The Atwood DITFT: Generation 4, Chapter 10
Welcome to the finale of Generation 4, everyone! I am going to save most of my commentary for the end of this post, because I don't want to spoil anything but I definitely want to say some more stuff. To all of you who commented on my last post, thank you so much. It's been a really, really terrible week (it has been a whole week, now) but things are getting easier. I'm so lucky to have some great friends on this website. Love you guys <3
Also... proceed with caution on this chapter. I don't want to put any specific warnings on it (because spoilers) but just be warned that it might be difficult to read. It was really tough to write, to be honest :P
Anyway, I just a minute ago said I wouldn't say anything til the end of the chapter, so I am officially shutting up and letting you read already!
The Atwood Legacy: Generation 4, Chapter 10
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Gen, you need to eat,” Graham practically begged.
His wife lay listlessly on the bed, curtains drawn, the room dark. She was shivering, and Graham gently laid a blanket across her. “No,” she said.
“I need you to,” he said.
“I don’t care.”
He offered the tray he was holding. “Just some crackers?” he asked. “Or just a sip of water; please, just something. It’s been days.”
Genie shook her head. “I don’t care.”
Graham sighed, resting a hand on her shoulder. “But I care. I care about you, and you’re going to waste away if you don’t at least drink water.”
“What does it matter?” Genie asked. “Why should I bother? Why should I even bother living?” Her tone was completely flat, which terrified Graham almost more than the words themselves.
“Don’t say that,” he begged. “I need you here. Joey and I need you more than ever. Please don’t give up. Can you please do this… for me?”
Genie groaned and sat up slightly. Graham handed her the glass, and she took several reluctant sips of water before lying down again. Good enough, for now, Graham thought. He set the glass on the bedside table. “I’m going to leave this right here,” he said, “along with the snacks. If you feel like it, try to have a little more, okay?”
He stood up. “I’m going to leave now. Your phone is right there too… if you need anything, you call me. Okay?”
Genie nodded.
“I’m going to come back in a few hours,” he said. He looked at her long and hard. “I love you.”
She looked back at him, biting her lip, a few tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “I love you, too.”
“We will get through this, together,” he said. “I promise.”
When he had gone, Genie sank back into a fitful sleep, thinking to herself that she wasn’t so sure Graham was right.
* * *
It had been a month.
One month since baby Sam had been stillborn. One month since Graham, alone, had buried the infant in the snowy backyard next to the horses and his big brother Charlie. He hadn’t allowed Joey to watch, had purposely done it while she was at school; Genie hadn’t been able to leave her room to join him.
This, Graham had thought in his head as he shoveled the ground methodically, is absolutely fucking unfair.
He couldn’t bear to watch what this was doing to Genie. To have held her son in her arms this time, a real, fully developed baby, but having known the whole time that he was dead-that was what finally broke Genie. She had managed the first miscarriage, so early on that the child hadn’t even had a name yet. With Charlie it had been harder, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t like this. This time Graham was burying a child, an actual infant who should have been alive, who could have made it at that stage of the pregnancy… but didn’t.
“CRUEL!” Graham had shouted as he dug, pounding all his fury and grief into the ground with the shovel. “THIS IS CRUEL!”
But no one answered. And Sam had to go into the earth, just like Charlie, just like any other children they tried for must be doomed to do.
Now, a month later, Graham was painting again. He loved the way he could escape his own thoughts and delve into the art he was creating. It let him relax, if only for a time.
There was no such escape for Genie. Unwilling, even unable, to get out of bed, she couldn’t find solace in the horses. Graham hadn’t even heard the midnight piano mournings that had once been her preferred method of coping. Graham’s only comfort was knowing that their two dogs did their best to take care of her.
Graham visited her every hour in the bedroom, bringing her food and water and staying until she consumed something. If he didn’t do so, he knew she would never eat or drink again.
One afternoon, right before Joey was due to get home from school, Graham pulled up a chair next to the bed. He hadn’t wanted to do this, but it felt like he had no other choice. He studied her for a moment, then said seriously, “Gen, can we… talk about this?”
She looked at him blankly.
“I want… I think we should… stop trying.” He didn’t know how else to put it. “I hate what this is doing to us, to Joey, especially to you. I don’t want you to suffer like this anymore, and I’m afraid the next time would just be the same.”
