All I Need

People have different ways of grieving, always will. You have people who cry for a week or two, but decide that their soul is in a better place, so that makes everything better. You have people who don’t even cry, but deep inside are hurting, refusing to let it show. And then you have people who cry every once in a while, never forgetting their loved one was buried six feet under the ground but never forgetting that their loved one just isn’t going to come back.

Abby wasn’t very sure what kind of griever she was. All she knows it’s been almost three months and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do anymore. Nobody was.

--

Abby’s mom sat at their kitchen table, sighing. She dialed a familiar number and waited for a familiar voice to pick up.

“Hello?” The rough, yet soft voice rang in her ears and she sighed. Was this a good idea?

“Ian,” she whispered into the phone. She wasn’t sure what to say.

“Rachel? Rachel, what do you need?” Worry. Worry , worry, worry.

“I don’t know what to do, Ian,” she said, her voice cracking gently. “She’s always coped up in her room, crying. She won’t eat, she won’t talk. Hell, I barely know if she’s breathing half of the time. I don’t know what to do.” She began to sob quietly, not wanting to disturb Abby.

She hated how he lived in Colorado while she was stuck in Chicago. He came back for the funeral, stayed at the house for two days and left. Claiming it was because he had work, not because he wanted to get away from her. The divorce had been - still is - hard for her.

“She’s just grieving, Rachel. Give her time, she’ll get over it.” The way he said it - so unconvincing.

Rachel got up from the kitchen table and walked quickly to her room, before saying, “How do you know, Ian?” She winced when her voice broke. “I am not taking chances on our daughter!” She collapsed on her bed, feeling helpless. “This is our daughter we’re talking about. She needs help.”

“Rachel, I-I don’t-”

But she hung up. He wasn’t going to help. What did she expect?