Not This Life

     “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” Leila bawled into the empty room.  A chill shot down her spine and she fell to the living room floor as grief washed over her like a cold, heavy wave in the Pacific Ocean. It was a familiar sensation, one which she was actually starting to embrace.  And although she despised every single moment of it, the tears continued to flow without restraint.

    Between sobs, Leila thought about how she used to be a successful business woman, devoted wife, loving mother, and confident competitor; but nowadays, it seemed as though lamenting was all she could find the strength to do.  Her once passionate self was now listless and unmotivated.  The enthusiasm for hobbies and talents she so dearly loved, were now only fleeting memories of a lifetime which seemed so long ago.  She cried out, begging for things to be different, but knowing deep down there was not a damn thing she could do.

    Leila didn’t know how long she spent, yet again, curled up in the fetal position, but her swollen eyes and pounding head suggested it was longer than she would have liked.  She took a deep breath and tried to find some sort of self-control as she knew her beloved husband and teenage son were going to be home soon.

      Oh, the guilt Leila felt—the anger, the sorrow, and above all--the loss. She hated how it affected her life so intensely; her world would never be the same.   Deep down she still wanted to be a good mother and loving wife, but she couldn’t find it within herself to care any longer.  She scared herself with thoughts of wanting to end her life, but causing further pain to her very own family kept her hanging on by a bare thread.

Speaking of her family.. she heard the key in the lock, which meant they were home. On most days she greeted her husband and son with a smile; yet, nowadays it was all she could do to peel herself off the floor.  She lifted her head and watched as the people was trying to care about moved slowly toward her. She noticed the pained looks on their faces and she knew deep down that they too wished things were different.

     “Hi Honey, how are you doing today?” her husband asked with honest sincerity. 

     “How does it look like I’m doing?” Leila replied, trying to hide the anger in her voice. She knew none of this was her husband’s fault, but she couldn’t help wanting to blame him for not feeling the intense emotions of grief like she was.  She hated to admit that she secretly wished everyone she knew would experience some tragedy in their lives so they would understand why she was behaving this way.

     When she finally regained a tiny bit of composure and sat up to further concentrate on her family, Leila was yet again flooded with memories.  It seemed like the pattern was always the same: An intense reaction to the bitter, hard fact that her mother was dead--gone forever from her life--followed by an unstoppable recollection of the events leading to such an undesirable ending. Every single time these thoughts crossed her mind, she automatically grasped for breath, as her hands found their way to her heart. 

Leila’s heart… oh yes, that strong muscle of life, pumping freshly oxygenated blood through every inch of her sad body. The heart—modern symbol of ooey, gooey, sappy love, was now just a cavernous, cold black hole.