The Man Who Stopped The World

When we got home, it was already almost completely dark outside, so I took a shower. As the hot water ran down my back, I cried. I wanted to scream and shout, but I knew it didn’t matter because he still wouldn’t be coming back. After the shower, I decided to call his phone and leave a message. I told my mom not to answer, but that she could listen to it afterward. I knew she probably didn’t want to.   

“Hey Gimp, I love you and I miss you,” I spoke to the phone like he was really listening. I spent at least 10 minutes pouring my heart. I even began to sob again.  

When I finally hung up, I went downstairs and told my family goodnight. Then I went upstairs and I locked myself in my room.  

All I remember is I couldn’t stop screaming.  

Shattered, I screamed till my throat was raw; I begged him to come back, I questioned why God had taken him from me, I pleaded with God to let him come back because I needed him here with us, that my mom needed him too more than he ever knew.  

The next morning my Ma and my great grandparents arrived. They hugged me and then began to “pick up the pieces.” Throughout the week people would come to my house to help “pick up the pieces.” The week went by in a slow blur. It was a mixture of crying and people trying to console me, but when Thursday arrived, I was terrified. We drove to the funeral home for Gimpy’s wake. Before we walked in, I told myself to stay strong to keep going, but when I saw him lying in the casket impossibly still, I couldn’t hold it together.  

I ran outside and I began to bawl. I felt the tears streaming down my face. My Aunt Teresa grabbed me and held me. After a few minutes, I went back in, but I still couldn’t look at him. I sat with others and talked so I could avoid him.  

“Hey honey, I am so sorry for your loss,” my mentor Cherie said.  

She had left work early to come and see how I was doing, but she couldn’t stay too long. She hugged me and kissed me on the head and told me that she loved me and that God always has a plan.  

After a few minutes, I got up and walked to his casket. It was hard to look inside, but I knew I needed to see him one last time. His eyes were closed and his mouth was pinched together like he was uncomfortable. He was so still, just incredibly still. I touched his hand, part in sadness but also partly in sheer curiosity.   

I withdrew my hand instantly.  

“He’s so cold,” I said to my aunt.  

She hugged me, and my sister rubbed my back. They both attempted to console me, but I wasn’t sad just in shock. I had never felt anybody that cold before.