After experiencing a life-altering tragedy, Emersyn feels as if her world has collapsed. Attempting to accept her new reality, Emersyn wonders how she can possibly keep going when it feels like her life ended months ago. Until she meets Haven, and s...
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Change lingers in the air. I suppose this has something to do with the new year looming overhead, its presence drawing nearer with each passing day. Or maybe my eyes have been opened once more, no longer struggling to see through pitch blackness. Nowadays, sunrays lighten my skies and hope courses through my veins. Hope for a new day. Hope for the new year. Hope for the future.
Hope that one day, Haven will return.
She still has not awakened. The doctors tell us not to stress. They say that postoperative comas are common after a brain surgery. That they can last weeks to months, but there is still a chance. A sliver of hope that Haven is not gone, just lost.
I cling to that hope.
I spend a lot of time with Tyler. He invites me to hang out, and I never say no. When we are together, a heavy coat of silence tends to span between us. It is not uncomfortable, rather the opposite. I think we're both thinking of her, both missing her, both seeking her presence in one another. He misses her. As do I. Sometimes we break the silence and share memories, stories, bring her to life through our words. Sometimes we cry. Our tears are how we cope with the fear, allowing it to creep out into reality.
Mrs. Hartley invites me over often. She bakes. A lot. I see bits of my mother in her, those first few months we moved to town after Dad's passing. She baked to occupy her time, to keep her mind off of Dad. I suppose Mrs. Hartley does the same. She does not want to fret over her daughter, so she keeps her hands busy. I think she likes having me around for the same reason Tyler does, as I remind them of her. I am the next best thing. I don't mind. Sometimes, I feel the same about Mr. Hartley. I like to be around him, even when he is simply reading in his living room and I just happen to be nearby. His presence makes me think of what could have been, what my life would have been like if. The if no longer makes me so desolate. It is somewhat comforting, to experience the what if and no longer torment myself over what has been lost.
Mrs. Hartley manages to sneak me into Haven's room every now and then when she goes to visit her daughter. First witnessing Haven in her current state, the fear had crept back in. Her golden halo of hair was dim and knotty, stuck to the pillow her head has been glued to. Her skin was pale and limbs stiff. Her eyes had been closed, expression relaxed like she was merely napping. Like she could wake up at any minute. But she hasn't, and the sight of her made my heart drop to my stomach and made me feel ill. Until I looked closer, and signs of life stared back at me. A rosiness was still hidden within her cheeks. Behind her eyelids was movement, her gaze roaming in her slumber. And these signs of life gave me hope, they made me remember that Haven is not yet gone, she is still here, she could still come back, that she promised she would not leave me.
And though I still hope she will come back to me, I have started looking for her elsewhere. Every sunray against my cheek is Haven's gentle touch. Every moonbeam is her smile. And every twinkling star is her waving from beyond, just like Dad.