Genie began to cry. “But-”
“I know, I know you want another child, a son,” he said with anguish in his voice. “I do too, and I know this is unfair and unjust and cruel. But we shouldn’t subject ourselves to this anymore. Don’t you think? We both love Joey, and we can pour all our love into her now. No more of this needless suffering.”
Genie cried harder. “It wouldn’t be needless if next time it worked,” she said through her tears.
“Yes, but how do we know? We don’t, we can’t, and I don’t think I… or you… I don’t think we can do this again.”
Genie sobbed, and Graham scooted his chair to be closer to her. “I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “I’m so, so sorry this is happening.” He kissed her forehead gently, and stayed there until Genie’s sobs slowed to a stop and she fell asleep.
* * *
The next day was much the same. Genie showed no sign of getting up when Graham awoke, so he got Joey ready for school on his own, as usual. Then he brought Genie breakfast on a tray, as usual.
“Graham,” she whispered when he sat beside her. She was more alert than usual. She seemed to have eaten more the day before.
“Genie, I’m here,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. It felt cold in his, but she held on tightly.
“Does… does Joey know I love her?” Genie said, her voice barely making a sound in the silent bedroom. There was something like desperation in her words, and Graham’s heart ached.
“Genie, she does,” he said. He didn’t know what to say to this. Joey knew her mother cared for her, but it was so complicated. Graham himself was confused; he couldn’t imagine what his nine-year-old thought of the whole thing. “Daughters always have a special bond with their mothers, don’t you think?”
Genie sighed. “Not when their mothers don’t leave the bedroom to speak to them.”
“Oh, Gen. She’ll understand when she’s older. What you’re going through is so hard. Don’t pressure yourself to find the energy to be with Joey right now. You need to focus on yourself, on feeling better, first. Then we’ll worry about Jo.”
Genie’s lip quivered. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel better,” she whispered.
Graham climbed onto the bed and pulled her into a hug. “You will,” he promised, stroking her hair. “You will, and this will all be nothing more than a bad memory. We will get there, I know it.”
Genie was crying softly into Graham’s chest. She took a deep breath. “I love you, Graham.”
“And I love you, Genie. So much.”
* * *
It wasn’t until lunchtime that Graham understood the significance of Genie’s words. He brought her another tray of food, noticing she had eaten her breakfast. But something felt wrong in the room. He found himself hurrying forward, nervous. Vaguely he registered the bottle of Genie’s sleeping pills on the bedside table. What was she doing with those? She hadn’t had trouble sleeping in months; these days she slept more than usual. What was she…?
Then Graham really got a look at her. She was lying incredibly still. In fact, she wasn’t breathing. Graham found himself trembling uncontrollably. He knew what was happening, but he couldn’t allow himself to think that, couldn’t allow his mind to form the word.
He grabbed her hands roughly; he shook her limp shoulders. Everything felt muffled, as though he couldn’t hear properly. Her hands were ice in his, even colder than they had been this morning. She didn’t return his grip when he held them.
He was shivering violently, his shoulders heaving, his hands almost unusable, his knees knocking together. Suddenly they wouldn’t support his weight any longer, and he fell to the floor.
Oh, God, anything but this. Please, please, please…
* * *
Graham sat numbly on the bedroom floor for hours, though it felt like a few minutes to him. He tried to regulate his breathing, tried to get his shuddering limbs back under control.
Why? The only thought that ran through his mind. Why? Why? Why?
There was no note by the bed. There was nothing. Nothing left, no matter what he did, no matter how he shook her shoulders or tried to breathe life into her lungs. She was gone and there was nothing he could do.
She had gone to be with her sons. Graham couldn’t bear it. After everything that had happened, after all the grief they had experienced. He had always counted on them being in it together. He had never considered this.
* * *
It occurred to him to call the police. Not an ambulance; he did not nurture quite that much false hope.
An officer showed up rather quickly. He led her to the bedroom, where Genie still lay motionless. He had been too distraught to move anything-a perfectly preserved crime scene. Thankfully, the officer noticed his utterly distressed state and the empty pill bottle on the table, and didn’t regard him with any suspicion.
The tears still hadn’t started, but Graham wasn’t sure how long he could maintain that. One minute at a time, was what he told himself. Right now, he was talking to this kind police officer. That was all he needed to do for now.
“Do you have any children together?”
They were in the living room now. The officer seemed to be trying to help Graham with his swirling emotions, or at least trying to make this more bearable. But it wasn’t, it wasn’t, he couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear telling Joey.
