Lent Week 3: Going Through the Unimaginable - Grief Digs in its Heels

Hey everyone! This blog belongs to the “Lent Series” that’ll run until Easter. In this series of fictional short stories, I’ll be revisiting characters from the Advent series (which you can find HERE) who are folks from various walks of life—from college grads to business executives to those in recovery. These stories will engage with how these characters can be good friends and neighbors to people in their lives who are suffering. What happens when friends are turned into suffering people? Enjoy!

Going Through the Unimaginable: Grief Digs in its Heels

Nina was about to leave the Center for a job interview. The mega-store a few blocks down was hiring cashiers, and it seemed like the perfect thing for her: the store was right on the bus line, it had flexible hours, and best of all, she’d heard that they allowed cashiers to sit down now, which would be perfect for her bad hip. She’d dressed in the one nice outfit she had, brushed her thin hair, and decided makeup would only accentuate her wrinkles.

She was terrified for multiple reasons. Outside the Center, any number of bad things could happen. The store could turn her away. Or, even worse, they could hire her, and she’d find a way to mess it up, like she’d messed up everything in her long, hard life. But Irene, the shelter manager, had kept encouraging her, and her case manager had done several practice interviews with her. She was as ready as she could be.

Nina smoothed her pants down and grabbed her cane. She might as well get there early and browse for a bit. She was about to leave, but as she walked through the kitchen, she heard a sound. Someone was crying. Not that long ago, before the shelter and the sessions and the mandatory group work, she might have kept walking. But now, she found herself pushing past the curtain to the community room. On the couch, a young woman had her arms around her knees, her head bowed.

“Candy?” Nina asked. “Everything alright?”

Candy looked up, her eyes red. She was very small and very thin, her cheekbones jutting from her face. She impatiently brushed her bleached hair off her face, a nervous gesture she did regardless of where her hair was. She held her phone out to Nina, eyes welling with tears.

“I just—I got my phone back because I hit thirty days, right? Thirty days here, supervised outings only, and I haven’t used. I swear I haven’t used. So I got my phone back, and my ex had called me like, a million times.” She took in a big, shuddering breath, and before she said it, Nina felt the terrible inevitable start to descend.

“Brayden’s dead,” Candy said, starting to cry again. “He’s my boy. He was at recess—his dad said that the teachers said… he was running around fine, then he was on the ground. I don’t…I don’t understand. Kids fall all the time—” she hiccuped, “the doctors said his brain swelled up and—” she dissolved into great, gulping sobs. “I. Don’t. Understand. He died and I was here. I wasn’t even there!” She cried so hard Nina didn’t know how her small body could handle it.

To her surprise, Nina found herself near tears as well. She understood what it was like to be separated from a child. She hadn’t seen her two girls in a few years, and if one of them, or one of her grandkids, had died while she was trying to piece her life back together in the Center, she didn’t know what she would do. She’d seen a lot of death in her life, but a child? That was something else. And Candy was young. Nina didn’t know how much death the young woman had experienced, either before or during her time on the streets. But the way she cried like her whole body was about to break made Nina’s own body hurt.

Her interview wasn’t for a while. She made her way over to the couch and lowered herself down with a grunt, setting the cane aside. On the far wall, one of the bright posters caught her attention. It was the one with cartoon faces, meant to help guests identify emotions. Nina looked at the one with big tears coming down its face, eyes screwed closed. Sad, she thought. Definitely sad.

Before she could second-guess herself, she reached over and scooped Candy up in her arms. She weighed nothing at all, like a bird. She stiffened, and Nina wondered if she’d try to scratch her way free. Instead, she turned her face into Nina’s shoulder and cried harder.

“Shhhhh, it’s okay,” Nina murmured, stroking Candy’s brittle hair, her other arm wrapped tightly around her. Tears rolled down the old woman’s face, and she rocked back and forth. “I’ve got you.”

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