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The Effects of Grief
Toji is a full-grown alright looking man, a man who had to grow up too fast as a child. His childhood was nothing short of abusive. He saw things and experienced things that no child should have to. While this experience to most would be sad, Toji felt it realistically prepared him for the real world. By the time he was an adult, he was used to how cruel the world is and how damaging it can be if you’re unprepared for it. That could potentially be why this state of denial had him in absolute shock. He was never prepared to deal with this scenario emotionally. He thought he could handle anything; he had always handled everything. As he held the ice-cold hand in his and looked down at the unmoving body of the woman he loved, he felt something he had never felt before. Something he couldn’t describe. The feeling was a strong sense of denial, which made him incapable of processing this moment as reality. Maybe this was a dream, a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. Maybe this was a cruel joke life was playing on him, just to scare him. To make him really appreciate what he had. “Wake up,” He whispered, gripping her hand tighter.
With his other hand, he pushed her hair back from her face, bringing his face closer to hers. In his mind, she had leaned into his hand like she always would and was waiting for him to plant a small soft kiss on her warm forehead like he always would. When his lips touched her forehead, it had the same cold temperature as her hands. It was wrong; everything was wrong. He couldn’t understand it, couldn’t process it. “What the fuck?” He said to himself as he touched his now wet cheeks. Tears flooded his eyes, blurred his vision, and ran down his cheeks before he could stop them. He couldn’t process that either. What was going on? He let out a panicked breath as he felt his chest tighten painfully and his throat clenched shut. He couldn’t see clearly, breathe clearly, or think clearly. His survival instincts kicked in at the threat, and he quickly blinked the tears from his eyes. He looked from the love of his life to the room he was in. A room he recognized, their bedroom. They had been at home. She wanted to come home, had begged him to come home. Said she wanted to be comfortable before. Before what? He didn’t understand then and didn’t understand now. Their bedroom was small and simple, with a bed and two matching end tables and lamps. They didn’t need much, never had. Toji loved that about her. She was in love with the simple things in life, one of those things being him. He never understood that either.
His disassociation was broken by a shrill cry echoing through the apartment. It took him a moment to register what it was. An image of a newly born baby passed into his mind, a child with black hair like hers. An image of her crying as she held his hand and the baby in her other. He blinked, and suddenly he was no longer in their bedroom, but in another room. The baby’s room, he guessed. To the left of the room was a crib where the cry was coming from. He walked over and looked down at the small child within, bundled in a sleep sack and wailing his eyes out. He didn’t say anything, really didn’t think anything, but picked the child up. He held him awkwardly in his arms, not sure what exactly to do with him. The baby looked at him for a moment before continuing to cry. Toji wrinkled his face in frustration as the cry pounded his eardrums. ‘Hungry?’ he thought questioningly as he made his way from the nursery to the kitchen. With the crying baby in one hand, he used the other to find a probably clean bottle and formula sitting on the counter. He struggled to read the label on the container with the fussy baby in his arm before giving up and dumping one and a half scoops in the bottle and popping it in the microwave. He glanced down annoyingly at the baby, who didn’t seem to notice how loud he was being. Before the microwave could beep and add more noise, he ripped it open and grabbed the bottle, fully intending to shove it in the baby’s mouth.
