Just About Healing
By- Victoria Escobar
Genre- NA Contemporary
My sister was my lifeline, my beacon, my North Star. I could rely on her, depend on her, turn to her when the world was just too hard to face. She could depend on me for the same.
I laughed with her; cried with her; rejoiced her success; and part of me died with her too. I lived for her, loved no one greater than her. Without Savannah, I had no one to turn to, no one to share my soul with. My other half, closer than twins we were, was just gone.
Grief broke my soul and crushed my heart to dust. I didn’t know how to put the pieces back together. I wasn’t sure I even want to without her. How could I live knowing she would never share anything with me again?
Time, supposedly, heals all wounds. I don't believe that. But I do know there are other ways to heal. I just had to find them.
I wandered into my studio at some point. Tried to paint out the grief. The only thing that occurred was a riot of color swirling around the canvas like water swirling in a drain pipe, and in the center a giant black hole sucking up all the color. It was how I felt. I was losing everything. I was to the black hole of grief, and I couldn’t make it stop.
The thought made me so angry I smashed up the studio. I screamed and raged as I threw container after container of paint at an invisible foe. Paint and glass was strewn everywhere. Blank, broken canvases littered the floor. Everything was in shambles except that easel holding that one painting. Even in anger I couldn’t destroy art, no matter how terrible.
When at last my grief overcame my strength, I crumpled to the floor. The broken glass scattered about cut into my bare legs, my cheek, and my arm and went unnoticed. The paint that stained my hair and nightshirt was ignored. There was nothing left in me to feel anything at all. The vortex of darkness had consumed all I was.
I was weeping uncontrollably when Jo finally rushed in. I vaguely remember hearing her curse as glass crunched under her practical shoes and the low rumble of what could have been Douglass’s voice as I was scooped up off the floor.
“This has to stop Evelyn.” She dumped me into the bath before carefully pulling off the damaged shirt and washed me like a newborn. It wasn’t the first time she’d done so, and I noticed about as much as I had the first time. She was vigilant in removing all the paint and glass. “You can’t follow Grace. Not yet.”
“Nothing matters anymore. There’s nothing left to live for.” My voice was unrecognizable to my ears, raw from screams and tears, and scratchy from disuse.
“You have Grace to live for.” She returned. “You need to live for her, too.”
I sighed. “I don’t have the heart.”
“You do.” She insisted. “You’re just buried in grief. It can’t get better until you come out of the darkness. Stop hiding.”
I blinked at her with confusion even as she lifted me from the tub and wrapped me in a heavy robe. “I’m not hiding.” I murmured in denial. “I can’t feel anything anymore. It’s gone. Even the art is gone.”
About the Author
Born in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, but with the ability to claim eight states as home; Victoria Escobar writes fiction from her current home in New York. She writes whatever comes to mind and because of such has a variety of genres written including Young Adult, New Adult, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, and Contemporary Fiction.
In spare time if not with family, and friends Victoria enjoys curling up with a book from a favorite author with music playing. If not reading or writing she spends time drawing, sketching, crocheting, or some other random art project. She enjoys staying busy, but most of all enjoys staying creative.