“Ring” a call, 3am, an odd time, relinquishing you out of your slumber. “Hello?” If you knew how this would’ve ended would you have picked up at all?
“Hello is this Mrs. A?” Suddenly the gears start turning as your brain hallucinates every worse possible scenario. “Well yes but my last name is actually B.” “Well I’m so sorry to tell you-” Frozen, petrified, right then you knew, was it an accident? A fight? Work emergency? “I have terrible news your child’s father has been shot and killed.” None were as real as the laceration you heard that killed you from your esophagus where the oxygen no longer moved freely to your soul. That same voice that called to tell his daughter “Have a good day” every morning was now a glimpse of air blowing through your fan but little did you know, that Monday morning was his last. Not together but still old friends because you have a daughter? Sure. It hit you with the exertion of a strong down pouring storm, every memory, word, picture. 1 year gone and nothing helped, all you felt was numb but little did you know from losing that one person came 7 very important stages with a toxin of a name called by “grief”. No one really talks about it because if they saw your mind they would think you’re more mad than the hatter. “Shock, Denial, Pain, Guilt, Anger, Reflection, and Acceptance.” Better portrayed as Hell. 1 day, 1 person, 1 last word. All these things being the very last thing you’d ever do or remember or say to that person who was so near but farther than ever. 3, three AM. 7, Seven stages of grief. 1, One person. No countdown but a reminder of what you’re still fighting 5 years later and will be for eternity.
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