Edge of Darkness

By: CNJ

PG-13

8: September 2023

Mary Anne:

It's happened always whenever I faced down the unpleasant, the painful and lived through the worst storms of grief and loss as I imagine it happens for everyone who's experience loss...the raw edges of pain slowly fade like phantoms chased away by a light shining on it and things that seemed insurmountable become manageable.

The aching gap slowly becomes lined with memories and the survivors pull together and shift to fill the gap, lining any cracks with beautiful, sweet memories of the lost loved one, the small idiosyncrasies that made the person special and unique.

On the first morning that school started again, I lay there thinking about how Owen used to love to take old bars of soap, melt them in hot water, then mash a bunch of them in different shapes. It was a cute, corny memory that touched me and made me smile as I got up to get ready for work and help my girls get ready for school. Once again my family and I were back in full swing of work and school.

It was mid-September before I was in Ms. Zerra's office. It's hard to believe that it's been seven months since my beloved husband, Owen died in that plane crash.

Between teaching my third and fifth period ninth-grade history classes, I took some papers down to Alexa Zerra's office to be filed and to check my e-mail and snail mail. Alexa, our principal, has been great. She knows about the plane crash Owen and I were in.

"Mary Anne...how are you?" Alexa smiled up at me.

"All right..." I told her, checking my e-mail. Nothing really new.

"You seem to be getting better. You look better...the bloating is gone from your face. How are Tamara and Alma doing?"

"Better." I leaned on the cabinet. Alexa was typing an e-mail as she talked. Tamara's in fifth grade now and will be ten in November. Alma and Zara started kindergarten this year. "Alma's appetite is normal again."

"That's good to hear."

"I think your husband is in a better place," Greta, the secretary put in.

I shook my head and shrugged. I felt like telling her that just because someone dies doesn't automatically mean they're better off. How can they be either better or worse off; they're dead. And the survivors are left with pain and a broken heart. I didn't, however and just bit my lip, figuring she meant well.

I guess being dead is kind of...you can't feel pain, but you can't feel pleasure. Maybe its almost like being in a deep dreamless sleep. A bit eerie to think about.

Waving at them, I headed back to get ready for the students again. As I headed back to my classroom, I thought about Owen and how much the girls and I miss him.

There's one consolation that's come out of this ordeal...Owen and I had a happy marriage and he was a great dad. Tamara has his facial features. Alma has mine. Both girls have my dark hair and eyes. I'm so lucky to have them; they've been so good throughout this whole ordeal.

I think it was partly the counseling, but what really was a turning point for all of us was having the good cry over the newscast of Hurricane Elmo.

It's hard to believe that in another week I'll be forty. The big four-oh. My first birthday as a widow and as a single mom. I'm so glad I'm able to be there for my girls, especially since I'll be raising them alone now.

My friends have been wonderful through this, especially Stacey. She's pulling through; in the e-mail she sent me last night, she told me that the divorce was settled and she and her daughter, Syrie feel at peace again.

My mind also wandered to Mona Vaughn, then to Abby and Anna Stevenson, who helped my daughters deal with losing their dad. I smiled as I remembered the week we'd spent in New Jersey and Abby telling my girls about the trip she, Anna and their mom had taken to a remote tropical island called Sanibel a year after their dad died.

It's kind of ironic that Abby and Anna, then Mona, then Tamara had all lost their dads at the age of nine.

I sat at my desk in the classroom and organized my lesson plans for the next few days, then took out a notebook and wrote a few short poems.

Tamara:

After school on the twenty-first of September, I ran over to the train and rode into the central city to get a birthday present for Mom. I'd told Mom that I might be late getting home, so she knew where I was. Alma was over at Zara's for the afternoon.

I walked along the shops near Central Park, peering into various stores. Mom's birthday was tomorrow and I hoped I'd find a gift just right for her.

It was in one of the specialty stores that I saw a girl a few years older than me peering at what appeared to be small glass marblelike aquariums. I noticed the colors inside changed when she picked one of them up.

"They're beautiful..." she murmured, peering at it. I picked one up and sure enough as I moved it around, it changed. Like the leaves outside are beginning to change, I thought.

"They change like the seasons," I blurted out.

"Hey, you're right," she said softly. "My mom's birthday's in two days, so I'm gift-hunting."

"Me too," I told her. "My mom's birthday is tomorrow. My sister, my mom's friend, and I are getting her a cake and it's going to be a big one since she's turning forty."

"The big four-oh," the girl nodded. "My mom hit hers four years ago."

"Hey...did you notice?" I pointed. "These little grayish lines stay the same no matter what happens to the sand inside." For some reason, that discovery reassured me.

"Yeah...I notice," The girl peered at it.

We both ended up buying the ornaments and on the way back, I thought of how the grayish lines represented our family and our friends while the sand was like all the changes in life.

We'd been through so much, not just my family, but Stacey and her family too, but we'd weathered the bulk of the turbulence and were strong again. I looked forward to giving this gift to my mom tomorrow.