What Do We Do Now?

Fifth

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting at my desk listening to the throbbing in my head when Denise finally comes looking for me.

She walks right in and heads straight for the couch, her favorite spot, stretching her arms up and looking like she’d come from a magazine shoot. She’s glowing and grinning just as expected after being shut off from the world with Liam for 4 whole days.

What a dream it would be to live Denise’s life.She was just about to blast off into telling me how she and Liam had reconciled and everything that transpired after when she turns towards me and sees how I look. Her expression quickly changes.

“Sandra, what happened?” She asks softly, her brows furrowed.

It took me a while to tell her everything I’ve learned about Katrina and what happened to her and by the time I finished I was a hiccupy pile of mess beside Denise on the couch and she was speechless, which was actually saying a lot. 

When she finally did say something it came out as a sob.

“I’m so sorry.” 

She covered her face with her hands.

“I’m so sorry, Sandra. All those times I told you to stop worrying..that..that she was fine..” she continued.

I wanted to tell her I didn’t blame her. I wanted to say I knew she was only watching out for me and that when she was saying those things I knew that she had said them repeatedly for my sake. But between the guilt in my mind and the sobs that still hadn’t stopped I couldn’t even form the words.

I just started shaking my head from side to side and I leaned on to her as she put her arms around me. She cried with me reminding me of the first time I told her about Katrina. She’s the only one I can count on. I can’t even express how thankful I am that I have Denise in my life.

I don’t know how long we had stayed that way but when I came to Denise was telling me it will all be okay while Liam was putting me in the car.

I had fallen asleep on the couch and she had called Liam to help her bring me home. 

The days that followed was much like that first one. Everything was a blur. Everything except the pain, the hurt, and the guilt — most especially the guilt. Those were pretty clear. They were like a punch to my face each time I woke up from another listless slumber not that I was even getting enough sleep.

I shut myself off from the world trying to get my thoughts in order but I couldn’t no matter how much or how long I tried. I cried sporadically the first few days but I’ve stopped and now I’m just a mess on the inside.

I always thought I was so good in organizing and compartmentalizing my life but now all of that just flew out the window.

I hadn’t gone back to work. Thankfully, Denise had some weight in the company and she was able to pull some strings so that I could be allowed as much time away as I needed.

Connor stopped by the first night and he had made it clear that he was there for me for whatever I might need but I didn’t want to be with anyone and he respected that which made me appreciate him a little more. He showed his support through making sure I was fed. 

He and Denise would take turns coming over to bring me food and would also take turns coming back to see that I had barely touched any of what they had brought. I was glad neither of them tried to force me to eat. They just made sure I had something in the house in case I decided to rejoin the world of the living or if I would finally feel hungry.

I learned about Katrina’s death on Monday, and according to the news which I kept on as white noise to help me cope, it is now Thursday evening. I had been off the radar for 3 days now.

My phone’s probably dead, I think to myself while looking for it. I wonder how many calls I’ve missed.

I finally found my phone and like most of the stuff in my house, it hadn’t been touched since Denise and Liam brought me home 3 days ago. It was on top of the pile of dirty clothes I changed out of as soon as I got here.

I plug it in dreading what additional stresses it would spew as soon as it’s alive again. I clear the floor of my clothes and decide it’s time I face all of this head on. 

I take a long shower concentrating hard on the water flowing over my body. I started with hot water to soak my physical aches and pains then proceeded to blast myself with cold water to wake up my senses. 

After a long time in the shower I dry off, get dressed, and look for a random notebook to start writing things down— not my feelings, none of that none sense. This isn’t a dear diary kind of thing, I just need to write a list. 

A list would sort this out. I found out a long time ago that making lists helped me a lot when I faced overwhelming situations. Lists made all tasks seem bearable. They were always a fail safe making me confident that I could overcome anything. 

Now I’m just hoping against hope that writing things down would help me get through Katrina’s death as well.

I open to a blank page and write down her name on top. Katrina.

I always thought it was such a beautiful name. I didn’t give her any nicknames growing up because I always loved her name. It’s one thing my mother did right. My mother.

Does she know? A can of worms that shouldn’t be opened. A can that should be thrown far far away and thrown again by whoever finds it. She couldn’t possibly know and if she did I hope she realizes it’s her fault more than anyone’s. Yes, I could have saved her, but our mother? She could have made it so that we didn’t need saving in the first place.

I shrug off thoughts of our mother and write the first item on my list. Funeral. I’ve never planned a funeral before. I have been to some but never for anyone I deeply cared about which I thought made sense when I quickly realize that the number of people I cared deeply about could be counted in just one hand. 

Did having so few people to care for mean losing one of them would hurt so much more? Maybe not. Maybe losing someone you love hurts all the same whoever it was.

I get on with my list. Under funeral I write, casket? Urn? Did Katrina want to be cremated? What kind of flowers do I get? What kind of service would Katrina have liked? Is there somewhere she would have liked to be buried?

I realize shortly that this list I was making was going to be complicated. Lists within lists within lists. I don’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing but it did help me keep my thoughts in check. Dwelling on the options for funeral homes I found online was much much easier than trying to process Katrina’s death as a whole.

This was going to be a long night of working which would actually be a welcome relief as compared to the past few nights of just alternating between crying and being a zombie. I should probably check my phone before I get too into this and start checking out of the real world again. I think to myself as I slowly make my way to where I left it to charge. I tap the screen and it lights up showing me my missed notifications. Just 3 messages. No voicemails. 

I let out the breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding. I don’t know why I was dreading it so much. Maybe I was scared my mother would suddenly find me or something.

I unlock my phone and check the messages. The most recent one was from this morning. Denise again reminding me to call her if I need anything. Anything at all, she said. The only good that’s come out of these past few days is my renewed appreciation for Denise’s presence in my life. She is a godsend.

The next message was from Connor asking me if I wanted to have dinner. It was sent on Monday afternoon before he found out what had happened. I should call Connor. No, I should add this to my list. I need to decide if I want to keep him in my life or if I want this, I mean us, to stop. “Katrina, you may have just given me a way out.” I mumble.

The last message was from a number I didn’t recognize. I clicked on it and saw it was from Agnes.

“Sandra, I thought you might like to have this. -Agnes”

I click on the attachment and immediately tears fill my eyes. It feels like my heart is being squeezed. 

It’s a picture of Katrina. She was thin and frail but she looked happy. She wasn’t looking at the camera instead, her smile full of warmth and joy was directed at the bundle in her arms. It was a picture of her and Marin in a hospital bed. 

This must be the day she gave birth. My tears start falling. It’s a beautiful photo. It makes me happy and sad at the same time. 

I stare at the photo so long I don’t know when the sadness started dissipating replaced by a feeling of determination. 

I may be distraught right now but one things’s for sure, no matter what, I am going to get my niece back.