beautiful, book, character, creative, death, excerpt, friday, grief, regret, romance, sad, Uncategorized

My body wasn’t the same anymore, the scars and silver lines providing a constant reminder of the thing that I lost, that I could never get back.
I ran my finger along the largest one, stretching from my navel to pubic bone. Mesmerized by the silky feeling of it. I’m not sure how long I stared at the mark, imagining my life as something different before he entered the room, silently and reserved, as he always was.
“You’re beautiful.” Is all he said. I don’t look up, not wanting to see the look of longing and loss on his face. I see it enough in my own. Instead, I pull down my top, hiding the marks of her life from us both. It’s only a nasty reminder and I’m not even sure why I continued to torture myself. Maybe because I deserved it.
I finally turned toward him, my husband, Ben. His eyes traveled up my body, landing on my own. His dark scuff perfectly sculpted, his even darker hair coiffed on top, dark brown eyes with just a hint of amber in them. He was a beautiful man, he gave me a beautiful child…and I took it away from him. I’m not sure how he can stand to look at me with anything but hate and regret in his eyes. It’s why I shifted my gaze away almost instantly. I knew I was pushing him away, but it was what he needed but hadn’t yet realized. He didn’t deserve a wife who couldn’t bare children, whose body killed innocent souls. I was evil. He was angel.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, playing with the frayed edge of shirt. Much like my life, it too had begun to unravel. The bed dipped beside me as Ben sat down. His hand grasped mine, pulling it away from the wayward strand.
“It’s okay, Hannah.” He said simply, with comfort. I didn’t feel it though, I couldn’t. He didn’t know what he was saying, it would never be okay again. I ripped my hand from his.
“Hannah…please. I’m your husband, I’m here for you but I can feel you pulling away from me.”
I shake my head, letting my blonde hair fall over my eyes, sheilding myself from him. “It’s not okay, it will never be okay…I’m..broken, useless.” I finally admitted.
His calloused finger gently pushed aside a lock of hair, relocating it behind my ear. “Never.” He whispered against my cheek, his warm breath ghosting across my face. His lips gently ran back and forth over my heated skin. A warm hand engulfed the other side, pulling me toward him. I tried to close my eyes, avoid the connection, but he didn’t allow it. “You are the most beautiful, couragous woman I have ever met. I don’t want to hear you ever speak about yourself that way again, Hannah.”
I scoffed, not wanting to believe anything he was saying. After what I did…what my body did, I could never believe that. “What about Julie, Ben? I killed her. I killed our daughter.” I spit at him, he flinches but his eyes don’t waver, I wish they would. I wish he would give me just a little bit of vulnerability I could feed off, so I could save him…

To be continued.


An unfinished lost letter

grief, letter, life, lostlovedone, unfinished, writing

I find that often times writing can be similar to purging your soul. Leaking out your emotions, your feelings, your deepest desires onto the pages. It can be a way to vent, to come to terms, to leave something behind. At least to me, that’s what it is. I find when I’m happy, when I’m sad or when I have something on my mind the first thing I do is go to some form of media where I can bleed the words out, read them back, share them. However…this is an unfinished piece, one I’ve been working on for eleven years. The idea of sharing it makes my body tense, my jaw clench, but I feel that perhaps because I can’t finish it…that it shouldn’t be finished. Maybe grief is a never ending process. I’m sharing this with you all, because I poured my heart into it. This is my process, and when the time comes, I hope I can finish it. This is a lost love letter, to someone taken too young, too soon.

The event of your death was the catalyst that changed my entire world. It was the starting point for a series of things that I wish never had to happen. But, it also lead to the things that I cherish most in my life today. That may sound selfish, but…it’s the truth. I was only a child when you died. Not quite old enough to understand the circumstances or grief that accompanies death, but I tried anyway. And in that attempt, I lost my childhood. I feel like you took it with you, which you wouldn’t have wanted for me.
I don’t remember the sound of your voice. I don’t remember specific things you ever said to me. I can only conjure blurry images of your face when I think about you. Does that make me horrible? Should I remember? Because the things I do remember, are how much I miss you. How you joked around with me. How you fought adversity. You were a bright star in the history of my life, a light that shone so bright, that even in death I can still see it.
It’s been eleven long, painful ,but joyus years since you left our lives. But your impact will never be forgotten. There are times when I look at my son, and I see you. I see you everywhere. Because you are everywhere, no one and nothing can take you away from the world. You live within me, within my mother, within my sister and my brother and every other life you ever touched.
I feel like I should tell you all the things we’ve achieved in the past decade. But I know I don’t need to. You see it. You are there guiding us…