Letters Written in White (8 page)

I shouldn’t have said such hurtful things to her. I know she’s struggling. It’s just so hard to understand and even harder to remain positive. I tap lightly against the door.

“Babe, you all right?”

I wait to hear a response and nothing. My heart quickens. A feeling of dread overcomes me, and I
know
something is wrong. I feel it as strongly as I feel my heart thump, thump, thumping in my chest.

“Riah, open the door.” I bang on it hard this time.

Desperation takes over, and for some reason I already know whatever’s on the other side of the door is going to change our lives forever. I don’t know how I know it, but I do. When I realize she’s not coming, I run back downstairs and grab a credit card from my wallet. In a panic, I run up to the room and slide the card in the crack, maneuvering it until the door opens. As soon as I rush into the room, I see her.

“No! No. No. No. Riah!”

She’s lying on the floor in the doorway of the bathroom in a pool of blood. I drop to my knees and scoop her up into my arms. “Riah,” I cry.

She’s cold.

So cold.

Checking her pulse, I feel nothing but need to believe there’s a possibility she’s not gone. With a shaky hand, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial 9-1-1.

“My wife, she’s…please come. There’s so much blood.”

They ask me to calm down.

“I can’t calm down! My wife has cut both of her wrists and…and I think…oh, God, please hurry.”

They ask my address and I quickly rattle it off. When they ask me to stay on the line, I just drop the phone because I can’t listen to them. I can’t do anything but rock back and forth with my cold and bleeding wife in my arms. I begin to sob, and the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life overcomes me. Bile rises in my throat, and I realize I’m about to vomit. I cough and try to hold it down, but the reality of what’s happening has taken over my body and I can’t stop any of this. I stand up quickly, place Riah on the bed, and run to the toilet and empty all the contents of my stomach. Violently my body convulses. Tears pour from my eyes and the truth seeps into my psyche.

She’s gone.

I’ve lost her.

We’ve lost her.

I hear the sirens from outside. I quickly wipe my mouth with my sleeve and go back to the bedroom. She’s lying in exactly the same position as I left her.

Because she’s dead.

My wife is dead.

No matter how many times I tell myself the truth, I can’t help but back it up with a lie.

Maybe she’s okay.

The EMTs will help her.

When I hear the knock at the door, I turn and rush down the stairs. I stumble on the last step and fall. Scrambling to my feet, I rip the door open. With wide eyes, I stare at the only hope I have.

“She’s upstairs, first bedroom on the left. Please…please help her.”

I’m sitting in our empty house staring at our family photo albums, unable to fully absorb what has transpired. They weren’t able to revive her. She’s not in the hospital. She’s in the morgue and I’m in our empty home, needing to plan her funeral and trying to figure out how I’m going to tell our children.

Pulling out the photo albums, my heart hammers in my chest. I don’t want to open them. I don’t want to see the life we had before yesterday. I don’t want to think of what our life will be after today.

“Why, Riah! Why?” I scream out.

My temples are throbbing and the emptiness in my gut grows bigger and bigger by the minute. Flashes of her lying on the bed lifeless only hours ago haunt my thoughts. I can’t even go in there. The entire house feels like a tomb. I have no idea how I’m going to tell the kids she’s gone. The very thought of it makes me feel sick. Devin will take it the hardest. He always was a mama’s boy.
He loves you so much
. Desiree will take it hard, but she doesn’t show much emotion. She’ll hurt, and I know she’ll miss her mom every single day. I just don’t know how she’ll cope with holding this much pain inside. I don’t know where she puts it, the way she hides her feelings. Where will she put something like the sorrow of losing her mother? There’s not a place big enough to hold that much loss.

When I flip open the first album, I realize it’s our wedding album. My heart drops. I slam it shut. I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this. Tears break free from my eyes and I cry. I cry so hard my ribs feel as if they might break apart for how hard my body is trembling.
How could you do this to us?
We loved you so much.
Even though I knew she was hurting and dealing with things she rarely talked about…she was loved. I fall back onto our bed and stare at the ceiling blankly.

I whisper, talking to myself out loud, “I didn’t try to save you. I should’ve tried to save you.”

“We are all drowning in something.”

