Grief

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Pierce. We did everything we could, but your husband didn't make it,” the surgeon said gravely.

He went into a more detailed explanation of what happened, but I didn’t hear anything else he said. All I understood was that Jim was gone. Yet I felt nothing. I didn’t feel sad, or angry, or shocked. I just felt nothing. Was that even possible? How could I feel nothing after just hearing that my husband died? It was at that point I realized the surgeon had actually asked me something.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” I asked.

“We’ll be moving your husband’s body down to the morgue. Would you like to see him?” He repeated. “I warn you though, he’s not going to be in the best condition if you do.”

“I want to see him,” I said quickly.

“The crash caused some serious injuries. I want you to be prepared for-”

“I want to see him,” I repeated firmly.

The surgeon nodded and motioned for a nurse to come over. She smiled at me sympathetically as she led me towards the elevator. We didn’t speak. I didn't think I would have heard her if she did anyway. My mind was like the sleep screen on an old computer, completely blank with just a vague idea of what was happening bouncing around the walls. I wondered how long it would be before my brain woke up and realized what was happening. Maybe never if I let it.

The morgue was in the basement of the hospital. It was just like in the movies. I saw the silhouette of the body lying under the white sheet. The shining steel looked sharp and cold under the morgue lights. The nurse placed a hand on my arm gently.

“Would you like me to stay with you, or-”

“I want to be alone,” I answered before she finished.

She nodded briefly before stepping outside to wait for me. I stared down at the sheet for a long time. I wasn’t sure how long really. I just couldn’t bring myself to lift it. The draping, white fabric billowed faintly with the air from the ventilation. It reminded me of my wedding dress. I remembered how he laughed as I stood on our hotel balcony, the wind flapping it around me.

“You look like a white flag,” he teased.

“I surrender myself to you, my love!” I cried dramatically.

Stupid, silly, but we laughed so hard about it. We had only been married a few years. Why did it feel like forever since that happened?

The air around me was cold. I wasn’t sure if it was from the refrigeration though. The cold only increased the numbness I felt. How long had I been standing here without looking at him? I wanted to see Jim, but I didn’t want to see him too. Seeing made it all real. Then I would have to accept what happened. 

He was just supposed to get ice cream. That was it. It was late, I wanted ice cream, he said he would get some. It was supposed to be quick.

“Ugh,” I sighed, watching our cooking show, “that sundae looks so freaking good! I’d kill for some ice cream right now.”

“Well, murder is illegal,” he said, chuckling, “but how about a flurry from McDonald’s?”

“Strawberry sundae,” I said excitedly.

“You got it,” he said, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “Be back soon.”

He wasn’t though. The McDonald’s was only five minutes from our place. After thirty minutes I wondered what was taking him so long. It was late, but it couldn’t be that busy, could it? The phone answered my question. A drunk driver on his way there. Critical condition. I should come as soon as possible. There was more to the conversation, but those were the only parts I remembered.

Now there was a sheet in front of me. White fabric waving in the faint air. It seemed like he was surrendering this time. I reached out and touched the edge of the fabric. The steel made it feel cold as ice. Everything was cold, I felt frozen in place. I knew I needed to see him. I needed to say a proper goodbye, but I didn’t want to. Seeing him made it real. 

I took in a shaky breath as my fingers curled around the fabric. I pulled it back slowly. A sound unrecognizable to humans squeaked from somewhere in my throat. The surgeon had warned me, but I still wasn’t prepared. It wasn’t my husband. This wasn't Jim. It couldn't be.

His wavy brown hair was matted down and black with blood, his shining brown eyes were swollen shut into purplish blobs, and his smile. The smile I loved. The smile that warmed my mornings and lulled me to sleep at night. The smile that beamed at me on the balcony of our hotel room that night. It was gone. A cut and bloodied line was all that remained of it now. 

The shock was enough to restart my sleep mode brain, all at once, everything came to life. It was all so real, all so clear. Tears filled my eyes and began to spill over. My body began shaking with silent sobs. 

My fault. It was all my fault. If I didn’t ask for that damn ice cream he’d still be alive. He never would have gotten in that car, he never would have been on that road, he never would have died. A small part of me knew that was irrational, that I never could have known this would happen, but the guilt radiated throughout my body and scorched my heart. It hurt, it hurt so bad. I screamed at the pain. 

The nurse rushed in and tried to comfort me. She shushed me and rubbed my back, but I just kept screaming. It couldn’t be real, it just couldn’t be.

“That’s not my husband! That’s not my husband!” I screamed. “It’s not him! It can’t be him!”

But it was.