I repeat the stages of grief over and over.
My mind stops at shock. Shock hits first before denial strikes. Shock. My mind races to retrieve everything I know about shock.
Inability to move.
I blink and place my free hand over my stomach.
General pains.
My stomach is aching. It’s a weird sensation and one I haven’t felt before. It feels like I’ve swallowed burning logs.
I keep working through the facts as I try to keep my mind focused on substantiated data.
Feelings of heaviness.
That explains why I can’t make my body move faster. It feels as if time is suspended while I’m touching a live wire.
Dad clears his throat. “Please stay with Willow. I don’t want you traveling tonight, not while you’re in shock. I’ll fly to North Carolina and meet you at the apartment. I’ll bring you home, sweetheart. Can you do that for me? Can you wait until morning?”
“I’ll wait, Daddy,” I whisper, knowing it’s what he needs to hear. “I’ll wait here for you.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wish I could come through right now. I need to…”
“I understand, Daddy. You need to process your own shock. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be okay.” I look around the empty apartment as I lie, “Willow is here with me. I’m not alone.”
After we’ve said goodbye, I dial Willow’s number. I need her to come home.
When it goes straight to her answering machine, I end the call.
I close my eyes as a devastating wave of hopeless anguish hits me.
I need to scream, or cry. I need to let the acute agony and shock out, but I don’t know how.
I start to pace while shoving my hands into my hair.
Keep moving.
“Myocarditis,” I whisper as I start to recite facts. “Inflammatory disease… ”
I grab fistfuls of my hair as a scream builds in my throat, but no sound comes out, only a gasp of air.
“Process it,” I whimper. “Understand what has happened.”
Birth and death is the natural order of life.
Death.
Dead.
Mom’s dead.
My mother is dead.
“Oh God.” I start to gasp for air as my stomach drops, leaving my heart to free-fall until it shatters at my feet.
I need Willow. Evie said she’s with Marcus. She must be at the guys’ house. If she isn’t then maybe one of the guys can call Marcus and ask him to bring her home for me.
I run from the apartment as I dial her number again, praying she’ll answer. I keep reaching her voicemail, and I only stop trying when I reach the house.