It was fall in New England, and although the world was ablaze with seasonal colors as the trees turned, my world was void of all color. The days were getting shorter, and as the dark of night slipped in, I felt panic, that panic of not wanting to dream only to awaken to a reality I wanted to dismiss. My nights, like my days, were too long, too dark. With the death of my daughter six weeks earlier, my world had become coated in Vaseline—nothing would ever be clear again. I was so overwhelmed with my own grief I couldn’t deal with my husband’s grief or with my friends and co-workers when they’d generously call or drop by to see if I needed anything. I felt I had to assuage their grief, and that took too much energy. I felt the constant need to be alone, to hide, to retreat into my reflections. At night I sought solace in my car, driving aimlessly, protected by my self-imposed isolation. Tonight, the rain was beating down, making the already smeared outer world even less distinct. As had become usual in these nightly sojourns, I had no set direction and welcomed the numbness in my body as a fellow passenger. But tonight my bladder was suddenly pulling me back to some semblance of the physical world, rudely intruding on my space. It was odd to feel my body, as it had become like a lifeless appendage since Callie’s death.
Momentarily, my bladder’s interruption retreated as my mind once more became consumed with questions about where she was. The priest’s picture of children in heaven brought no solace. The doctors’ efforts to console me with the fact she was no longer in pain did anything but. She had been just sixteen months old. She couldn’t take care of herself. Was she safe? Had she gone into “the light?” Who was there to hug her? I agonized over whether I had dressed her for her passage in warm enough clothes and whether the locket I had placed around her neck—enclosing pictures of me and her dad—would keep us fresh in her memory. I questioned if I had sent her off with good company—the handmade Raggedy Ann she had loved so much. In my torment I asked what had I done wrong that I couldn’t love her enough to make her healthy, to make her stay, to fix this.
The Vaseline world, the driving rain, my own torrent of tears, my bladder tugging for my attention—everything I wanted to ignore so I could enjoy my new companion Numbness suddenly parted like fog as a light intruded. The light stopped me like the crossing guard at the school where I taught. I pulled over and stared at a long, low building with a small globe-shaped entrance light above the door. Inexplicably, the light had penetrated my world and summoned me to stop, and so I had. Taking in my surroundings, I realized I was lost. But even this realization didn’t penetrate deeply. I didn’t care that I was physically lost; the feeling of disconnect mirrored my emotions. All that mattered at this moment was the light. I wasn’t even sure if the building was occupied; I just felt commanded by the light to enter.
There was a lot of activity inside, with people milling about in what seemed like a lobby. They didn’t register individually in my brain and no one noticed me. The bright lights of the foyer accosted me. I had been sheathed in darkness these days past, talking mostly to Death, shaking my fist at God, wondering what life could possibly hold without Callie’s presence and the smiles her innocence and delight with the world around her always brought out in me and others.
I looked for a bathroom in which to hide from the lights, the congregation of people, and to take care of my bladder. A few minutes later, when I emerged from the bathroom, I was grateful to find the foyer empty. I was feeling increasingly disoriented, so I couldn’t find the door to escape back out into the comfort of the dark night. The panic was creeping in again; I had to hide. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a turquoise blur. My legs suddenly felt shaky, probably a result of not eating anything since I couldn’t remember when. I looked for a chair, but the only one I could see was just inside the doorway of the next room—where the turquoise blur moved.