Edge of Darkness

By: CNJ

PG-13

5: Late March 2023

Mary Anne:

"...so remember, class, pages one ninety and one ninety one," I told my sixth period history class right as the bell rang. The kids shot up and out the door, jabbering.

"How're you feeling, Ms. Spiser?" someone asked. I looked up and saw Lynn Wenthaus lingering by my desk.

"I'm..." should I tell her just better or..."I'm surviving," I told her with a weak smile. "Some days are better than others. Thank you for asking."

"Hang in there," she touched my hand lightly before she left.

I erased the notes I'd written on the board and got ready for my seventh period class. It's true. Some days have been better than others.

Yes, it was good that my girls and I were back into our routine, but we still had a lot to contend with. Alma was still having nightmares and the truth was so was I. And lately, my nightmares seemed to be getting worse.

Some of my appetite had returned, but I still had to take stomach pills to make the food stay down. My ribs are almost healed and in two weeks, I'm going to the doctor to have the bandages removed. The puffiness in my face has mostly shrunk now.

Stacey and I e-mail at least twice a week and call each other about every two weeks. For Syrie and her, it's the same; some days have been better than others.

One more class and it would be the end of the day. The house still felt very odd without Owen and I knew Tam and Alma felt the same way. Home. Just the thought made my stomach tighten painfully.

Fortunately, my next class came pouring in just then, so I could just concentrate on the class and put home and the pain out of my mind for a while. As I went on with the class, bit by bit, putting notes on the board and discussing World War I with my students, I wondered if any of them could truly understand what it was like to be in a plane crash.

I knew a few of them would understand my daughters' loss of their dad, since a few had fathers who'd died. The thought reminded me of Abby, who'd also e-mailed me on a regular basis. She'd also called a few times and once I let her talk to Tam and Alma, since Abby and Anna had lost their dad in a car accident when they were Tamara's age. For that I was grateful. I didn't want my girls to feel alone.

I also thought of Mona, who's been a wonder. She stops by often on the weekends to give me and my girls emotional support. She too lost her dad at a young age like Abby. In her case, her dad had died of cancer.

Sometimes, I get really scared. For the girls. For me.

Right now, I felt as if I'd kind of split into two parts, one who was teaching the class as if nothing awful had happened and a deep inside shadowed part that was still spastic with pain and boiling with an aching, chilling sadness. And often, part of me just numbed over my feelings like a wax covering just to get me through the days.

Once my last class was over and my students flew out the door to go home, I sat at my desk and mechanically took out my grading book and began entering grades from the tests that I'd corrected last night. There it was again, that dull, kind of empty feeling, as if my insides had been scrubbed out. I felt like an android when this happened. It usually wore off by night.

The nights were often scary. One of us would either have a nightmare or one of us would be crying and crying. I'd had so many nights like that where pain would just grab me and squeeze my heart and the tears would gush out and I'd cry and cry so hard until my body hurt and I'd be shaking. It was agony! I knew my girls sometimes felt it too and it shattered my heart all over to see them going through that kind of searing pain.

"Mom..." Tam called from the kitchen once I got home and the baby-sitter had left. "I started dinner...macaroni and cheese all right with you?"

"Yes, thank you, darling," I hung up my jacket and went into the kitchen. I held out my arms and gave both of my girls a hug. "You know I love you both so much."

We stood like that a minute, then Alma sniffled. As we pulled apart, I handed a crying Alma a tissue.

Tam and I set the kitchen table and Alma blew her nose, then pulled milk and apple juice out of the fridge just as the microwave pinged. It sounded oddly far away and I realized I was feeling very numb now.

I took the bowl out, barely feeling the heat and put it on the table. As we sat, I noticed one side of my forefinger was a bit red and tingly and I realized that I must have burned my finger and not realized it. I absently rubbed it with a napkin as we started eating. I remembered that I usually use a potholder to take stuff out of the microwave.

I started to eat, hardly tasting the meal. Tam told me about some things that went on at school that day and I suspected she was feeling a bit numbed out too.

Alma's sadness was out, so she cried on and off as we ate. Several times, Tam or I held her hand or stroked her back. But even though she was crying, she did better than Tam or me when it came to eating. She actually finished her plate.

I got thirdway through before my stomach went tight and I couldn't eat any more. I got up and took a stomach pill, but even with that I couldn't get any more food down. Tam managed to eat half of her meal before she had to stop.

"Mom, what wrong with me?" Tam whispered when we were having tea. Her brown eyes were wide and dark with fear. "I...have days where I c-can't feel anything but a void inside. I sometimes feel like conditioned android and the rest of the world feels unreal."

"I know, Tam," I held her hand. "Nothing's wrong with you. I sometimes feel the same way myself. I just burned my finger taking dinner out of the microwave and hardly felt anything."

Alma was peering at us, her dark eyes filling with fresh tears. We all held hands for a long time.

"We're all having a lot of strange feelings, but we'll make it through this, girls. It won't be the same, but we're going to make it through this awful time. I promise."