‘You have to be careful it's not too hot,’ A voice reminded him. Her voice. Suddenly he wasn’t in the kitchen alone anymore; it wasn’t night anymore, but morning. The sun was shining in on the kitchen, and she was leaning on the counter, wearing one of his shirts that was far too big for her. Her hair was sticking up in every direction as she sipped her cup of coffee. “Put it on your arm first. You need to make sure it's not too hot for him,” He looked down at the same fussy baby in his arms and the same bottle in his hand. Right, not too hot. He flipped the bottle over and clumsily spilled some of the formula onto his arm. It wasn’t too hot, but he waited a moment before gently repositioning the baby and pressing the bottle to its mouth. ‘Good Job,’ he heard the voice whisper to him again as the baby began to grab at the bottle greedily. He looked up, expecting to see her there. Expecting the sun to be still casting a yellow hue over the kitchen and her. But she wasn’t, and he was alone. Alone in this dark kitchen, feeding his baby, unsure of what to do. Unsure of what he was feeling. It seemed like no time and forever had passed before the bottle was empty, and the baby was pushing the bottle away, nodding off to sleep. “Don’t forget to burp him,” She commented, grabbing the baby from his arms and placing him on her chest as she gently but firmly patted his back. She laughed at Toji’s expression as he heard the baby let out a loud burp. “He sounds just like you,” Her smile was bright, brighter than the sun illuminating their kitchen, brighter than anything he had ever seen before, anything he had ever held before. He reached out his hand for her, but by the time he blinked, she was gone again, and his hand was reaching out to thin air.
Where had she gone? With the image of her smiling face nuzzling their baby in his mind, he began to feel his face become wet again. He wasn’t sure when exactly they had stopped but hated that they were back. He ignored the tears running down his face and placed the baby on his chest as she had. He patted the baby a few times, maybe just a little too roughly, until the baby let out a burp. It echoed in the empty kitchen, and no one laughed this time. With tears still flowing down his cheeks, he walked back to their bedroom, sitting next to their bed. She was in the same position as before, lying on her side, one hand lifelessly dangling from the bed. Her hair had fallen in her face again, covering her open and glazed-over eyes. “Wake up,” He mumbled softly, grabbing her hand. She should’ve woken up. She would’ve sleepily rubbed her eyes and grabbed the baby from his arms. She would’ve pulled him in bed with her, the baby in the middle of them as they drifted to sleep. But she didn’t. She didn’t move. She didn’t make a sound. Not when the baby fussed again in his arms, not when he begged her to. Not even when he grabbed her hand and placed it on their baby’s head. Because she was gone, and Toji couldn’t accept that. When the baby refused to settle down in his arms, he returned to the nursery, gently placing the baby back into his crib. He looked at him for a moment as the baby drifted off to sleep. He had the same eyes that she had, the same hair she had; he saw everything she had in him. In fact, he saw her everywhere. In every room, they had a memory, and with every step he took, it was like walking through those memories. At the end of every memory, he came closer and closer to the reality he was facing.
He stood in the hallway, looking at the front door. It was dark in their apartment; he hadn’t bothered to turn any light on. He remembered the day she had come home from the hospital. He had to carry her in one arm with a diaper bag on the other shoulder and the baby in the car seat in his other hand. She was sick and clung to him. In fact, she had been sick in the kitchen too. His shirt had covered her shrinking body but couldn’t hide her cheekbones from jutting out. Her hands shook as she sipped the coffee, but even that couldn’t help with the dark bags under her eyes. She was sick, and he knew it. She knew it. He moved from the hallway to their bedroom and was back by her side, holding her hand again. The hand of the only woman he had ever loved. The only woman he would ever love. At that moment, he found his way out of his memories and back into reality. The reality was that she was gone. In that moment of acceptance, what replaced his denial was a feeling that he was very familiar with. A feeling that, before her, had consumed him. A feeling that, after her, would consume him again. He welcomed it because it felt familiar, because it felt good, because it felt better than anything else he had felt in the last twenty-four hours. But as he welcomed it, he realized he needed someone to be angry at. He couldn’t be mad at her, and he wasn’t mad at himself. Who was at fault here? Who made her sick? Who said she could come home? He filtered through a list of people they had contact with, any friends, relatives, or neighbors. Then he remembered, remembered the doctor that was taking care of her was an older, shorter man. A doctor who was supposed to be highly rated, who was supposed to have the experience to heal her. A doctor who didn’t live up to what he was supposed to do.
