Mikaela's Perspective.
(
"The world has a way of continuing to spin, even when your own has come to a screeching halt." I started.
"I'm Mikaela, and seven months ago today, I lost more than just my sister; I lost a piece of my soul. Brett was the vibrant one, the fearless one, the one who could light up a room with just her smile. And then, just like that, she was gone."
My gaze drifted across the circle, taking in the faces of those who, like me, carried the heavy burden of loss. The room felt both familiar and strange, a place where pain and healing coexisted. I cleared my throat, the vulnerability in my voice betraying the emotions I'd bottled up for too long.
"It's been seven months, and I still find myself reaching for the phone to share some mundane detail or an inside joke with Brett. It's like my mind refuses to accept that she's not on the other end, ready to burst into laughter or offer some quirky piece of advice."
I fidgeted with the edge of my sweater, my fingers tracing patterns as if seeking comfort.
"Brett was the vivacious one, you know?" I mused, holding my breath to hold the tears back. "Now, there's this void, this silence that echoes her absence. I never knew silence could be so loud."
I glanced at the tissue in my hand, realizing it was already crumpled from the tight grip I had on it.
"I've tried to convince myself that I can handle this on my own, that I can carry the weight of my grief without burdening others. But the truth is, it's too heavy. Grief is this unpredictable force that knocks you down when you least expect it, and I can't stand back up alone."
I met the eyes of the others in the room, recognizing a shared pain.
"Some days, I feel like I'm navigating a foggy maze blindfolded. The memories, they're both a balm and a blade. They bring warmth, but they also cut deep. And then there are the moments when it hits me – the finality of it all. Brett's not coming back, and it feels like a piece of my soul is gone with her."
I took a steadying breath, gathering strength.
"I'm here because I need help finding a way forward. Maybe not to move on, but to move with. To carry this grief, this love, in a way that honors Brett's memory. And maybe, just maybe, to rediscover that glimmer of light in the darkness."
I let out a deep breath, my eyes reflecting the pain and sorrow that had become a constant companion in the last few months. A solitary tear escaped down my cheek. My fingers played nervously with the edge of a tissue, my vulnerability laid bare before the group.
"Brett was my anchor, my confidante, and losing her... it's like I've been set adrift in a sea of emotions. Some days, the waves of grief are manageable, and I can almost see a distant shore of acceptance. Other days, it feels like a storm, and I'm struggling just to keep my head above water."
"Do you ever get tired of doing that, Mikaela?" Dr. Nessa started "Keeping your head above that is."
Her voice was a reminder of how bad things had gotten just after Brett had passed.
I remember the day the police called. It was two weeks after the accident. They had made three arrests: Marques, the truck driver, and the two boys in the other car Johnson and Miller. Probation for the juveniles, a slap on the wrist for a life taken. My heart shattered to pieces, the contents of my mom's drug cabinet beckoned—a handful of pills, a desperate attempt to numb the pain.
I awoke the following day to the persistent beeping of machines and the unsettling odor of the hospital room. "Mikaela," Mom cried, her distress evident in her voice. "Why would you do this to yourself?" she questioned.
Surveying the room, there was no sign of Dad; he was likely away on yet another business trip. As for James, he was probably off playing football, on his way to becoming America's next great quarterback.
"This is a joke!" I declared, turning on the bed to face the window, my back to her.
"No, Mikaela, please don't say that, you're all I have." she continued.
She didn't mean it but I could tell from her voice, I could tell from all their voices, they hated me, I hated me too, it was all my fault.
I shut my eyes, it wasn't so bad I thought, Death wasn't so bad after all.
I awoke several weeks later from a medically induced coma, If I wasn't before, I had everything to make sure I was now very much on suicide watch. I didn't care too much about anything anymore.
I found myself at the Pine Crest Psychiatric Institute, a facility for the Sickos, as I so affectionately liked to call it.
