Hi everyone. Thanks for all your helpful feedback on my writing. As with many of my stories, this one is a really slow burn. I want to develop the characters and their relationship. No worries—sex will be part of that development. But I'm not rushing it.
David walked into Abbott-Northwestern Hospital and sighed. "Ugh, I hate this place," he muttered aloud as he made his way up the staircase and down the hallway to the non-descript meeting room. Over the door was painted in soft tones, "Grief is a journey." He stared at it for a moment when he felt the presence of someone behind him. He turned and a man a bit taller and a bit younger than his 40 years muttered, "Yeah, but the destination is a mother fucker." David chuckled aloud. "You can say that again."
The two men walked into the room set with 10 chairs in a circle and sat down next to one another. A moment later, a middle-aged woman—perhaps 50 or so—with long silver hair, came in and welcomed them. "I'm Jean. I'm a nurse and a grief counselor. I'd like to welcome you to our grief group."
David groaned inside and folded his arms. He was 40 years old and wanted to be anywhere else. But as Jean explained how the eight week group worked, she then invited people to introduce themselves and say why they were there. One older woman of 75 had just buried her husband of 50 years. The next two women also buried their husbands, one from a heart attack, one from cancer. A younger woman spoke—her husband was killed in a drive by shooting.
Then it was David's turn. He was measured and factual, his voice not betraying the overwhelming heartache he felt. "Good evening. My name is David. I'm 40 years old. I live in South Minneapolis with my 10 year old son Evan and my seven year old daughter Lily. My wife, Stephanie, was out for a bike ride a year ago. She was turning onto the Parkway and a truck didn't see her. She was killed instantly. I never got to say goodbye. We met the first day of college. I was 18, she was 17. We were best friends. I've spent the last year trying to keep my life together for my kids whose mom was gone in an instant. But I was out for a run two weeks ago with a friend and we ran past a pawn shop that sold guns. And for the first time in my life, I looked at the gun and I wondered if it would be less painful to just end it all? I didn't of course. I would never do that to my kids. But I realized that I hurt so much without my wife, I needed some help. A buddy of mine is a doc her at the hospital; he told me about this group. So I figured it couldn't be all that bad, right?" He choked out a smile, but all the women in the group were staring at him intensely. It freaked him out.
David was a handsome guy: Just shy of six feet tall, 180 pounds, short curly dark brown hair with flecks of grey on the sides, sharp blue eyes, a muscular swimmers/runners build. He resembled the actor Bill Pulman. He was shy by nature; Stephanie had been the outgoing one. And a support group was the last thing he ever imagined doing in his life. But then again, he never dreamed that he'd bury his 38 year old wife either. Life comes at you fast.
After David spoke, the man he walked in with went next. He was a bit taller than David—maybe 6'2"—and beefy. Not fat. Just husky. He had shaggy dishwater brown hair, green eyes, and a full beard that was well kept. He seemed to be a cross between a hipster and a lumberjack.
"I'm Jake," he said softly. It wasn't the voice David was expecting from such a burly guy. "I turned 33 last week. Susie, my wife—well, she wasn't my wife yet, we were gonna get married before..." he stopped and looked at David as the only other guy in the room. His eyes seemed to say, "throw me a lifeline." David subtly nodded at Jake, who noticed the gesture, nodded with gratitude, and kept going.
"Susie and I were planning on getting married already and then we found out she was pregnant. We were really happy planning for the baby and the wedding. About two months before Scout—that's our daughter, named after my wife's favorite character in her favorite book, To Kill A Mockingbird—was born, she started bleeding..." His voice trailed off and he looked down at his shoes. He took a breath and kept going.
"We went to the doctor and they said it was just a little bit of spotting and not to worry. But Susie kept bleeding and by the next week, she was in a whole lot of pain. So they did a bunch of tests and they found out that she had a really bad cancer in her cervix. They needed to get the baby out so they could treat her. So they induced Susie that night at Scout was born at 34 weeks and she weighed only 3lbs and 9oz. She was so little I could fit her in the palm of my hand. But wow, does she have some lungs!" Everyone in the room laughed, but it was short lived. It was a grief group. Everyone knew what was coming.
"So I had Scout in the NICU and they removed the cancer from Susie and started her on chemo and radiation right away. But the cancer was too advanced. And she died a week later. But I made sure she got to hold Scout. And I have that picture her in my wallet." Jake had tears streaming down his face and he pulled out a handkerchief to blow his nose. The women in the group were all weeping and Jake looked again at David. They felt a mutual bond—strangers— trying to hold each other up in this moment.
The group continued for another 45 minutes and concluded with some practical guidance about how to get some sleep during intense grief. David leaned over and whispered to Jake, "I notice that Jack Daniels is not on this list." Jake chuckled and it was the first time David saw his big smile. David smiled back. It felt good to find someone else who understood in his bones the intensity of grief.
The session finished and everyone began to leave. David and Jake found themselves at the door at the same time. Jake motioned for David to walk through first. "Thanks for spotting me back there," Jake said quietly. "I'm sorry about your wife," he acknowledged, more with understanding than with pity.
"You too," said David as they made their way down the hallway of the hospital. "My kids are seven and 10 and it's impossible. How are you doing with a newborn?" He asked Jake.
"Well, I don't sleep a lot," he said with a chuckle.
