My Dad always said, “Keep your chin up. It’s not the end of the world.” When I was a kid he used to tell me that all time, when my best friend stole my favorite eraser or when my brother used my Barbie to test out his new parachute from the roof. He told me that when my Junior Prom Date called me an hour before prom to tell me he got back together with his ex-girlfriend and would be taking her instead. But this, this is something even my Dad can’t tell me to keep my chin up about. Even my father who always has the perfect words of wisdom and can always make me feel better had nothing to say.

         It feels like it’s the end of the world. I feel like my heart stopped beating that night three months ago. I haven’t seen any form of light since that night. 

         I met Chase on my first day of college. I was so nervous to be moving from Jackson Tennessee all the way to Knoxville for the University of Tennessee. Most of my friends didn’t even go to college not even to mention going to a school five hours away. I knew no one and was ready to go back home before I even had my first class. But then I met Chase.  I walked into my first class, Speech 101, and stopped at the doorway of the auditorium completely out of my element. There were 37 kids in my graduating class, only two hundred in the whole school. There had to be at least three hundred in that one class.

         “Hey,” I heard Chase’s voice for the first time and looked to see his bright smile and dark shaggy hair, “You have a line forming behind you, are you alright?” I nodded my head but he grabbed onto my wrist and led me inside, “Is this your class? Let’s sit. I’m Chase.”

         “Hi Chase, I’m Delia.”

         “Delia? Parents big Shakespeare fans?”

         No one ever knows what I was named after; they usually go straight to that store at the mall. I was not named after a store thank you very much. “Yes actually, are you…”

         “A Shakespeare fan? Yes, all British Lit actually but Shakespeare is my favorite. I’m not gay, by they way.  It’s possible for a very masculine man to be into Shakespeare. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

         It was from that first day, my first class in college that we were inseparable. He proposed to me the night of our graduation and less than a year later we were married. We were living the life. We both got jobs right out of college. We bought a house complete with white picket fence and actually loved spending time together. He was my best friend, my soul mate, and then he was stolen from me.

         We were driving home from a friend’s house on Saturday May 25, 2008.  Chase was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other holding onto my hand, just like we always did. That was one of those things they say that go away after you’ve been together for a while but it never went away with us. We were already married for two years and every single time we were walking together or in the car together we held hands. It was just the norm for us; we wanted to touch each other as much as we could.

         Chase drove because I was drinking. I definitely wasn’t drunk but I did enjoy a few glasses of wine with our friends. He never would drink even a sip if he were driving. He always made such a big deal about the stupidity of drinking and driving. Our life was just like a Shakespeare play, even full of foreshadowing.  It’s like he knew that’s the way he was going to die.  Even though Chase wasn’t drinking it didn’t matter because the girl driving the other car was.  He swerved to move the car out of the way of the red Mustang coming right towards us. If he had swerved two less feet the car would have crashed right into the passenger side where I was but instead he crashed into a tree crushing him against it.

         “Are you alright baby?” he asked me. I was fine, there wasn’t a scratch on me but he was bleeding from the broken window and had a branch stuck in his chest but he asked me if I was all right.

         “You’re bleeding,” I cried as I crawled closer to him, “There’s a tree in you, should I take it out?”

         “No,” he answered weakly grabbing onto my hand tighter, “I love you so much Delia, more than anything. I want you to remember that forever, ok? I’ll wait for you.”

         “What are you talking about? Stop,” I cried harder when I saw a tear roll down his cheek, “You’re going to be ok. The ambulance will be here any second and…”

         “I’m not baby. Please, please I love you so much. Remember that all right? Promise me Delia.”

         “I promise, of course I promise Chase, I love you more than live. But don’t talk like that; everything is going to be ok. You can’t leave me baby, please don’t leave me.”

         “I’m sorry Delia. You have to keep smiling, you have the most beautiful smile and you can’t keep it from the world. Be happy baby, I need you to be happy.” I leaned closer and kissed him for the last time before he spoke his last words to me from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, “The course of true love never did run smooth. I love you D.”

         I locked myself in our house for the next month. I did not know what to do with myself so I spent most of my time crying and going through old pictures. I wore Chase’s clothes, holding tightly onto anything that still had his scent and called his cell phone hundreds of times a day just to hear his voice on the voicemail.  The few times I was actually able to eat I threw it up immediately, in fact I threw up every day even when I didn’t eat.