THE THOUGHTS AND feelings are pouring from my fingertips. I’m trying to write as fast as I can to keep up with all of the emotions I’m feeling after seeing what I’ve just seen. Watching my family through the mirror was an experience so overwhelming I’m not sure how to even put it into words.

I watched you today. You fed the kids big bowls of Cheerios. They scooped them into their mouths with spoons that were too big. With every dive the spoon made into the bowls, the circular cereal would spill over the sides. You always did fill the bowls too full. I hated it when you did that. Today, I loved it. I wish I could clean up all of the drops of spilled milk and sticky pieces of cereal. Or do I? It’s funny how something so small and insignificant once made me angry. Desiree hopped off the kitchen barstool and I immediately noticed how her clothes didn’t match. She did a little twirl.

“Daddy, do you like what I picked out to wear to school today?” Her hips swayed playfully back and forth, and a smile a mile wide adorned her perfect face as she waited for your reply.

“You look beautiful, baby girl. Great job.”

Her eyes glittered, and the expression on her face softened. She was so happy to have pleased you. My mind of course sped back in time to the mornings when I would make her go change into something I considered appropriate. Her eyes were always sad when I made her change. Then there were those mornings when I never even saw what she was wearing because I couldn’t get out of bed. Mommy sick days. That’s what we called them.

After the kids were on the bus and off to school, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it. You haven’t told them yet. You lied, telling them I was gone on a trip. You’ve shouldered the burden, playing your part perfectly. Once they were gone, you didn’t have to pretend anymore. Your eyes closed tightly, and as you leaned your head back, I saw your fists clench at your sides. You are so angry with me. I knew you would be. More disappointment. I spent a lifetime disappointing you, letting you down and causing you grief. You slid to the floor, bringing your hands to your handsome face. I watched the tears spill from your eyes. I sat down beside you and rested my head on your shoulder. You had no idea I was there.

“I’m sorry, Grayson. I’m so sorry for everything,” I told you, and I hope you know how regretful I am for all you’ve had to go through because of me.

You stood up and wiped your tears away, righting yourself. Your phone rang. When you answered, I realized it was the funeral home.

“Yes, I’m bringing her clothes this morning.” You paused briefly and dropped your head.

“Pictures?” you asked. “Oh…yes, of course. I’ll go through some this morning and bring those as well. I’ll need to call my mother-in-law and see if she has any special requests before I come.”

Letting out a sigh, you hung up the phone and made your way to our bedroom. It’s your bedroom now, Grayson. I won’t complain anymore about how you keep me awake at night with your snoring. I won’t spend most of my days in that bed anymore because getting up was too hard. You don’t have to look at me lying there and wish for more for us. I know this is hard for you right now, but you’ll stop being angry. You’ll move on and meet a woman who can make you smile, make you happy, and give you something more to wake up to each day other than an empty shell of a person. Your tears will dry. I know you’re better off without me. You all are. But I miss you. I miss you all so much already. It’s only been a day since I said goodbye.

Time is such a funny thing. People say we need it to heal, we need it to grow, and this or that just takes time. You know how many times in a lifetime someone will tell you, just give it some time or time is all we need. What about when time is all you have left? The place I’m in now is just that: nothing but time. Time to reflect, regret, recall and no matter how many minutes, hours, or days that pass, time can’t change anything for me. My life is over and all I have left are memories. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, in this place, where I can still see and watch you. I’m writing down all of my thoughts here on this white paper. I expected everything to be dark here. I laugh at the irony. Darkness is what brought me here, so how could it be so full of light?

I don’t even know who I’m writing this letter to or why. But Grayson, don’t fret over what clothes to choose. I saw you pulling item after item from our closet and how conflicted you were. I always wore things without much color and you always complained, saying, “Riah, why do you always wear so much black? Wear some reds or yellows, anything but black.”

I always ignored you. Colors made me look fat. Black was easy and it was slimming. I wanted to reach out and hand you the bright red top today and tell you to dress me how you’d like, but I know you won’t. That’s how you are. Even though you don’t like the black, you’ll choose it because it was my favorite. I always chose to see the things you didn’t agree with rather than all the things you did.

I drop the pen and cry. I cry because this new perspective is dreadfully painful. Did I make the wrong choice? Have I left one prison for another?