"There's always a story. It's all stories, really. The sun coming up every day is a story. Everything's got a story in it. Change the story, change the world."
― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

Dawn

Wake up, Mommy.

"Hey, peanut. What time is it?"

Time for the Rising Sun! Let's watch. Come on Mommy.

"Okay, little man how many times must I tell you it is the sunrise?"

Come on Mommy! Come! We have to hurry. Hurry, Mommy!

I would get up. Not really wanting to leave the dream state that I was in. My husband Mike always slept undisturbed it seemed, but he opened one eye to peer at me. The look that he was happy it was my turn to watch the Rising Sun. My turn.

He closed that one eye after I let out a breath and inhaled. His other eye buried into the pillow along with most of his face.

Mike. His scent. The beautiful laugh lines on his face the curve of his lips. His jaw and the size of his chin. The morning stubble that stood sparse like the birth of a plant that has just taken root, ready to grow because the sun shone just so to induce it from its slumber or the Gardner failed to rake, or the man has yet to-shave. Mike slept on. I loved to bite him there. He loved for me to bite him-there and there and there...

Mommy come. Come, Mommy.

Off the bedroom was our balcony. Large enough for a small bistro table and two chairs. Italy. I remembered that time we spent, Mike and I lounging taking in the detail of the architecture there. Mike's potential was unleashed...There was no stopping him. He was the man. My man.

So many thoughts. Memories blending into glimpses of moments where I could almost feel, taste, smell, see, hear. I yearn for him still. The dawn is coming.

I couldn't sleep anyway. I had to get up. I had to, or I would lose sight of the world and how it awakens with the brightest hues of orange and red as he still lies in my bed.

I sometimes wondered then and now if those fluffy mist of air with burst of heat is actually the fog above the trees or were they shallow low lying clouds waiting for the rising sun to break them apart?

They way he would splay his arms out to express just how big, just how Gigantic, just how...

If it was fog or clouds were they only there to prevent the Sunrise or to showcase the event like the parting of my window curtains?

A back drop with no real meaning until life touches you in such a way you notice the smallest things, trivial at best. Most times the clouds would give way, the fog would creep back or tried to hide on the other side of the sky that was still dark, still bleak. Dawn broke.

My head was literally in the clouds it seems because for a moment I didn't recognize the voice behind me, the heat from his breath that caressed my neck. The warmth of his embrace from behind caused me to remember I should have grabbed my white terry cloth robe from the other side of the bed where it lay draped over an armchair.

His body close. He wanted to connect with me. I felt his sincere desire to bond with me, and I couldn't help but to want to-with him. His eyes were so blue that when he said he was sorry, genuine tears spilled when my eyes were dry from crying until he spoke as if we had a shared pain or a pain he could imagine and it was imminent.

"No one should experience the death of a child. No one. If at some point we found ourselves walking in the same shoes at least we know we aren't alone in the pain of it all. I want to believe that is the consolation."

Words spoke to me in the middle of the night when I needed them the most.

The collective, we, parent to parent. I knew then he must be a man with a child that he loved just as dearly as I had loved my own.

"Come back to bed, Michonne." He whispered.

"I can't. I am going to miss the rising sun."

"Is this going to be part of our routine? I am still not sleeping without the Ambien too."

"If you keep talking to me during this time, I will add it to the list." I threatened.

"What are you thinking about? For the record, I am not talking to you, I am inquiring of you. Share with me. Please."

In this state of mind, I had no words to assist me in sharing what I was thinking or what I was feeling. It's an eery feeling to be a part of all this. Every particle every tiny thing and yet I sometimes, often felt an acute loneliness where a sense of intense grief would drive me into isolation at any moment, but it was pushed away. The more desirable option was standing close with his chin resting on my shoulder. His beard was growing in nicely and loved the way it felt against my skin.

This use to be uncomfortable. This use to hurt. Talking about it helped more than I thought I could allow it too.

He didn't feign sympathy. It was genuine. The compassion that came with a desire to help while Empathy is the preferred stance of most. For most. Even family preferred it that way too.

This type of experience had to have touched one, personally for it to begin to have relevance, even empathy became an insult. Who would desire to walk in my Jimmy Choo's when the very sentence starts out with I...I. AM. NOT. YOU.

You don't want to see what I saw when making funeral arrangements, hear how I wailed, smell my son's shirts that are still in his hamper, How I long to feel his hugs and kisses, taste his ice cream because he insists his flavor is better than chocolate.

I am so sorry to see you like-

I am so sorry to hear that-

I am so sorry this-

I am so sorry that-

My condolences...

Condolences were bullshit. Most of it all started in first-person, and it came with no desire to help. The So, So, So! I understand that no one knew how to help and they hid behind Empathy because the word wasn't designed to help but help oneself if they ever wore the same shoes they could reference you-the bereft.

It was only then I realized I still had him. He was still with me watching, eagerly leading me in the mornings whether I was receptive or not. The mornings when I, he, we were at the Home on the river.

It began to show its brilliant rays... These were the things that I remembered. These were my treasures I couldn't just randomly share for these were my pearls I refused to cast about aimlessly. I clutched them, I cradled them and kept the buried deep inside. Then I met Rick. For the price of a pearl in my string of many I placed in his open rough hands, I shared or began to share...The rising sun

A/N:

It was presented to me that possibly many readers of this story may be unaware of the effects of Ambien also known as Zolpidem. It is a hypnotic and is hard to get a prescription for it because it can cause you to do the craziest things when you should have your butt in bed sleeping. Most things I show have relevance with the random way it is displayed.

Next Chapter after I make sure this shows clarity or as much as possible.