Grief Is A Natural Disaster

The click-clack of wood on wood echoed in the evening air as Kim stood in the kitchen, stirring the pasta. Through the large window, she could see the silhouettes of her children in the fading daylight, and smiled at their play. Suddenly, the stick in her youngest's hand snapped, and his wail bounced through the neighbourhood, raising to a crescendo as he barrelled inside.

"She broke it," he choked out, tears streaming down his face. "Livvie broke my light saberrrrr." He stretched out the last word, turning it from a cry to a whine. Hot on his heels, and shouting over him, his sister flew in behind him, mispronouncing her words in her haste to defend herself. "It was an asscadent! I didn't do it a-purpose!"

"Never mind," she soothed her children, wiping her son's tears gently, and pulling him into a hug. "I was just about to call you both in for dinner anyway. Livvie, go set the table please, and you, Jayce, have some toys to tidy." She pushed her son gently forward, in the direction of his bedroom, and stretched, turning back to the pan.

The flames grew in front of her eyes, teasing her and consuming the pan; leaving her choking on the smoke that billowed forth.

----

As her coughing eased, she lay in the dark, her heart racing, before it came to her. The dream that was a memory that was nothing more, now, than part of a series of nightmares that chased her. Eyes heavy and sleep-crusted, she let her heart slow and waited for the quiet of the dark hours to ease her mind. When that failed, she rose, padding through the empty house, moving quickly past the closed doors of rooms that shouldn't be empty, wouldn't be empty, if it weren't for a moment's inattention. The thought caught in her throat, lodged there with the lump that never left anymore, and she scrubbed at her face with a tired hand.

She passed too many nights this way now, when the alcohol wore off and it was too late to bury herself in more or she'd never make it to work in the morning; so she prowled the floors, guarding against the past and the too-heavy weight of its intrusions. Morning would come, eventually, slipping quietly in and painting over the loneliness with things and people and her job co-managing a local clothing store.


"-what do you think?" Kim, lost in her thoughts, didn't move or answer.
"Dude, Earth to Kim," Erin whispered, nudging her. "Reece wants an opinion on the new dragon designs and whether we should get some in." Blinking slightly, Kim coughed to cover her confusion.
"Uh, sorry about that. I think they're great, Reece, but I'd love to see them in some different colours. It's not just boys that like dragons. My little girl, Olivia-" She shivered, tongue stumbling over the name so long unuttered, and stopped. Reece hadn't known her back then, was only part of her life post-children, post-heartbreak - he knew only the woman who worked 50-hour-plus weeks and didn't complain.

She didn't continue, and Reece, perhaps sensing the awkwardness, made quick notes on the paper in front of him. "More colours, right," he muttered to himself before standing. "Alright ladies, I guess we'll leave it there. Keep up the great work" Taking his paper, he quietly left the office and the women followed, stepping out into the larger sales area.

Adjusting a rack of clothing, Kim nodded at Erin, ignoring the challenging look her long-time colleague and friend gave her. "Thanks for the save."
"You had another nightmare last night, didn't you?" Erin's look was direct, probing. "Tell me about it, Kim," she beseeched. "I miss them too, I know it's not the same, but I do miss them. And I want to help you, but I can't when you keep pushing me out."
"It was nothing," Kim shrugged, putting distance between her words and her heart. She turned up the radio, let Elvis croon out Heartbreak Hotel and block out the pain. "It was nothing."


Later, when the store had closed, Kim sat inside nursing a satin skirt. Rubbing the fabric over her cheeks, she remembered the silken feel of her daughter's hair as she nestled in for a cuddle; the softness of her son's lips when he placed his sloppy kisses on her. In the surrounds of the store that had taken her in, a young single mother supporting two children, she allowed herself, briefly, to feel all that she had lost, and her cries rent the air. Consumed by her grief, she barely registered the jangle of keys as Erin let herself in, or the feel of her friend's comforting arms around her.


"It's like lava," she told Erin some months later. "It just bubbles up and out and there's no way to control it. It's like I miss them so much the missing is a living thing, and it's too much. And then I dream, and I remember every moment like they were perfect, like we were perfect-- and then I look away for a moment and something goes wrong, and then I wake up, and I have to remember, all over again, that they're not here anymore." Her breath caught, and she repeated herself. "It's too much, them not being here. I don't want to face it. I can't face it. I can't even-" she paused, looking down in shame. "I can't even go in their rooms, Erin. It's been almost a year, and I still haven't so much as opened their doors."


After another season has passed, Erin's voice is firm, and Kim wants to slap her for the calm certainty with which she speaks - the certainty of a mother whose child is still with her; a mother who does not have this horror to face. "Your dreams are not a time portal, Kim. You can't create a perfect family in your dreams and bring them back. They weren't perfect. You weren't perfect. And that's okay. It doesn't make it your fault. You could never have predicted a sinkhole opening there, nobody could."

Kim hears the words without hearing them, stuck in autopilot and relieving that terrible day and the accident that stole her children from her. She hears herself again, telling the children to run outside and play before it got too dark - reminds them that their drawings will still be there after dinner, and the happy slam of Jason's door. Mostly, she hears again the scream of the ambulance and feels the jelly of her legs as she collapsed, sobbing in fear.


---

It has been a year and a half, and Kim finds herself standing, poised, at a door. The strength of her fear and grief is a physical heat imagined into the handle, and she drops her hand, then raises it again, pulling the door open. Everything is untouched by time, except for the dust and a few spiders that have made their homes amongst his belongings.

On the desk, their drawings from that fateful day, and at the bottom, Olivia's scrawl: "we love you mummy".