Our Angel
Father POV:
I'm a police officer. I see crime and death everyday I'm on the job. I should know what to expect. I mean, I'm the one who delivers news to parents of kids we found only minutes too late. It's always easier when it's someone else, easier to separate your emotions for the job. But no one knows how to react when you're the parent getting a knock on the door at 4am. No one knows how to react when they're own partner is the one relaying the heart-breaking news. I know I didn't, and so I didn't. There was no reaction as I held onto my wife, Olivia, and confirmed the girl, my little girl; on the table was my daughter. There was no reaction as they told us what she'd been doing, and who'd she'd been with at the time of the accident. I didn't get mad, or even sad. I was numb, like my mind knew what was happening but just couldn't register it completely. Through everything, I never reacted. Even at her funeral, I didn't cry but instead just held onto my family and comforted them. I didn't need comforting though, I was fine, or so I told myself. It's funny, I've read about PTSD, and I've learned it doesn't only occur in people after war but it can occur after any traumatic situation. But I always thought, what could be so traumatic, other than war, which could make someone have it? Now I know. I know my family is not the first to lose a loved one, not by a long shot. But we have lost one, nonetheless. And I just don't know how we'll recover. Liv hasn't stopped crying, and my youngest daughter, Maddie, well, she won't talk, she barely moves. And I know I'm being selfish, but I can't stand the silence, and the emptiness that lives in that house, and so I leave. Without a word, I get in my car and drive. I keep telling myself, I won't break, and that I have to be strong for Maddie and Olivia still but one drink can't hurt, can it? Before I know it, I stop at a small bar off the highway. I walk right in; sit down at the third to last stool and order bourbon, neat, without missing a beat, like I was just here yesterday. The thing is I've been sober for the last 18 months.
Mother POV:
They give you reading and tips on how it is when you're expecting. They even give you guides on how to raise your child. What they don't give you, or prepare you for, is how to deal with losing your child. How do you go on, knowing you failed? Yeah, you have another child to still live for but what if I fail with her to? I can't help but think I will let her down, the same way I let Maggie down. And so I lie here, in my bed, and do nothing. I don't move, I don't eat, drink, or sleep. I can barely breathe half the time. But that would probably be best; if I stopped breathing I mean. I can't do harm to my remaining child from the grave. That's what my head tells me, every day. But my heart, well my heart tells me to fight; fight to live again, not just for myself but for Fitz and Maddie. They need me to be strong for them. I see how broken they are, I feel how broken they are because I'm just as damaged. Fitz hasn't even reacted to Maggie's death. He hasn't shed one tear, and most would say that's him being strong but I know it's the opposite. He shuts down and when he does, it's only a matter of time before he explodes. And Maddie, my little princess, with a smile that could light up the world, she's not the same. And I can't let her disappear. But how do I stop myself from doing so first?
Sister POV:
I'm angry, all the time now. I hate her, so much! How could she leave me? Why would she leave me? She was supposed to always be here. She promised! And I hate myself, for hating her. And so, there's all this hate inside of me and I don't know how to stop it. I don't know how to be happy again. My family is broken. My mom, who's always been the optimist, won't even get out of bed anymore. And Dad, who's supposed to be our rock, well I don't even know where he goes anymore but he's never home. He doesn't ask how my day is, or how school's going or anything. But I think that's because he already knows the answer. Some days, I feel as though it's not real, like she'll burst in my room at any time demanding to know where her favorite sweater is or her make-up. But she doesn't. Instead I get silence, all the time. There are three of us still living in this house but it feels so empty. I think it's because we aren't really living anymore. I heard that's how it is, sometime, when you lose someone. What people don't get is that we didn't just loose "someone," we lost our angel. She was always the problem solver, you know? Mom and Dad called her the Fixer. And she lived up to the name, believe me. Not me, though; I called her our angel because that's exactly what she was. She would swoop, it seemed, and always make things better, easier. Now things are hard, and I can't fix it. I can't be her, no matter how hard I try. So, I try to move on and live but it hurts. It's like my body is here, but I feel so hollow. It's like she took a part of me. I don't work the same, like everything is wrong now, so wrong. I keep saying it will get better with time, easier even. But I feel like I'm never going to be happy again. And every day, it just gets worse and worse. I don't want to miss her anymore, but no matter how hard I try, the pain never dulls, instead only intensifies. I will never be okay, and it will never get easier because now I know; I lost my best friend.