The Empty Room -The trauma of loss

The room next door is empty. It’s just empty. It’s just a void where she used to exist, and it is still incredibly unbelievable that she does not anymore. This new reality makes no sense to me. This reality in which she’s present only in photos, videos, and memories must be a subplot in a dubious scheme contrived to rid me of my sanity. And right now, every fiber of my existence tells me the plot is working, as I now contrive realities in which she’s merely on a vacation somewhere, and I’d awake tomorrow with her robust laughter radiating joy, and filling up that empty room so that it’s empty no more.

The room next door is empty. But I’m told that it’s filled with memories. Some are recent, some are distant, some are vivid, and some are fuzzy, but all wonderful memories. But memories that in the past would usher in feelings of joy, have transformed into spears and daggers that wound, leaving me forlorn and paralyzed in hopelessness. Each memory plunges deep into me, gutting the sunshine out of my soul, and replacing it with nothing. Just nothing.

The room next door is empty, and I cling to the notion that God has a plan. So I pray and talk to the invisible being, who answers all prayers, but not as we wish. So I pray angry prayers, because I’ve been betrayed, abandoned, and let down. What use is a God who allowed me to fall into this abyss of pain? What use is a God who gives me no answer to pain, but acceptance. And I’ve found that pain is even more painful, when joy was even more joyful. But in my hopelessness I continue to pray, even though my heart is numb and unreceptive to anything, hoping for a miracle that is even more miraculous than you returning to that room. A miracle that would see me smile again, even though you will never return.

The room next door is empty, so I close my door and pretend that I’m not affected. I can escape for fleeting moments. And every time I pray for me, I pray for her mother, because her mother lives in that room, and there is no escape. And God alone knows what path she’ll take to maintain her sanity.

Rest in peace, Lynn Patrice.