My anger acted throughout my fists. Unstoppable, the punches had gotten harder and harder.
What Remains After
It has been three months. Three never-ending agonising months, yet it seems like it has been much longer. The world was against me that night; the raging storms, the engulfing darkness, the fierce winds. It happened then and there. I lost my grip, it was one quick spin and I lost control of the car. And before I knew it, he slipped through my hands. His presence, his existence vanished into the mists of the nightmare; the unfortunate reality. The young man meant more to me than life itself. Jonathan, my precious son. My only son. I let him leave this world.
They think I need to relax and accept what has happened. I think they’re insane. Mary, my beloved wife and her brother Jason are the closest people to me. They sit by my study room, waiting, expecting me to stand up and walk out the door to greet life again, to live life again. I wish it were possible. I wish I was strong and brave enough to swallow my guilt and find the light. But I can not. It is as simple as that.
Sometimes Mary places her arms around me, as if trying to keep my soul and spirit sealed inside of me so it as can remain as a part of me. She speaks softly, slowly. Then sooner or later she reveals all her thoughts, through her words, and her emotions, through her tears. I know she needs me, my understanding and support. And I myself want it more than ever to give her what she deserves. I want to be able to confess my guilt, self-hatred and worries. I want us to recover from our loss, together. For our sake, I want us to reconnect. But it is easier said than done.
At times I see Mary or Jason staring blankly out the window into the grey gloomy clouds of the world, a world which I am no longer able to comprehend. I see how they suffer too. Yet I do not reach out to them, I stay withdrawn and bitter. The warmth and hope inside of me has disappeared. For it shouldn’t be me here, breathing and seeing and hearing. It should be my son. However, I have realised recently, the love and care we use to share was what got us through our troubles. It is what comforted us from the knowledge of the possibilities of future troubles.
The little faith that I had before for improvements is gone now. The actions I have performed, the words that I have spoken, and the choices I have made. None of them can be undone. I could not find a way to solve what had come out of the tragedy. The overpowering pain is inescapable. I am in an isolating place of my own now. If I could, I would look for the pathway that can lead me back to the ones I love. Instead, I am stuck here with my foolish dreams. The last time Mary placed her arms around me, it felt different. It felt as if she was searching for the man she married. But he is gone, and he took the strength, courage and kindness with him.
A few days ago, the rage and hatred within me released itself, the dreadful animosity which I never was aware of. I got sick of Jason’s complaints. As if I did not know how terrible the situation was. As if I did not know how absent-minded I appeared. As if I did not know how useless I had become. My anger acted throughout my fists. Unstoppable, the punches had gotten harder and harder. I lost all control, until I saw the familiar figure in the corner of my eye. She will never know how sorry I am. I fell to the floor as she walked over to me and kneeled down. Her innocent face, with her pleading eyes, stared into mine. She was longing for some reasonable answers. She placed her soft fingers on my harsh hands. Her lips parted and she managed to whisper out, ‘…he would never have wanted his father to turn out like this.’ The memories came rushing back, vivid and sharp. My insecurities ripped me apart inside and the aching deepened.
Now here I am. With no one by my side, merely the torturing silence. All hopes of mine have diminished. The mind of the man I am now is resentful. My memories and thoughts all clash with each other. No sign of peace if present. My relationships with my loved ones are left damaged, while I am a stranger to my own self. Perhaps if I was able to communicate with them, if I had admitted to them the disturbed and remorseful emotions that played within me, maybe I would be better of now? Perhaps we all would have been better off. If only the distance between us was smaller. If only I reached out to them when they encouraged me to. I wonder and I wonder, as I choke on my intense sense of sorrow and regrets, knowing I will never find an answer.