Fourteen months

For fourteen months precisely, she moved like fog, slow, grey, silent. Clothes piled up on a chair. Messages went unanswered. The mirror reflected no one she knew. She was a shell, with a broken heart.

Since the last goodbye, since the silence, her world went quiet, empty, unbearable. Days blurred, nights became endless. She woke, ate, barely worked, stared in profound silence. There was nothing. Just space. Empty, hollow space. Only memories remained. And the eternal what ifs.

Friends said, “you’ll feel better soon.” She said, “thanks,” but felt nothing.

Love was there, still. He was there, still in her heart. She just could not see him, touch him no more. Yet, he was always there, with her in essence, in spirit.

She counted seasons to remember the passing of time. Seasons marked his passing. Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring again. Spring. It was spring. Again. She wasn’t healed. She knew she would never be.

She made tea, folded clothes, and walked outside. Each step felt heavy, quite like her heart.

~~~

©️Susan Fourtané, 2025 - All rights reserved (6/June/2025)

Author’s Note:

Despite being published in “Fiction,” this is an account of my own grieving process, which more times than not feels unreal.

The 6th of June marked the 14th month of my dear Mr Pupu Bunny’s passing. Yes, my pet rabbit. He was all to me and I find life difficult without him.

He was my friend, my companion, my emotional support. The unconditional love I received fromhim was more pure and real than what I experienced with a human being. For that, he remains in my heart until we reunite again.

I narrated this in the third person to try to make it easier for me to write.