As I looked at my dear, dear daughters, I knew I would do everything in my power to keep that promise. My daughters were two of the most precious things in the world to me. I was frightened, numb, sad, and hurt by recent events, but for my daughters' sakes, I would push myself to be strong and go on so they could too.

Stacey:

"Stacey?" Lini's light voice wafted into my office. It was the end of another workday. I'd finished up my work for the day and was just sitting at my computer, thoughts and feelings whirling through my mind. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm not sure," I whispered.

It was good to be back at work, but Syrie and I were still dealing with a lot of pain. I was glad I had this private office, because sometimes tears came unexpectedly and I'd be able to lock the door and cry in private.

My friends and co-workers have been great. Mary Anne and I have been e-mailing each other, giving moral support. Kristy had also been a big help, since she'd been through a divorce.

But none of them had ever lost a kid, so I didn't think they truly understood about Larry's death. Syrie is beginning to understand that her brother is gone forever. We've had many nights where we'd cried ourselves to sleep together. The house felt so empty without Larry and Jon!

"I know it's been hard," Lini said softly. Does she? I thought as I closed down my computer. "Got ahead on solitaire..." she told me.

"H-mm..." I managed a weak smile. Lini's nuts about solitaire. "I never was a whiz at that."

"Yeah...just numbers," Lini smiled softly. "Like in the old days, when they used the term math nerd."

To my surprise and horror, tears welled in my eyes and spilled down my face before I could stop them. "Oh, Stace, I'm so sorry!" She grabbed some tissues. "I'm sorry..."

"It's okay..." I managed to get out before I buried my face into my tissue and wept some. It happens a lot still. Someone could make a joke or some loud noise could startle me and I'd start crying unexpectedly.

"Bad?" Lini put a hand on my shoulder. I nodded, blowing my nose.

"Syrie knows her brother's gone for good..." I cried some more and had to get more tissues.

Pain blew through me like a storm. I knew Mary Anne and her daughters had a different kind of loss, but she was in pain just the same. I could hear it in her voice when I talked to her on the phone. She'd told me that she was having nightmares and crying spells, especially at night.

Once my tears slowed, Lini and I got ready to head home. The house feels really strange since Larry died. I picked up Syrie from the day care and we hugged for a long time, then headed home. We stood close for a long minute before heading into the kitchen to make dinner. As we made a salad, the phone rang. It was Kristy.

"How's it going?" she asked. "How're you feeling?"

"Some days are better than others," I told her.

We talked awhile. Kristy has five kids, two of whom are teenagers and one who is in middle school. Kristy and Claudia are neighbors in Two Skies, Minnesota and both have businesses.

I felt somewhat better after we hung up and Syrie and I sat down to eat. I noticed Syrie looking up at me with huge concerned eyes and put a hand on hers.

"We're going to get through this, love," I whispered and stroked her hair. "Yes, I still feel sad and cry sometimes, just like you do. It's normal and we'll both pull through. I promise." And I'd keep that promise and continue to be strong for my daughter.

Mary Anne:

The emotional pressure was still often there. I went to work and taught with a surface calm, but came home and mechanically graded papers, had dinner with my daughters, and read, sometimes reading to Alma before her bedtime.

But once I was in bed in my own room, the tears would come really hard. I'd often cry myself to sleep and with increasing intensity, the nightmares would come. Occasionally, I'd have several in one night. Often, it was the same earlier ones with new original ones added.

Sometimes I'd be on a high mountain with pieces of the plane around me and I'd hear screaming and I'd hunt around for people to drag out of the wreckage, but by the time I'd reach them they'd die. Other times it was being on the plane about to crash with that horrifying yellow glow and I'd cry for Owen, for anyone, for someone to help us, but everyone around me would be slumped over, dead. I'd scream and scream until I woke up, shaking violently.

Sometimes I'd cry again. Other times, I'd just lie there, shaking convulsively and flip on the lamp. I still was avoiding the yellow bedside lamp. Yellowish light made me so afraid! A lot of things made me so scared and my fears didn't seem to be going away.

"Mary Anne, I hate to break this to you but you look like hell and I'm worried," Maxine Netmouth told me in the teachers' lounge one lunch hour in late March.

"I know," I told her, feeling the numb void inside of me now.

"Are you getting help for you?" Maxine asked, bringing her coffee over to the couch where I was lying with a book. "Are you eating?"

I nodded dully. "I have friends who're helping me through this," I told her.

I took a sip of my tea and as I sipped, I felt an unexpected rush of fear and my hands started to shake. Maxine put an arm around me. I still couldn't stop shaking as I put the cup down and leaned into her. I know I don't look that great. I often wake up with dark circles under my eyes and my hair and eyes are often dull.

"And I'm trying to eat...oh, Maxine, I'm so worried about my girls," I admitted.

"How are you sleeping at night?" she asked.

"Not that well," I confessed. "The nightmares won't go away. They've been getting worse lately and I'm scared."

I closed my eyes and just let her stroke me. My girls had seen the grief counselor at school, who was helping them and I myself was seriously thinking of seeing a psychologist myself. If my nights didn't get better by the end of this month, I'd see one.