With a flip switched in him, he reached into their closet and pulled down an old shoe box. He opened it and pulled out a fully loaded gun, one he hadn’t held in a while since knowing her. He slipped it into his pocket and pulled a dark hoody out, slipping it over his head and pulling the hood down to cover his face. Without a second thought about his wife or sleeping baby, he headed out of his apartment and into the night. He knew the doctor worked nights sometimes. He knew because they had been to the emergency room plenty of times, and half the time, he was there. He walked into the emergency room and to the front desk. The young woman in her light blue scrubs looked apprehensive as he approached. “How can I help you?” She said, leaning away as he leaned closer to the desk. “Is Dr. Wayaku in tonight?” He stared down at the poor girl, intending to use every ounce of intimidation if he had to. “I-I’m not sure,” She stuttered and looked away from him. He narrowed his eyes; she was lying. “Can you get him for me? He knows my wife. She's sick.” She paused for a moment, unsure of what to do. It was late, and only a few people were in the waiting room; no other staff was there to help her. “I can try, but it might take a while,” Another lie. He knew the moment he had his back turned, she would run off to Dr. Wayaku and warn him of the crazed man in the emergency room requesting him. “I’ll wait.” He replied stiffly, placing his hands in his hoody and leaning back from the desk. “Just a moment then,” She said and quickly made her way from the desk to around a corner. He sighed in frustration as he looked around the waiting room. It was too bright for him, and the sickening smell of old people and medicine filled the air. He hated it. It made him remember every night he had spent with her here, every urgent visit in the middle of the night, every ounce of fear he felt at the thought of losing her. That memory made him clench his teeth in frustration and anger. So hard he was sure if he had kept going, he could’ve cracked a tooth.
“Mr. Fushiguro?” He heard a familiar voice call to him. He turned around and replaced his angry expression with a seemingly concerned one. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Wayaku.” He walked over to the doctor standing in front of the desk, towering over him. “It's my wife; she’s out in the car. I’m worried about her,” He said vaguely, giving his best impression of a worried husband. The worried husband he had actually been when she was in the emergency room less than a week ago when this same doctor had discharged her. “She’s sick again but won’t come in. Can you please just take a look?” The doctor looked hesitant for a moment but ultimately agreed. He did know Toji after all, they had spent hours and hours in the emergency room together, and he had seen how worried Toji was about his wife. “Yes, of course; what symptoms is she having?” He followed Toji out of the hospital doors and into the hospital entrance. For someone with such a bad reputation with gambling, luck seemed to be in Toji’s favor tonight. At least for the moment. A small black car was left running outside of the hospital, presumably owned by the man they had passed on their way out. Toji, ever the opportunist, quickly decided he could use the car to his advantage. “She’s throwing up again, lightheaded, confused,” He rattled off symptoms he could remember, all things she had suffered from before. “She’s in the backseat, this side.” He led the doctor to the driver’s side of the car and opened the passenger back seat door. The doctor leaned down as the door opened. He expected to see Toji’s sick wife sitting there, disoriented and possibly throwing up. “Hello, Mrs-” Dr. Wayaku stopped mid-sentence as he realized two things simultaneously.
One, the backseat of the car was empty. Two, something cold and hard was pressing against the back of his head. Toji stood behind him, hood pulled low over his head, and gun gripped firmly in his hand. “Why didn’t you save her?” His voice was low and full of rage. “M-Mr. Fushiguro, surely we can,” but before the Doctor could reason any further, a loud bang filled the air. Blood splatted all over the car, interior and exterior. Toji felt the familiar warm wet liquid coat his hands and clothes as he watched the doctor's body slump over, half inside the car and half out. “You should’ve saved her,” He said bitterly before placing the gun back in his pocket and disappearing into the night.