         I’d never lost anyone close to me before so I didn’t know how I was supposed to deal with it. My family kept calling but they got the hint and finally decided to leave me alone for the time being. It was a month later that my parents showed up at my door.  They pulled me into a group hug and all I could do was cry in their arms.

         “I’ve been so sick, and throwing up,” I cried after we moved to the couch. “And so soar and like everything hurts. My head and my back and my stomach feel so weird. I can’t eat anything, food in general makes me sick but all I want is some Marshmallow Fluff.”

         My parents looked at each other and exchanged a knowing glance.  I was the only one completely oblivious to the facts in front of me: I’m pregnant.  When the doctor confirmed this the next day I did not know how to react. Chase and I had been trying for a baby for the past year but we never had any luck. It’s bittersweet that I’m now pregnant after he was taken from me. I wanted to be happy because I know how happy he would be knowing this is finally happening, but it’s too hard. How am I going to raise a child on my own? I’m having a hard time getting through the day with just me; it’s not a very good idea to bring a child into this world at this time. But I need to. This baby will be part of me and part of Chase. This baby is the only real link I’ll always have with him.

         “We found this bereavement program just down the street Delia. I really think it’s what you need. You’ll stay there for a few weeks with people going through the same thing you’re going through. It’ll really help you sweetie, I know it will.”

         I agreed to go because I knew I couldn’t be this depressed without hurting the baby. From now on I need to think about baby first, Chase would want it that way. Plus, he told me he wanted me to be happy. I’m trying really hard to get happy, I promise I am, but it’s just not happening.  It can’t be that abnormal to take this long before I get happy again.

         It was a normal hot and humid August afternoon when my parents showed up in my living room. They met me with a hug but I was unable to move out of my father’s arms.  “Hi Daddy,” I could only whisper so I could hold back the tears. I’m so sick of crying, it needs to stop. Every time I think I’m getting over it something happens and the littlest thing sets off the tears. My eyes have become a constant shade of red.

         “How are you feeling Lady Bug?”        

         I shrugged as a response and wiped my eyes before I pulled away, “I have um, that bag over there. Then I’m all set, I guess.”

         “We’re proud of you, you’re doing the right thing,” my mother stated with a smile as she grabbed onto my hand while my father grabbed my bag.  I stopped as soon as I got outside, the first time in the three months since it happened, and stood on the porch looking at the car in my driveway.

         I couldn’t move but I couldn’t take my eyes off the car. That car, A car. It’s not the same as Chase’s car but it’s the same color. It doesn’t matter, it’s a fucking car and the last time I was in a car my husband was killed. I don’t ever want to get in a car again. I don’t even want to look at a car ever again.

         “Come on Delia, it’s just a short drive,” my mother replied softly sensing my fear.

         I shook my head, tears falling like a waterfall down my face. “I can’t, I’ll walk. I’m not ready, please don’t make me. Please Daddy, I can’t.” I found myself curling against my father, begging him to spare me from what at that moment seemed to be the scariest thing in my life.

My mother found it absolutely ridiculous that I’m a twenty six year old that is afraid of a little car. I refused to get in. I turned around and headed back to my bed completely fine with spending the rest of my life there. My father’s arm wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me into one of those tight hugs that only my father can give.

         “We’ll walk, it’s not too far.” He answered simply and moved his arm to my waist as he walked with me down the driveway.

         It’s the little things that get to me. As I’m standing in the bathroom looking in the foggy mirror I start to remember the little things; like the way Kelly would get so mad when I wiped the fog off the mirror because it leaves streaks. She always hated those damn streaks.  I reached my hand up to wipe it but quickly put it down. She trained me well.

         I couldn’t do anything but stare at the mirror in front of me, watching as I slowly came into view while the fog disappeared. I don’t even recognize myself. These past few months have been so shitty I hardly remember what I looked like before everything happened. I do remember what Lemmie looked like. I hate referring to her in the past tense but what else am I supposed to do? I’m afraid I’m going to forget what she looks like. Deep down I know that could never happen but it still scares the shit out of me.

         “Justin!” I heard my mother banging on the door, “You’ve been in there awhile, are you alright?”

