Loss (originally posted 07/01/10)
There had been very few women in his life, at least ones that he truly loved. And each, in some way, had died. The passing of Patricia had been the hardest for him because he not only lost her, he'd lost Alice as well. Memories of the night he lost Alice still hung fresh in his mind. Patricia and Alice were walking home from the drugstore, a weekly activity for them. That had been during a time when civil rights were being violently fought for. When being colored meant standing up and demanding equal treatment. With force.
It was late afternoon, they were halfway home, and a riot broke out. The street had been fairly empty, but in a matter of moments people were shouting and waving signs. Alice's hand slipped from her mama's and she was lost in a sea of stamping feet and angry voices. Police soon showed up, beat sticks and riot shields subduing the mob. Thick, gray smoke filled the air. Patricia searched frantically for their little girl. Lungs burned, throat raw from shouting, chaos swarmed all around her. As shouts subsided and arrests were made, Patricia could make out the small shape of Alice huddled on the pavement. A mother always knows when something is wrong. Sobs were coming in waves before she even got to her little girl. Blood was pooling around Alice's head, one of her arms bent unnaturally. Patricia pulled Alice into her arms, voice cracking, she wailed, a bone chilling, grief stricken sound. Her cries raised up above the sirens, to heaven itself, cursing God for taking her only child. Patricia gathered up the limp body of Alice and walked home, eyes empty and heart torn.
Badru wakes some nights, sweat clinging to him. The image of his wife holding their dead daughter in her arms ripping him from sleep. That moment had been so surreal. He didn't even cry until several days later, the morning before the funeral. His memories of that time have mostly hidden themselves. Just moments of Patricia clinging to him, sobbing uncontrollably. People dressed to mourn, awkward hugs, red puffy eyes, tender words. He doesn't even remember the funeral or the eulogy anymore. Or if he's even the one who gave it.
Patricia's soul died that afternoon with their daughter. After the funeral passed, she stayed in black and cried all the time. She no longer allowed Badru in Alice's room. Some nights he would find Patricia there, curled up in the bed clinging to tear stained stuffed animals. He tried his best to help her and continued to love her. But there was nothing left to love.
It was a few weeks later when Patricia took her own life. Losing her and Alice within a month of each other broke Badru. The ten years following their deaths are lost to him.
So for Badru, angels on doorsteps come with a price. In his mind, the price for his were always too great. Delia was no exception. Fate had clipped her wings and now she was as stuck as he. It was only a matter of time before circumstances and being in the wrong time, wrong place ripped her from him. The threads of his heart were already so thin and he wasn't sure he could survive another loss. Especially hers.
It was late afternoon, they were halfway home, and a riot broke out. The street had been fairly empty, but in a matter of moments people were shouting and waving signs. Alice's hand slipped from her mama's and she was lost in a sea of stamping feet and angry voices. Police soon showed up, beat sticks and riot shields subduing the mob. Thick, gray smoke filled the air. Patricia searched frantically for their little girl. Lungs burned, throat raw from shouting, chaos swarmed all around her. As shouts subsided and arrests were made, Patricia could make out the small shape of Alice huddled on the pavement. A mother always knows when something is wrong. Sobs were coming in waves before she even got to her little girl. Blood was pooling around Alice's head, one of her arms bent unnaturally. Patricia pulled Alice into her arms, voice cracking, she wailed, a bone chilling, grief stricken sound. Her cries raised up above the sirens, to heaven itself, cursing God for taking her only child. Patricia gathered up the limp body of Alice and walked home, eyes empty and heart torn.
Badru wakes some nights, sweat clinging to him. The image of his wife holding their dead daughter in her arms ripping him from sleep. That moment had been so surreal. He didn't even cry until several days later, the morning before the funeral. His memories of that time have mostly hidden themselves. Just moments of Patricia clinging to him, sobbing uncontrollably. People dressed to mourn, awkward hugs, red puffy eyes, tender words. He doesn't even remember the funeral or the eulogy anymore. Or if he's even the one who gave it.
Patricia's soul died that afternoon with their daughter. After the funeral passed, she stayed in black and cried all the time. She no longer allowed Badru in Alice's room. Some nights he would find Patricia there, curled up in the bed clinging to tear stained stuffed animals. He tried his best to help her and continued to love her. But there was nothing left to love.
It was a few weeks later when Patricia took her own life. Losing her and Alice within a month of each other broke Badru. The ten years following their deaths are lost to him.
So for Badru, angels on doorsteps come with a price. In his mind, the price for his were always too great. Delia was no exception. Fate had clipped her wings and now she was as stuck as he. It was only a matter of time before circumstances and being in the wrong time, wrong place ripped her from him. The threads of his heart were already so thin and he wasn't sure he could survive another loss. Especially hers.