HEAVY HEART

I found out later that the morning he died was when my friend Romy had called, while my brother guarded my phone to stem the flow. She had called to tell me she was engaged. Her fiancé, Jez, had proposed on Valentine’s Day because this was the kind of thing that happens on Valentine’s Day. She was the first in our group of friends, all in our early 20s. My brother Andrew had picked up the phone and told her Rob had died. I was the first in our group of friends too, it seemed.

“Don’t let Natasha find out,” my brother was told. His duty was to make sure no one started talking about wedding plans in the midst of funeral plans. As if acknowledging good news would somehow make Rob more dead. Or worse, as if his death would somehow taint her joy. The loss like a shadow, darkening everything in its path.

It wasn’t until, we whispered over and over. To each other. To ourselves.