Late Eighteen

38| Chapter thirty eight

Enjoy this chapter peeps!

Ezekiel's POV (Point of View)

Everything felt so dark. I could hardly pinpoint my left from my right, why did it feel that way?

Why was everything dark? Am I blind?

"Yes yes— No, it's just Ezekiel and I with a few of our friends and a pastor that ought to be there to finalize the burial rites." With a still and unstablilized heart, I overheard my dad speak to God knows who as I passed by the kitchen on my way to my room.

Who is he talking to? I asked myself as I turn a left turn to the hallway housing my room.

Why was he so calm while making arrangements for his wife's burial? A wife he had been know for as long as twenty years, might I add. Wasn't grief supposed to hurt? I thought the thought of losing someone was one of the greatest punishments a man could render to the heart, why did he have to contradict me? The burial is in two hours, I have never been so anxious in my whole life.

I passed by the guest room that has for the past few months served as her personal space, long before her illness took over her whole being and she had to be hospitalized, and I felt hot unstoppable tears prickle my eyes. Memories came flooding back as I tried so hard to remember a moment that I had spent alone with her in peace. I tried so hard to remember but to no avail, perhaps they had all vanished in the momentum of my grief.

My heart clenched at the fact that she wouldn't be here again to give me the chance to make things right. It's saddening obviously, that our family would forever be incomplete and void till the end of time. Am I unfit to admit my lack of readiness to the feeling?

Tears started to blur my sight.

With heavy steps and a downgraded shoulder, I turned to the opposite wall where my room was situated at. With unshed tears in my red eyes, I walked in, closed the doors, and sat on my bed. Afterwards, I picked up a scrunched up paper in which my last words to my mum as she may unmoving in her bossom till I have to see her no more lay, and yet I couldn't do it.

How could I abandon the hands that had fed me and showed me so much love, even in her absence?

That wasn't possible, so I resulted to the next available bit cowardly option. I simply srunched up the flimpsy piece of white paper and threw it across the room.

I couldn't do it. How could I look her in the eye and pretend as if okay, when infact, I stay have a lot to say to say? How could I tell her that I was just a few moments from losing my feet, to losing it all?

Slowly, I slid off my bed and went down on my knees and with my ball-fisted hands squeezed painfully between my thighs I cried out to someone I knew was the only one capable of bringing dead people back to life. He has done it countless times before, and I had no visible doubt that he could do it again.

"Jesus," I cried softly, my voice muffled and hoarse like sandpaper. "I need you more than ever in my life right now, please have mercy and show my your loving eyes of kindness." In a way, asking God to bring her back to life seemed somewhat selfish. My brain struggled to relieve a memory, when I had asked God to relieve mum of her pain.

Was that why He killed her? Because he felt she had suffered too much and deserved peace in a quiet place?

I wasn't particularly a person of faith, but honestly speaking, within the span of a few months, I had gathered more than than I ever had in my entire life.

"Ezekiel?" I heard someone call my name, but it sounded so far away. "Ezekiel?" The owner of the voice knelt beside me and enveloped me in a very much needed warm and comforting hug.