Dear Evan Hansen Oneshots! (A-Z)

N is for Not Anymore

A/N: This is basically inside Cynthia's head right after Connor died.
Warnings- References to self harm, drugs, and suicide.

Cynthia stared at the bathroom.  The medicine cabinet was still open.  It had been two hours.  She hadn't closed it.  She couldn't bear to close it.  It was as if closing it would make it real.  It would click shut with a finality that Cynthia could not tolerate.

She almost expected to hear Connor thundering up the stairs and screaming curses at his sister and father.  At her.  Anything was better than silence.  But the silence would haunt her.  Connor wasn't home.  Not anymore.

She felt embarrassed to be the only one to weep for him.  But the tears wouldn't stop.  Was she really the only one who Connor meant something to?  She was his mother.  She could never hate him.

Connor was still her little boy who would tell knock knock jokes and draw pictures of boats.  And play tag with Zoe and sneak icecream when she wasn't looking.  And be happy.  Not anymore.

Connor hadn't been happy for a long time.  A very long time indeed.  She wanted to apologize.  Get some answers.  If only she had tried harder to help him.  He could have gotten better.  She hadn't realized how much he needed her until it was too late.

And Cynthia knew it would hurt when she cleaned out his room.  All the pictures knocked over and cracked from so much door slamming.  Closets stuffed full with secrets.  She knew it would hurt when she found the stash of drugs under his bed or the bloodied razor blades in the trash bin.

Where would she put all these memories?  In a box?  In the attic?  With Connor scrawled across the side?  Neatly tucked away for no one to find?

Cynthia shook her head and clutched at her hair.  They never tell you how to be a good parent.  They never tell you about the ugly parts.  It's easy to fall in love with your child.  Almost impossible not to.  But what do you do when they don't want to love you?  When you lose them?  When you're the only one that will cry for them?

Her Connor deserved love.  The world did this to him.  He used to hug her every night and wish her sweet dreams.  Not anymore.  What changed?  Who did this to him? It was not his fault.  It was everyone else's fault.  If only they saw the good parts.

There were good parts.  Connor was good.  He could be good if he tried. He could be good if people let him be good.  If only they let him.  Connor used to sing and dance and play.  Why didn't he do that anymore?

All she could see when she closed her eyes was when they had found him.  He was laying in the grass by the playground at 6:24 AM.  He hadn't come home that night and none of the Murphy's had bothered to look for him.  It was typical behavior for Connor: staying up all hours of the night, and barely returning to grab his backpack and a bag of chips.  The less time spent with his family the better, if you could call the Murphy's a family.  They hardly had a day go by without an argument of some sort.

No, she hadn't found him, but instead an old woman walking her dog had discovered his body.  When Cynthia had arrived, the dew was soaking into his worn hoodie.  She had always asked him if he wanted a new one but he had refused.  The bottle lay at his side.  And his face.  His face was contorted in pain and anger.  So much anger.  But also sadness.  The sadness broke her already fragmented heart and Cynthia had to look away.

And what did the other Murphys do?  They continued right on with life.  Her husband went to work, upset about being late.  Zoe took the excuse of mourning to stay home from school, but Cynthia knew that her daughter would not be crying for Connor any time soon.

But the moment that Cynthia really understood was when she received his note.  His suicide note.  She read the first three words and a little spark of hope ignited in her.  Dear Evan Hansen.  Evan.  A friend.  As she continued reading, the spark grew.  Maybe Connor did have a friend.  Maybe he had been happy at moments.  Maybe she hadn't completely failed as a mother.

She knew now how Connor felt.  Alone and upset.  She should have reached out to him.  But she could never do that now.

She clutched the letter to her chest as if it was the only thing keeping her anchored to sanity.  In a way, it was.  She missed him so much.  No matter what he did or said she would always love her son.  But now she had hope.  "Evan Hansen," she tested out how the name felt on her tongue.

She was determined to find a way to move on or at least find closure enough to help with the grief.

Cynthia stared at the medicine cabinet.  It was a void, sucking her in.  She reached forward with a trembling hand and shut it.  It clicked shut.  Cynthia dried her tears.  She wouldn't cry for him.  Not anymore.