He thought that killing Dr. Wayaku would cure his anger, and for a moment, it did. But when he returned home and called the mortician to retrieve her body, as he watched them carry her out of their apartment while he held their baby, he felt it returning. It bubbled up from his stomach and spilled into his mouth, making its way into his lungs and suffocating him while leaving a bitter taste like bile in his mouth. The second he was back in their apartment, he placed the baby in its room with a few toys thrown in there with him before heading to their bedroom. He destroyed everything his hands touched. He smashed both lamps against the wall, not caring how the glass cut into his skin. He punched a hole in the door, threw a nightstand, ripped off their closet door, and smashed their photographs. To him, it was all a blur he couldn’t exactly remember. By the end, he was sitting in the middle of his destroyed and messy room. He was out of breath, and his hands were covered in blood. That had calmed him for the moment, and in anger's absence, exhaustion came. He no longer had a bed; the mortician and police had removed it with her. So he made his way to the couch, where he slumped onto it and drifted into dreams filled with her.
He was never one to plead or beg. He realized early in his childhood that pleading and begging would do nothing. It didn’t matter how much he prayed or begged God to give him just one ounce of cursed energy. It didn’t matter how much he begged his parents to love him or the other kids to play with him. The reality was what it was, and the quicker he accepted it, the easier it would be. However, now, pleading was all he seemed to do in his dreams. He knew in reality that she was gone. But when he slept and dreamed of her with him again, heard her laugh again, and felt her soft lips press against his again, he couldn’t help but beg God never to let him wake up. To let him stay there with her forever. He awoke night after night with tears in his eyes and her name on his lips. He didn’t shower, didn’t eat. Didn’t call anyone, didn’t go anywhere. The only time he left was to go to the store and buy formula for a baby he really had no business taking care of. He barely managed to feed the baby and change his diapers—more than he did for himself. With every ounce of energy he spent caring for the child, he began to fall further and further away from himself and further and further into someone he used to know; the man he used to be.
Beer bottles and cans littered Toji’s bedroom floor, some crushed and others smashed. The once-furnished room was bare of everything except a small mattress on the floor and a small white lamp beside it. He was passed out in his tiny bed, limbs sprawled out in every direction, and his thin navy blue blanket barely covering his naked body. Next to him, a tall thin woman with long brown hair was slowly inching his heavy arm off her. She held her breath as it thudded on the mattress, but he didn’t move, didn’t even change his breathing. She let out a sigh of relief and slowly slid out of his bed. She examined the room for her clothes but, in her still drunken state, found the task more difficult than it should be. She reached out and grabbed the nearest piece of clothing and slipped it on. A black t-shirt that reached past her knees but would do for the moment. She walked around the maze of crinkled cans and broken glass and finally to the bedroom door. She quietly inched the door open just enough to slip out.
As the door closed behind her, Toji opened his eyes but didn’t move. His body felt like absolute shit. His head was spinning, and his stomach threatened to spill everything he had eaten in the last twenty-four hours. He could hear the familiar sound of crying but couldn’t be bothered to get up. He was sure the woman had either heard the cries and gone to console the child or had simply left, stealing his shirt. He didn’t care either way. He placed his hand over his eyes and let the alcohol lull him back into a drunken slumber. He couldn’t stay asleep for long; he never did. Every dream was filled with her, and every morning when he opened his eyes, it was like having his heart ripped out repeatedly. It didn’t matter how much alcohol he drank or how many pills he took; it never stopped. The effects of alcohol seemed to be gone when he awoke, replaced by a throbbing headache and an even more nauseous stomach. He glanced at the woman lying next to him, still passed out. So she hadn’t stolen his shirt last night. He was grateful for it, unsure how many clean shirts he had left. Although, he had wished she was gone already. Most women were by the time he woke up. Most of them were appalled to see the room they had woken up in and scrambled to leave before he was up. As he got up from his bed, he loudly walked out of the room, kicking multiple bottles on the way out. He didn’t care if she woke up; he didn’t want her here all day anyways.
