Timothy Reed (_emptynest) wrote in immune_ic, @ 2011-12-25 12:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | # 2011 [12] december |
who: Tim and OPEN
what: Tim isn't having as merry a Christmas as everyone else
where: Madison Square, somewhere near the Day/Child Care Centre
when: Christmas Day, 25 Dec. 2018, afternoon
rating: Low
status: In progress
For all the daily struggles everyone faced day to day, it was impossible to see it on so many of their faces, especially the children's. The ones that weren't surrounded by their family were happily playing with each other -tag, hide and seek, pretend- almost as if they weren't aware of the Outbreak. While seeing them happy and healthy was usually enough to keep him going, Tim couldn't help but think of his own two children, his whole world, who he had lost so long ago.
Lizzie and Greg were everything to him; he was the one who wiped their noses and make them chicken soup when they were sick, he was the one who baked the special 'feel better cookies' when they were sad, he was Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the one that packed their lunches and dropped them off at school. Despite getting a degree in college and graduating with a great career in front of him, he devoted all of his time to them, and he couldn't have been happier. When they were taken from him, horribly and violently, suddenly, he was in such shock that he didn't even really understand what had even happened. It took two hours of driving south for him to finally realize the gravity of what happened, and he'd nearly driven himself off the road.
Most days, Tim was able to perform what was needed, be it cooking or just helping the kids drawing or reading, and he didn't start down the dark road that led right into one of his depressive moods. Even understanding the Kubler-Ross stages of grief and dying couldn't help him get over his grief. He sometimes figured that he was in denial, and he couldn't bring himself to move past. He spent hours at night dedicated to trying to remember the way their voices sounded, the way they looked when the smiled, their laughter. He'd taken up drawing again lately and immortalized his lost family often in the pages of one of the sketchbooks that had been brought back.
That's what he was doing right now. Tim had taken leave of the children, having asked for some time to himself, and was now sitting near his portioned off piece of Madison Square with his sketchbook, though his hands weren't cooperating, and he found himself day-dreaming about the Christmases that he'd had with his wife and kids, back in Maine, when they were all still together. His eyes were getting watery, but he had a small, sad smile on his face as he remembered some.
One year, Alice had gotten a rescue dog as a surprise for Lizzie and Greg, and one of the presents she wrapped for them was a dog toy. Greg got a hold of it and kept squeezing it, causing it to squeak, revealing the surprise a little earlier than Alice had intended. That dog, Spot the German Shepherd, was the only thing they cared about that Christmas; they almost didn't open their other presents. He was a good dog, and had really helped them when the Outbreak started. He had even saved Tim's life, but Spot killed by the infected. That was his first taste of tragedy that year.
So Tim started drawing Greg with the squeak-toy and Spot running into the room. He tried to remember the look on Alice's face, the scream and happiness of Lizzie, the way Greg tried to ride the dog.
"Merry Christmas," he whispered sadly to the paper.