What Becomes Of A Broken Heart: Chapter 2-The Beginning Stages

Days were short, as nights grew longer. I found myself curled up in a homemade cocoon while lying lifeless in a puddle of tears. I would often find myself trying to understand all the reasons why this had to happen to him. I needed GOD to fully provide me with an explanation because nothing was making any sense.  None of this could be true and I didn’t want it to be.


After a while, my denial  became anger. I began to grow apart from one of my closets friend; A friend that I was developing a positive relationship with for majority of  my life. A friend who was once worthy of praise and glory but now was becoming my enemy.

His name was God.

How could you be so selfish and stupid to take the young and allow the murders, rapist, and psychotic pedophiles to stroll around on earth harming innocent people? How come they were giving a second chance? Fuck their lives.  Why would you let the good die young to become your angel while you leave us with all the demons?  I would say.  As ignorant and boldly as it sounded, God must’ve knew my heart and ignored  my hatred filled questions and comments. He never responded.


Friends and family wanted to talk to me—but I had no interest in hearing from them. They constantly called, texted, and left voice mails to send their condolences. All they wanted to do was to support me. But I had no interest in hearing the robotic “I’m truly sorry for your loss. If you need anything, please let me know. I’ll be praying for your strength…and blah blah bloop bloop.” I was a mad and angry beast. “I wish they would just leave me alone and let me be.”  I would mummer.   If they really want to help, wake me up from this black rose nightmare.


There wasn’t a moment during my day when I didn’t think about Julian’s family. Even though I was angry with God, I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that he wouldn’t answer a few special prayers I had for him.  So I kneeled down with little hope  and specifically asked God for a few favors.  I prayed for his sweet big sister, whom always admired her little brother for his outgoing personality and occasionally annoying ways, to cherish the laughs he would magically create whenever they were together. I asked God to help his thoughtful and loving pops to find the courage and strength as he prepared for his son’s funeral.   Finally, I prayed a little harder and a bit longer for his mother. A beautiful and spiritual lady that was the “backbone of the family,” as Julian once described her.  I wanted her to find healing in biblical strictures.  My heart ached badly for them.


My eyes exploded to puff balls from all the crying I had been doing. That afternoon, I called my sister to tell her how unbelievable everything was. I even explained the unwanted anger towards God and family and friends.  “What’s happening? Why do I feel this way?  I wish he would’ve just stayed with his friends that night, then none of this would’ve happened.   I never knew a pain like this.  I wish everyone would leave me alone.”  My sister interjected and calmly said with a slight crack in her voice that signified that she was fighting back her own tears, “Carissa, isolation, anger, and bargaining are the beginning stages of the grieving process…”


With the slightest clue in what she was talking about and a care-less attitude, I reformed my cocoon and cried even harder.   Little did I know, the worse was yet to come.  Something, I wasn’t quite prepared for.  Something that I knew little of called…



To be continued…


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