AN. I'm not dead. and I haven't given up on my other fics. I had some very rough things going on in my life and I am finally feeling something like myself again.
The Long Kiss Goodnight
There are times when I wake up with a pounding in my chest so loud that it echoes. Normally, I would simply take a deep breath, roll over, and go back to sleep, but things have changed. I can't hold back the anxiety anymore. Years of practice at holding it all in aren't enough. Fear grips me and drags me deeper into the darkened abyss inside of myself. These are the times that I remember he's gone.
Loss is nothing new to me. My parents died before I had a chance to know them. Then, Sirius died only after raising my hopes for a brighter, happier future. Dumbledore's death only sealed the bitterness in my heart. Yet none of these passings prepared me for his. Before, everyone that I had lost had fallen in the name of war. To me, death was the horrible result of Voldemort's twisted rise. People didn't simply die; they were murdered. The idea of a natural death was entirely foreign. It was as if heart attack and cancer were only rumors. Such a strange thought, but it was fitting when one looked back on my life. Despite all of the experience I had with death, I was completely unprepared for him to die that day.
I remember how sunny it was that morning. Shards of light seeped through the curtains prompting me to open my eyes. As usual, I rolled over in bed only to find his scent lingering on the his long abandoned pillow. Severus didn't care to lie abed the way I did. In his mind, there were more important things to do in a day. Though he had retired long ago, he hadn't lost any of his passion for his work. He was, if anything, more involved with his work. I understood this about him, and had reconciled with lonely mornings. In fact, there were days that I wouldn't see him until near lunch.
That afternoon, I made sandwiches and cut up some fruit. I simply went on as usual. Nothing extraordinary had happened since I had left the aurors nearly two years before. My life had become quite dedicated to the more mundane aspects of running our household. I was, as Severus would jokingly put it, a good housewife. I kept our lives in order with flair. That didn't mean there weren't days when I let the dishes pile up in the name of a good broom ride, or that Severus didn't eat take out when I went to see a Quidditch game. It meant that I had learned to appreciate the little things and take pride in them. I found fulfillment in making a nice supper for the two of us and in evenings spent on the sofa reading. Even making lunch was just another part of the life I had grown to love. As I worked that day, I never gave pause Severus absence.
Noon turned to half passed with the fare on the table untouched. I knew that Severus did not like to be disturbed in his lab, but he had been falling asleep at his desk more often these days. At sixty-eight, he was beginning to show the signs of slowing down. I muttered a curse under my breath and started down the stairwell.
It looked as if he were sleeping. His long graying hair was sprawled out on the back of his chair and his spectacles still sat perched on his nose. The book on his lap had been turned over carelessly, and that was when the first inkling that something was wrong hit me. From there, the day is a blur. I do remember calling out his name again and again. Then came the tears.
Months passed after his death and I was still crying. Stupid things like eating alone or picking up a new book would send me into hysterics. Friends thought I had lost my mind. Of course, they were right. Madness had finally started in at the edges. In the years following Voldemort's death, I had not known this kind of sorrow. I had been lulled into a sense of security, and then thrust out of it. Around me, I saw nothing but death and darkness. Panic surrounded me until finally I began to get my bearings. It was over a year after his death that I learned not to cry when I passed the door to his lab. In all, I have recovered as much as I ever will. Only nights like this remind me of what true sorrow is.
I am alone in this world. The thought is like a never healing wound, but in it, I find something else. In this fear, I find hope. I have loved Severus Snape for over fifty years. I believe that all of my struggles have led to this. Voldemort taught me perseverance. If I could stand up to the most powerful dark wizard the world has known, what is death? Someday, this fear will end. I will die and I will begin a new journey into the unknown. This torture is like a kiss, reminding me something is waiting for me.