After my husband’s death, I moved in with my mother-in-law for the sake of my daughter. I thought we could support each other in our grief—until I overheard her whisper to my child, “I’ll take you from her.” That was the moment I knew I had to fight. I stood at the edge of the grave with my daughter in my arms, her tiny hands fisted in the collar of my coat.
The wind swept through the cemetery, pulling at my clothes, but I barely felt it. My whole body was numb. Somewhere behind me, the priest was speaking, but his voice sounded like it came from the bottom of a well.
The coffin had already been lowered into the ground. I stared at it, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to lie down there beside it. Beside him.
Eric. He was gone. The man I had built my life with, laughed with, argued with, cried with, raised a daughter with.
The man I loved more than anyone else in the world. And now the world kept spinning without him, as if he hadn’t just taken my heart with him into that hole in the ground. But I couldn’t fall apart.
I couldn’t lie down. I had to remain upright, arms strong, body steady — for the little girl clinging to me, who had just lost her father. Eric had died in a car accident.
A stranger, someone careless and impatient, had run a red light and destroyed our world. In one senseless second, the life we had known was gone. I still saw the flashing lights when I closed my eyes, still heard the scream that had left my body when the hospital called.
Lila stirred against me. Her voice, small and trembling, cut through the haze. “Mommy… why are they putting Daddy in the ground?
He won’t be able to breathe.”
My throat clenched. I swallowed hard and kissed her soft, warm head. “He’s not hurting anymore, sweetheart.
He’s just… resting.”
“But it’s dark down there. He’ll be cold,” she whimpered. “Please don’t let them do this to him.”
I held her tighter, as if my arms could shield her from what was happening.
But I couldn’t shield her from this. I couldn’t protect her from death. And I couldn’t protect myself from the crushing knowledge that we’d never be the same again.
When it was over, we drove back in silence. Sylvia, Eric’s mother, sat in the passenger seat, and Lila, worn out from crying, had finally fallen asleep in the back. I carried her into the house Eric and I had made our home.
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