Everyone Does it...

If only... Ah, hindsight.

If only I could let it all go, let all the emotions building up inside me go. If only I could say, "My tears need a minute to find the edges of my face. If you'll please excuse me." when someone asks if I'm okay rather than my usual response of "Yes, getting by, day by day." Of course, I'm not okay, and there's every chance I won't ever be okay again. Why would anyone think I would be okay?

Of course, they don't think that. I know that.

But I can't let myself feel that. I just can't.

If I feel it, then it becomes real - if I break the dam holding back the tears from my bulging tear ducts, I may never stop.

Dodging grief and its debilitating effects is something I've perfected to a fine art.

Sure, I'll cry at the drop of a hat when it's someone else, real or fictional, but I'll never let my guard down enough when it's my emotions.

I can't afford to crumble because I don't know if I have the strength or capabilities to put myself back together. It's not just about my family, it's for my own good. I don't have the energy to pull together this 6-foot, 350lb husk of a man after I've emotionally drained him.

Crying is a release—I get that—but it's not just tears that come out when you cry; it's all those messy emotions, regrets, thoughts about missed opportunities, and playing the blame game with one single contestant—yourself.

I don't need it.

My wife, on the other hand, can't stop crying and has barely gotten out of bed or washed for the last four weeks. Which is understandable, really.

I've been fine coping with the loss so far, I think. My family disagrees. They say the cracks in my otherwise stoic facade are starting to show. It was just one time, though, when I shouted at Danny, and to be fair, he was being a prick.

I know I'm not alone; this is a shared experience, but he was my only son. My only son was cruelly snatched from me.

He's been there every day for the last 12 years, but now he's not. His room is empty, his chairs are empty, and any photographs we take in the future will be empty.

And for what? Someone felt that day was the best time to try out for the NASCAR in a built-up area.

Apparently, he was dead by the time he hit the ground after flying through the air like a piece of rubble.

That's what they told me...the emergency services. That's what people keep telling me.

What do you think?

After all, as crazy as my family thinks I am right now and unhinged and possibly even dangerous, that's why I am here. Only you know the answers to my questions. Only you know because it was only you and my dear little son who was present when your car collided fatally with his hopes for a long and fulfilling future.

Oh, before you close that damn door, put yourself in my shoes. Please, imagine the pain coursing through my body before you close the door on the consequences of your mistakes.

I have planned to see you for a few days now. This... is not how I thought it would play out with me just standing looking into your vacuous, faux-sympathetic eyes. In one scenario, I was going to stab you... and I must admit, that still feels like a good resolution to this whole thing.

Instead, here I am without a weapon or plans for revenge—just standing at your doorstep. In some ways, I guess I hoped there was a rhyme or reason for racing along at three times the speed limit—a greater good, maybe? But as I drove here, I realised there is no excuse, rhyme, or reason you could give that would salve the never-ending pain my family and I are enduring.

It may be something you tell yourself at night to help you sleep: "I was speeding because..." But really, you are hiding from the truth. You were speeding because you didn't care and thought, "Everyone does it!"

Is that really the best excuse you have?

Funny, that's what Tommy used to say when he'd lie, swear or get into the silly little scrapes kids his age do... Those things that don't matter anymore.

"Everyone does it, so why can't I?"

Guess you had to wait until you were what, 53 to figure that one out...

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: This is for Christy Munson's Challenge, which you can find out more details about below. The brief was to write a piece of microfiction between 500 and 800 words that included the following lines "My tears need a minute to find the edges of my face. If you'll please excuse me."

Here are some other bits.