by M. Morrison

Created on: July 19, 2009

The world went silent. It seemed to shrink around her. The message played over and over again in her head:

"Hey, hun, great news: guess who's finally coming home? I'm flying out of here first thing tomorrow. Can't wait to see you and the kids! Hey listen, I gotta get going, but I just wanted to call and let you kn-"

The message ended in a crescendo of shouts before a deafening, low sound crackled over the line. Then all went silent. "End of messages."

Her hands shook. She wanted to know what had happened, but she was afraid of what the answer might be. She was sure of the result, even without the letter in her hands to confirm it. A wife just knew. It was the gut-wrenching feeling in the pit of her stomach and the heavy feeling in her heart. It was the feeling of absolute grief and uncertainty - the feeling of 'what if' and 'what now'.

The knot in her throat ached and her lips quivered, but still she was unable to scream or to cry. To break down would be to admit that it was true. It couldn't be true. She couldn't let it be true. She needed her husband and her children needed their father. Maybe if she denied it long enough, he would still be there. Maybe he would get on that plane tomorrow morning. Maybe he would step through that door and give her and each of their three children a hug and a kiss, and they would sit down to supper together and tell stories about their day.

The house seemed eerily still. The children were staying with their grandparents, unaware of the situation. She sat in the dim glow of a single lamp in the corner, feeling nothing but the emptiness of the house. She'd tried to read a book earlier, but her hands shook too badly for her to read it. She'd tried to watch television, but the sound was unbearably loud. She felt cold despite the thermostat reading 25C.

The next time she opened her eyes, it was daylight. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but she was troubled to the point of exhaustion. At least in sleep, she hadn't felt worried sick. Now that she was awake, it was another story. Her hands shook again and her stomach resumed its churning. The grime and grunge of the previous day still clung to her and she decided that maybe a hot shower would help. She did her hair, watched TV, folded laundry - anything normal. She swept the floor, cooked dinner, washed the dishes. Normal.

Three weeks had passed. The nagging, anxious feeling was still there, but it no longer controlled her. Her hands only shook when she thought about it, and the kids had come back home. She still felt the emptiness, but it no longer felt so surreal. The reality of it had had time to sink in: Liam wasn't coming home. She knew it. There was still that tiny hope that she held onto, but eventually she would have to let it go. That shred of hope was shattered the day the letter arrived. Certified from the Canadian Army, it brought news of SgtMaj. Liam Bennett's death.

Though the months passed, she had yet to empty his side of the closet or his dresser drawers. His toothbrush still sat in the bathroom cabinet and his razor still sat by the sink. The bed felt strangely empty, even after so long without him. Knowing that he would never lie there again made it truly empty - emptier than it had been when he was coming home. Sometimes it helped to sleep on his side of the bed; she suspected that it was the subtle scent of his aftershave still lightly clinging to the pillow. Every time she lie there, she wondered if she would ever truly be able to move on.

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