"Stop it," Mikaela, my mom, would say, to which I would just look away and laugh.
It was there I met Kelly, who was a high school volunteer then at the facility.
"You could keep doing that..." I remembered her saying that very day. Her voice was gentle and flowing, akin to the flawless tones of a female cartoon character.
I turned around startled by her voice, the pill bottle dropped to the ground. I hadn't expected anyone to be there that day. I frantically fell to my knees attempting to pick the pills up. I had been caught red-handed.
"It's not what you think I promise" I pleaded.
She nodded thrice, very slowly. "Of course it isn't." Her left eye was swollen and her bottom lip was cut. "That's why I said you can keep doing it. Again and again, like the coward you are."
"Wh...what?" I was much more confused than anything else.
She shook her head in disdain. "Utterly pathetic. I won't bother showing up tomorrow then, what to watch a room full of strangers crying over..." Suddenly, she grabbed my wrist, twisting it in a manner that made me wince in pain. "...Mikaela Stevenson, the coward of the year," she continued, releasing my hand to let it fall back and strike my thigh.
I ran back to my room in tears. I felt ashamed of myself and what I had become. The cleaner had left the window open.
My head hurt.
I woke up a day later, my entire body ached. The was somebody sitting by the foot of the bed. I turned to see but my legs wouldn't move. It was restrained to the bed.
"The first floor? Really? That's hardly impressive." the voice was familiar, cartoonish.
A doctor walked in, his stern expression developing into a smile as he saw me. "Mikaela, you're awake." He turned to the individual on the floor. "Give us a moment would you Kelly."
She got up and left the room, she hadn't even looked back.
"Hello Mikaela, I'm Dr. Eugene." He said as he drew close to the bed. "That was Kelly. she's...a volunteer, a high school volunteer."
I turned on the bed. "I never want to see her again."
Several days later I was let out of the restraints, I was strolling through the hallways on my way back from the flower garden when I heard the voice for the first time.
I turned around, my eyes were wide open, "Brett?"
A fleeting silhouette caught my eye. "Brett!" I hastily pursued her; she was elusive, as if urging me to chase after her, just like we used to.
"Brett," I called out, placing my hands on her shoulders, and she turned around.
I collapsed to the ground, screaming as loudly as my voice would allow. It was Brett, but not as I had known her; it was as I had last seen her.
In the subsequent days, things only got worse. I would hear her, catch glimpses of her, feel her presence, and soon, there were others—different versions of her, distinct personalities emerging.
I was resting on the surface of the balcony just by the garden one day when I sensed something from behind me, it was a smell, a sweet smell.
"Don't walk up from behind me" I announced.
"Well, turn around then," she retorted.
"What are you even doing, you're not supposed to be here." I continued
"Well, who's fault is that?" she snapped. "Look I came to apologize ok. I'm sorry for what I said the other day, I really didn't mean it."
"And what was it exactly you said? 'Kelly?' " I remarked, twisting a daisy flower stalk between my thumb and index finger.
"How do you know that name" she answered immediately, coming up to the front of me.
I set the flower down and wore a smile before looking at her. "Oh, your face, much better now 'Kelly' ." I picked up the flower and fixed it to her hair.
She smiled, nodding her head. "Oh I see, so you like names huh? How about Bre...."
"Mikaela," Dr. Nessa called out softly, pulling me back to reality
"Dr. Nessa," I replied, realizing myself.
I smiled, "No, I don't. Not anymore."
"Well, Mikaela," she began, standing up with her glass of water, "You'll be starting a new chapter of your life in a couple of weeks, and I think you've made significant progress." She walked to the edge of the room, right next to a small flower pot by the window.
"I believe you're ready to resume high school. Congratulations, Mikaela. You'll be a Freshman."
I smiled; it was all I could do.
"Daisies..."
"What was that, Mikaela?" Dr. Nessa inquired as she began to slowly empty her cup into the flower pot.
"Daisies. They were her favorite...."