         “I’m fine Ma, give me a fucking minute!”  I shouted back. I know she means well but she’s been in my fucking face since she got here.  Everyone is on suicide watch with me. If I were going to kill myself I would have done it a long time ago.  I don’t understand why everyone can’t just let me deal with my shit the way I want to deal with my shit. I’m not asking for any sympathy, I’m not harming anyone. Give me a fucking break.

         I pulled a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt over my head, keeping the hood up as I walked back into my bedroom where my mother had already packed my things in a suitcase. I ignored her completely, trying to step back instead of screaming at her. She shouldn’t be touching my shit.

         “You look much better Justin.” My mother lied as I stood in the doorway. I doubt a shower could make me look any better. It could have made me smell a little better but that’s about it.

         “Give me a minute, I need to get some stuff.”

         She nodded her head and left me alone. I waited until I heard her downstairs before I went into Kelly’s closet and stopped in my tracks, looking at everything in front of me. I took a deep breath as I felt the tears falling down my face and immediately regret that I’m about to leave. If anybody touches one speck of dust in this house I will personally hunt them down. I grabbed Kelly’s perfume along with a picture of the three of us and stuffed them a duffle bag.  Next I went to Lemmie’s room, or I stood in front of her door with my hand on the doorknob unable to open it.

         I haven’t been in Lemmie’s room since the funeral and the thought of going in there, looking at her lived in room scares the shit out of me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before slowly opening it and stepping inside. My eyes weren’t just tearing anymore I was sobbing.  I looked around quickly, digging through the room looking for her extra blankie. Kelly got her two because the first one got so dirty and Lemmie wouldn’t let us wash it. So Kelly decided it would be best if we had one to switch out. I put one of her blankies in the coffin with Lemmie, and now I have the other.  After I finally found it I brought it to my nose and took a long whiff before quickly walking out and closing the door, falling to the ground.

         I’m dealing with each of their deaths different. For Kelly, I find myself sneaking into her closet just to be around her smell. I’ve spent the whole day in there just taking in her scent. As for Lemmie, I find it impossible to even go near her room. Every time I pass it I speed walk by, unable to even look at the wooden letters reading her name on the door.

         I didn’t even try to straighten myself out, instead I pulled my sunglasses over my eyes and tighted my hood before heading downstairs where I found my mother sitting on the couch. She smiled weakly when she saw me. When I came down stairs and I was greeted with another hug. I’m good with the hugs; let’s try giving me space. I walked outside, stopping briefly at the empty spot where Kelly always parked her car.

         “Come on man,” I felt Lonnie’s hand on my shoulder leading me to the car. I heard a commotion at the bottom of my driveway and saw a group of those fucktards that have ruined my life. I went back to my primal instincts and found myself running down the driveway ready to kick the shit out of each and every one of them.

         It was like I had no control over my body or even my mind. The further down the driveway I got the more people I saw, camera crews, news stations, fucking magazines. They are the fucking reason my wife and daughter are in the ground and they still don’t give up. They want to get me on my first visit out of my house. I will kill them.

         I pulled at the gate, “Open the fucking gate!” I called back to my mother. Instead of opening the gate and letting me hurt the people that more than deserve to be hurt I heard Lonnie running down the driveway after me. I pulled at the gate harder; if all that is blocking me from those assholes is this dam gate they are going to have some serious problems. A sea of flashes met me and cameras were stuffed in front of me, “Yeah man, take my fucking picture. You killed my wife and my daughter and now you’re going to stand out in front of my house and take my picture? You’re going to sell my fucking face?  I’m glad I’m making for fucking good television, you piece of shit. Get the fuck out of my face. Fuck you, fuck all of you!”

         “Come on man,” Lonnie pulled me back. He’s a big man but he’s got nothing on me right now, nothing. I could easily tear right through that fence and go on a rampage-killing spree. “Come on.”

         I turned around and walked back to the car as I heard a few of them tell me how sorry they were.  That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore.

         “Oh you’re sorry? You’re fucking sorry? I’ll give you something to be fucking sorry about…” I screamed. I was halfway over the fence when Lonnie pulled me back over. Everyone stopped in their tracks, no one spoke, and there were no flashes. Everyone was just in shock. It’s public ladies and gentlemen; Justin Timberlake has officially gone crazy.