He headed to the kitchen, where he quickly started a pot of coffee. He grabbed the nearest mug out of the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and quickly rinsed it out. He ignored the mess and stench of overfilled trash spilling on the floor or the refrigerator door hanging open that no doubt spoiled everything within. Before the coffee pot could fill, he placed his mug under the stream and filled it to the brim. He could get half the cup down, soothing his headache, before he heard the woman from last night come into the kitchen. “Good morning,” She said sleepily, rubbing her temples. It seems she, too, was suffering the after-effects of alcohol. He expected her to ask for a cup of coffee, but instead, she reached up and grabbed his. He didn’t even stop her, unsure of what exactly he should do. Should he kick her out? Take it back? Dump it on her? Let her have it? He considered each possibility before deciding to let it slide. She was cute, and he was sure they had fun last night; maybe he would see her again when he went out. When she was finished, she refilled it and handed it back to him.
“World’s best dad, huh?” She crossed her arms and raised an accusing eyebrow at him. “What?” He replied as he continued to drink. “Your mug?” He looked down at the cup, reading the bolded words on the front. “I highly doubt it,” He said, leaning against the counter beside her. “You didn’t mention a kid last night,” She said, looking at him suspiciously. “Or a wife,” Like lightning, a nerve was struck, and he froze only for a moment, coffee mug halfway to his lips. “My wife died.” He said bluntly but looked at her in a way that let her know there would be no follow-up questions about his wife. He didn’t want to think about the mornings he had together with his wife in this very kitchen. He didn’t want to remember the coffee she would make for him every morning or how she greeted him. He didn’t want to hear her laugh as he lifted her onto the counter and covered her with kisses. But he did. He remembered every moment of it. It caused that tight feeling to return in his chest, and it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Like she was stealing his every breath from him from the grave.
“Mine ran off,” The comment pulled him from his thoughts, and he took a deep breath as he looked down at her. Her arms weren’t crossed anymore, instead toying with her hair as she stared at the kitchen wall. “Husband, I mean,” She clarified, “The day after our daughter was born,” She didn’t look like she would cry, and Toji was grateful for that. He was in no position to comfort someone and honestly never had been. “That’s rough,” It was awkward momentarily, neither of them saying anything. He was sure his following words would probably ask for his shirt and to send her on her way when he heard crying. “Oh, he’s awake,” He didn’t even have to ask her; she just made her way to the bedroom where his son was. He didn’t follow her, instead opting to finish his coffee in silence. She was gone only for a few moments, returning with a baby in her arms.
“Good morning,” She said in a high-pitched tone, waving the child’s tiny hand at Toji. The baby laughed and grabbed at the woman, filling his hands with fistfuls of brown hair. At that moment, Toji saw an opportunity. A young single working mother meets a single father. It really spelled itself out if he could pull it off. The truth was, he was tired. He was tired emotionally and mentally and had no place for a child in his life, not anymore. He hated the idea of not being with his wife, and he knew every moment he spent with someone else, she was in the back of his mind. But he also knew he loved the distraction of someone else. Of course, no one could replace her, but someone could partially fulfill the hole left in his life. So Toji pretended. He smiled at the two of them and complimented how natural she was with kids. Asked her questions about her daughter, about her life and poured her another cup of coffee. He turned every ounce of charm he had on for her, and she ate it up. She didn’t need to know about Toji’s past, personal and legal. She didn’t need to know that he would never love her; she just needed to think he did. Ignorance is bliss, right?
It was blissful for a moment. She was young and naive and had melted in his hands when he had asked her to move in with him. She had made quick work of cleaning the house and clearing his room of beer cans and trash. She didn’t question him about his ‘job’ he said he had when he left every morning and came home late at night. She played housewife for a moment, taking care of the two kids and the house, cooking dinner every night. She even dropped to part-time at her job. For a moment, she was truly happy in this fairy tail life. But happiness never lasts, at least not when someone is involved in Toji’s life. Although young and naive, she wasn’t stupid. When rent began to run late, food became scarce, and Toji came home smelling of alcohol and other women, she began to question him. Sometimes she would stay up all night nursing a bottle while she waited for him to come home. Sometimes the first thing he was greeted with when he opened the door was a flying bottle to his head. They would argue loud enough to wake the kids. He would see a petite brown-haired girl take a small black-haired boy to their room when it started. He was too drunk or high to care.
She didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. Toji wasn’t sure he could, either. He was never sure why he was the way he was before his wife. He guessed growing up, he only had himself to rely on and focus on. No one else had ever mattered to him, and he was sure no one ever would after his wife. He still felt her everywhere, saw her everywhere, and dreamt of her every night. He saw her in everything except the brunette yelling at him in a drunken rage in their living room. He deserved it but was too far gone to admit it. “I’ve had enough of this, I can’t take it,” she threw her hands in the air and stormed to their bedroom, slamming the door and locking it. It was ironic that she ‘couldn’t take it,’ Toji thought. He wondered if she could handle even an ounce of what he had been through. He doubted it. He collapsed on the couch, wrapping himself in the thin blanket that was left there, and without another thought, fell asleep.
He was awoken the next morning too early by a loud crash, jolting him from the couch. He stood alert in his living room, carefully looking around the room to find the cause of the sound. Had someone broken in? No, the front door was intact, and none of their windows were broken. He didn’t see his girlfriend anywhere attempting to throw anything at him, so he quickly ruled that out. Then he heard the familiar pitter-patter of tiny feet on the hardwood floor. He closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh as he prepared to see whatever mess awaited him in the kitchen. “What the hell is going on?” He entered the kitchen to find a small boy in blue dinosaur pajamas sitting in a puddle of spilled milk and cereal. Next to him, a young girl with familiar brown hair was attempting to clean the mess with a roll of paper towels. She snapped her head up when she heard him, “Don’t worry! I’ll clean it,” She said all too confidently as she unrolled half of the paper towel roll and continued her best attempts at soaking up the mess. Toji had to take another deep breath, holding a hand over his face. He had no patience for this. He was coming off his high from last night and wanted nothing to do with two young children this early. He turned and yelled, “Babe?” but received no reply. She should’ve been up already. “Mama went to the store,” The young girl told him as she helped the younger boy, still soaked in milk.
“The store?” Toji pulled out his phone and checked the time. Seven AM was a weird time to go to the store; it's not like they didn’t have breakfast food. At least, they did before the kids spilled most of it. What the fuck could she have needed? Before Toji could question it further, a familiar contact rang on his screen. “Yeah, Shiu?” He walked away from the mess in the kitchen and back to the living room. “I have a case for you, a big one,” Toji perked up at that; a big case meant a big paycheck. “It’ll take a while, though; you’ll be gone for a month, maybe more,” Shiu said it like Toji would have something to consider before agreeing. Truly what did he have here stopping him? A girlfriend he didn’t love, a child he couldn’t stand to see, another child he had barely spoken to? “Where?” He said confidently as he watched the young girl help his son to the bathroom, leaving small milky footprints behind him. When Shiu gave him the location, he snapped his phone shut and began to pack a small backpack of essentials. A change of clothes and what little cash he had left over from the night before.
He stopped for a moment as he noticed his closet was half empty. His girlfriend's clothes were gone. He looked around their bedroom, noticing the rest of her things gone. With what little morals Toji had left, he considered the situation only for a moment before continuing to pack his things. They’d be fine, he told himself. He was their age when he started to take care of himself. Hell, probably younger. The world was cruel and unfair, and it was time they learned it now rather than later. He didn’t even say goodbye as he walked out of the apartment, locking the front door for the last time.
Without a backward glance, he left, giving up any hope that his wife had for him to raise their son or to continue to be the man she had tried so hard to make him. The man that, for a moment, he was. The man that, without her, became nothing more than a memory he didn’t want to remember. He let everything go and headed toward a future full of violence, regret, and eventual demise. A path that, even in the afterlife, would keep him separated from the love of his life as he rotted in every circle of hell he deserved.