Page 42 - The Houseguest

Karina and I had never actually spoken at length about what comes after death because we were too busy living what came before it. That didn’t affect my decision on cremation because I knew what she would have wanted, to become one with the ocean in whatever means possible. I don’t know how long I sat there in the car with “them,” but what did it matter? I had nowhere to be. I hadn’t been to the office or even answered emails, texts or phone calls. An undetermined “leave of absence” was the official term they’d dubbed my departure. But it was still my firm and I still drew an automatically deposited check as far as I knew.
Carefully cradling the urns, I turned to place my left foot onto the driveway, twisting to lift myself out of the vehicle. Suddenly both legs began to tremble uncontrollably as I tried to stand. My knee buckled as I instinctively threw my arms out in front of me to break my fall, hurling the containers to the ground. The angle of my descent forced my head to hit the jagged edge of a large concrete paver. Lying motionless among the weeds, dirt and gravel, I peered through what I assumed was blood filling my eyes. The pain in my head was excruciating, but oddly a welcome diversion from the constant ache I felt inside. Maybe this would be it. Maybe my pain was finally over. Drifting off into a magnificent oblivion, my anguish began to subside, and I felt a smile forming for the first time in months. I was overcome with a sense that my nightmare had finally come to an end, knowing no one would be coming to this house. Though Karina had been polite, I’d made it abundantly clear to everyone that every minute of our visits to this place were intended to be spent together as a family, not to attend
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life