The Deal

The Black Ribbon

*CW: death/grieving. If you aren't in the right headspace to read this right now please message me and I will send you a summary!*

They say there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

But... I haven't experienced any of these trials in my mourning, haven't felt much of anything at all. For three days now, ever since the death call, I've been stuck in a numb, dazed state.

So unfeeling, so dissociated that I begin to think there's something wrong with me... That maybe my soul has experienced so much trauma and grief that it simply hardened itself against more sorrow.

There was shock, of course. A stuttering, hollow dip in my stomach that had my knees giving out and phone dropping to porch with a shattering ring. It felt like all the air had been sucked from my body, my heart ripped from my chest... void and disbelieving. But, when I finally got up and wandered to the hospital in the dead of night... when the staff explained what happened, the shock wore off and the numbness set in.

The doctors called it a 'surge'. A phenomenon that can happen with terminal patients before they die: their health takes a complete turn and they experience extreme lucidity. Brainwaves surge —which could explain how my father woke up in the first place— and they seem almost entirely normal, like they're on the path to recovery.

A brief reprieve from the pain before their soul moves on.

They told me it happened almost right after I left. That it was peaceful and quiet, almost as if he had just fallen asleep, his face serene and turned towards the sun.

I could only nod absently as I stared dully at his hospital bed, empty for the first time in a decade, the room cold and eerie. It comforted me to know there was no more suffering, that his soul departed peacefully as the surge ran its fuse.

But, it didn't make the death feel more real, didn't break through the haze my mind had collapsed into.

I went through the motions absently, moving and acting like a zombie. I broke the news to Nan and Niall, accepting their condolences and consoling them in turn. I began to plan the funeral, each step arduous and surreal. I signed paperwork and cleaned out his hospital room.

That... that was the worst part, the only thing that managed to pierce through my veil of numbness. Not picking out his mahogany casket or designing the headstone, writing a eulogy or going home to a house I realized would forever remain empty and soulless.

No, it was removing all of the charms and crystals and photos and candy hidden under his pillow from the room he'd occupied for nearly ten years.

Turning around before I left, with one box of all his belongings, it hit me for the first time. Staring into the sterile room and empty, neatly made bed... it was almost as if he'd never been there to begin with.

In that bed, that room for so much of my lie, only to vanish so suddenly and unceremoniously...

I almost collapsed in the doorway from the grief of it.

But, I didn't, I forced myself to turn away from the sight. I steeled my heart against it and walked out of the door for the last time, tossing the box in a nearby bin.

I didn't want to look at all the charms and crystals and herbs anymore.

They didn't work.

Still, I haven't cried. Not in his room or when I met with the funeral director or when I picked out a suit for my father to wear for eternity. No tears have been shed for this newest heartbreak.

Even when I woke up this morning from a sleep haunted by that white room and my father's face, even when I washed off the cold sweat of my nightmares, even when I dress in my funeral garb.

I've been staying with Nan up until last night, unable to face the desolation of my home, the endless void that awaited me. But, now that I'm here, everything just feels faraway, as if in a dream I can't wake up from. I don't feel like I'm in my own body, don't feel the rhythmic beat of my heart, don't feel my fingers tracing my skin.

For the first time, I'm the ghost haunting my house.

But, the actual ghost is with me the whole while.

Making her triumphant return after my dad's spirit left the mortal plane, my mother hovers over me once again, much heavier and more harrowing than ever before. Or... maybe that's just my own grief weighing me down like an oppressive cloud, demanding to be acknowledged.

It's hard to tell anymore.

Still, mother is docile as I put on my rings and thick choker, slipping on my black pumps before my dress —realizing my mistake and then pulling them off again.

The dress I chose is what Nan wore to her first husband's funeral —my funeral dress no longer fitting anymore. It's black lace and chiffon all the way down to my ankles, a bustier top lined with beige for modesty, and held up by ribbons tied in knots on my shoulders.

It's a beautiful dress for an ugly day and Nan nearly cries when I finally make my way down the creaky stairs.

Her and Niall have hardly left my side the last few days, hovering around me incessantly. Checking to see if I need anything, watching me with concerned gazes, and waiting to catch me when I inevitably fall. My blasé attitude scares them, my lack of tears troubling.

Nan, in her casual black frock, pulls me into a warm hug when I make it to the landing. Niall shifts behind her in his crisp black suit, two coffees in his grasp, and a sympathetic smile on his lips. I return Nan's hug absentmindedly, gaze locking with Niall's before swiftly moving on.