Until The Last Tear Falls
By: Tammi Brownlee
Tags: Grief, Death, Short Story, Fiction, Life

Until The Last Tear Falls

Fiction

Photo by Aliyah Jamous on Unsplash

I sat on the porch, waiting for the sun to come up. Despair crept it’s ugly head in my mind again as I sat in his chair. A single tear formed in my eye, for a few moments everything was blurry before it fell slowly down my cheek.

It had been three weeks since I had seen his face or kissed his lips. Oh, how I longed to feel his touch, caressing my back. His dark hair tickling my cheek as he would rest his head on my shoulder. The smell of his cologne still lingered in the house. Perhaps that is why I enjoy sitting outside.

My heart swells when I think of him, his not so funny jokes, his knack for making dinner and his pension for actively listening, even when I thought he was asleep. I miss the days of having someone to talk to, someone who loved me in every way a person could love someone.

No one comes around anymore, no stops by to say hi, except the mailman when he delivers the mail. They are afraid of me, afraid of my crying, afraid of seeing me the way I am. Black and gray. That’s what I am, the color left my body the day the I heard his call on the scanner and later when the fire chief knocked on my door.

I knew he was coming. I heard it on the scanner, one of the necessary items when you are married to a firefighter. Not a day went by where the scanner wasn’t telling us our neighbor’s business. I heard the call go out before he did, he was taking a nap on that lazy Sunday afternoon.

His head turned to face me, we both knew he would be going out to fight this kitchen fire four blocks over. He kissed me gently on my lips as he usually did. I said “I love you.”, he replied “I love you more.” before heading out the door to help someone else.

I didn’t know I would never see him again. I wish I had stopped him from going. But how could I have done that, fighting fires was his passion. This is what I accepted when I fell in love with him.

My heart fell out of my chest when I heard the mayday call come over the scanner. I recognized the voice, I had always loved hearing him on the radio. Being a lieutenant meant he was always talking on the radio. I heard the tone echoing through the speaker, shaky almost crying voice.

I held my stomach as I listened, yelling into the scanner for him to let me know he was alright. But there was only silence. I never heard his voice again. Only the voices of others trying to get to him.

Standing in my living room, I paused. The crying hadn’t started yet. The belief that he would be alright tried to coax my mind to calm down. I don’t remember how long I stood there, staring at the scanner, trying to stay still so I wouldn’t miss his voice.

The phone rang, startling me from my thoughts. My friend was calling but I couldn’t muster up the courage to answer. I wandered around the house, trying to find something to keep occupied. Then I heard the knock.

It had only been an hour since I had heard his voice on the scanner. As I walked into the living room, I saw the red car out front. The Chief was here. Slowly I opened the door, wanting so much for it to be him on the other side, but it wasn’t. He didn’t even have to say anything to me. He just looked at me with those sad eyes. I knew instantly my worst fear had happened.

The first few days were a blur. People coming and going, flowers being sent, cards arrived in the mail like it was Christmas. I shut my phone off numerous times to avoid the phone calls. I sat there numbly while everyone stood around me, hugging me, telling me how sorry they were.

I had lost a piece of myself that day. The one that lets me shine like the sun. Now the sun doesn’t even brighten my eyes. It just sits there tempting me to smile. But I can’t. The muscles in my face won’t move except to cry.

Little by little, people stopped coming to visit. They stopped asking how I was doing. Life simply went on without him. But I was still finding it hard. How do you live without your best friend? The darkness engulfs like a plague. There is no cure, no vaccine, you just have to suffer with it until it is gone. Whenever that may be.

The scanner hasn’t been turned on since that day. It collects dust in the corner. His truck sits parked in his spot, untouched since he left. His clothes are still in the hamper, I can’t bring myself to wash his smell away. I left his toothbrush in the holder, his sneakers in the living room.

The bed hasn’t been slept in since that morning. The couch is my friend. Someday I will be ready to clean everything up, until then I will sit here in his chair watching the sun come, hoping beyond hope that he will miraculously appear in front of me. I will be here until the last tear falls.