I’ve ever heard it. Maybe they would have taken me up on it. I even would have set a fancy table for them, and put in my earbuds for the rest of the night and pretended nothing else would happen in their room that night.

I would cook for them and then hide quietly in my room every single night of my life if they would just walk in that door right now.

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Posted by on November 16, 2016 in Stories


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Fiction: Anger (99 words)

I hated that there was no one to blame, too.  I mean, I could blame the bad weather but that was kind of like swearing at God—wasn’t going to do me much good. I could blame Dad for taking them out that night but if we never went out when it dropped below freezing we’d be stuck in the house for months at a time. I could blame them both for not paying any attention, but truth was I would never know if they were or not.

I wanted to blame all those things—and none of them.

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Posted by on November 15, 2016 in Stories


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Fiction: Denial (99 words)

The first thing I learned was that denial wasn’t pretending it never happened, or denying they were actually dead.  Denial was hearing a diesel engine and looking up to see if it’s Dad’s lights turning up the driveway. Denial was seeing news about Mom’s favorite show on the internet, and getting out of my chair to go tell her before sitting back down. Denial was starting to cook for three before realizing I was the only one.

I knew they were gone. I didn’t deny it.  Someone just need to tell my subconscious. Because it was pissing me off.

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Posted by on November 14, 2016 in Stories


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Fiction: Rant (326 words)


No, no, you stay quiet. It’s my turn to talk. It’s my turn to be heard. Okay? And no, that wasn’t really a question. So just be quiet.

I understand that you are grieving. I get that. Even though he was only your uncle, that man was like a father to you. I understand that you feel lost and scared and you are only lashing out from a place of fear. Or at least that’s what the internet told me when I googled how to deal with this.

But here’s the thing. I’m grieving too. I’m not blood, I get that. But I was six when he took me in. And even though my mom got clean and I was lucky with that, he was still my family.  For the last twelve years he has been the only constant in my life. I love my mother, but I know that at any given moment she could fall off the wagon again. But Chris was always there. No matter what happened, I could call him and he would be there for me. No matter what. And I loved him for that. And now he is gone.

I get that he was your family. I understand entirely that you have claims to him that I never could.  And I don’t want to step on the toes of your grieving. I never want that.

But stop treating me like I’m not heartbroken too. Stop stepping on me when I’m already down. For the love of all things good and holy, remember that Chris touched a lot of people’s lives in strong and profound ways, and they are feeling his loss just like you. It’s possible that have just as much right to grieve their loss of him as you do.


And I guess that’s it. I guess I don’t have anything else to say. The most I can hope for is that you take my words to heart.

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Posted by on September 26, 2016 in Stories


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