I breathe in the fresh morning air. It is crisp and cool making me relax and finally breathe. Brown, crunched up leaves litter the entire floor of the woods and make a pleasant sound as I walk deeper and deeper into the one place I know I should not go.

I check my mobile again and silently curse under my breath. Nobody I know, like my sister and best friend, would call it a curse though. They would have called it one of Julie’s bad words. What ever the crap that means. My phone blinked and practically screamed that I had five missed calls. Speak of the wee little devils and they shall appear in some shape or form. They started texting me this morning and I have refused to respond. I couldn’t. Not now. Maybe not ever.

I put my phone back into legging pocket. It fit firmly and stayed put to which I am grateful. Running around in the woods before the sun has come up is not the best idea but at least I don’t have to carry my phone three miles. Well that is as far as I have gone. Starting at six and realizing it is now seven is something I don’t like. It means work and no more hiding. I hate myself for checking my phone.

I let my mind go blank for a few moments. I stop running and I slow down to a stop. I come to a clearing of pine trees that is littered in pine needles as if it is a sea of just that. I smell in the musky scent and try not to cry. Sick of crying, I tell myself. So sick of it. But it smells like him. It smells like my love. No! I fight the emotions and thoughts and memories. I can’t do this. I can’t do this! I feel like I want to retch and pass out. I fight that still. I came out to the backyard of my parent in laws house to escape and to not think. No, I can’t do this.

I take off in a sprint hoping to escape the trauma and the pain. Running away never seems to see any problems though. Hey I run and can’t stop.

I came to my parent in laws to find peace with my husbands passing but instead I find remorse and hurt and memories. So many memories. This is a horrible idea I realize. Retched and vile. I stop when I see it and freeze. I don’t think I can ever move again. The tree house. The tree house with all the play dates as kids and made up dates. All the making out and illegal drinking we should have not been doing. All the jokes and laughs. All the hope and joy.

I do vomit this time. I can’t hold it back. I heave as sob. I scream as I stare at the broken down and falling tree house, the strange complexity of a tiny house fitting between two skinny pine trees that is held up by a few strong branches, the red and purple color that looked so stupid before with its awful design and suddenly looks beautiful and inspiring with the rot, mold, and wear to it. I stare at it and don’t stop, can’t stop the screaming.

I decided something before coming into the woods, before having my last walk in the woods. I decided it would be okay, that I will be okay. And I know how I get that. I pull out the gun in my other legging pocket that fit surprisingly well. I feel it and debate and think and get sick again. But I make the choice and stay with it. I can’t live without him. I died when he died. I decided this the moment I got the phone call of his accident.

I decided.

I pull it out and I shoot. I don’t feel the pain, our peace. I don’t feel myself hit the ground but I suddenly see the sky. I don’t feel the pine needles sticking out of my arm but I do feel my husbands warm hand in mine.