“Yes,” he breathed. “One. She should be home…”
“Would you like me to break the news to her?”
Graham looked up at the officer. “You could do that?”
She nodded.
“I… I need to be there, though. In the room, when you tell her.”
“Of course.”
What is Joey going to do? I never expected this. I never even tried to prepare her for… this.
* * *
Joey was led into the living room by the police officer, and all Graham could see was the absolutely bewildered expression on her face. “Daddy,” she said as soon as she saw him. She ran to him, and he pulled her tightly against him.
“Sweetheart, I…”
The officer looked at Graham, who nodded slightly to her over his daughter’s head. “Joey?” the officer said. The girl looked around at the policewoman, confusion still evident in her eyes. “I’m sorry to scare you,” she said gently. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. You see, your mother… she has passed away.”
“She… what?” Joey processed these words. Tears welled in her eyes. “Mommy’s… dead? Wh-what happened? Daddy?” She looked at her father imploringly. “Really?”
Graham swallowed hard. “She’s… she’s telling the truth, Princess. I’m so sorry.”
Joey shook her head. “No, no, she’s… Mommy is fine!” She started toward the staircase, obviously intending to prove this herself, but Graham stopped her.
“Sweetie, you can’t go up there… I’m sorry. There was nothing anyone could do.”
“No!” Joey screamed, struggling against Graham’s grip. “No! Why! Mommy!”
Graham held onto her, pulling her against him and letting her kick and scream. He looked helplessly at the policewoman, who nodded as if to say, let her express this pain. So he just held on as Joey sobbed against him, hoping desperately that he could handle this, that he could somehow steer this ship toward a shore on which they could both be happy, functioning humans again.
* * *
They were used to funerals, now.
Graham and Joey stood shoulder to shoulder under the great weeping willow tree in their backyard. Behind them, the horses and dogs stood sentinel.
Joey looked unnatural in her black dress and somber expression. Graham was used to yellow and pink and smiles. She was too young for this, his baby girl, his princess. She didn’t deserve this. We don’t deserve this, either of us.
“Would you… would you like to say anything, Princess?”
Joey swallowed hard and wiped at the tears that coursed down her cheeks. “Sure.” She moved a bit closer to the freshly dug grave, standing next to the others that now formed a miniature cemetery in the grass. “Mommy…” Joey began, though she wasn’t sure what to say. Her voice hitched with tears, but she continued. “I… I’m going to miss you. And… I promise to take care of the horses for you.” She sniffled and looked uncertainly at her father, who nodded. “That’s all.”
“That’s perfect, sweetheart,” Graham said gently. Then he looked toward the grave, struggling to find the words he needed. “We love you, Genie,” he said softly, looking down at the freshly turned earth and imagining his wife laying there, happily looking up at the web of branches above, at the willow tree they had once loved before it became a symbol of their family’s grief. “I hope you have found peace.”
* * *
I imagine you in the pasture, among the flowers, among the grass
Horses surrounding you, dogs nearby, a light breeze lifting your hair.
I imagine you in the arena, atop your horse, moving as one
You were powerful, you were brave, you were strong.
I imagine you playing in snow, your fingertips like ice
Your cheeks pink with the cold, and tiny flakes of powdery white dancing on your eyelashes.
I will remember you that way, I think
Strong but delicate,
Beautiful and kind,
At one with nature.
And now I will imagine you finally at home.
Graham closed his laptop. He sighed. He closed his eyes. He counted to ten, slowly, methodically, while he waited for the tears to subside.
Then he stood up and walked out of the room, shutting off the light as he went.
~ ~ ~
Um, so.
There's a bunch of things I want to say about this. One is that I have had this plotline planned for so long. I mean more than a year, and maybe like two years. Since before Graham was born I knew that I'd be doing this to him.
It wasn't until last week that this became... something entirely different. I wrote the text for that last picture the day I found out a friend of mine had committed suicide, one week ago. I've been struggling with writing and taking pictures for this chapter since Christmastime or earlier, and last week just... made this impossible.
At the time I thought I might never ever be able to post this, that I'd have to totally change the plot or give up on the legacy entirely or something. I reread it today, however, and it feels really real. I'm not trying to toot my own horn, I'm just saying I have never, ever empathized with a Sim of mine or anyone else's as much as I feel for Graham right now. Good lord, you guys, this is serious, horrible stuff. I really hope I didn't hurt any of you too much, reading this. I don't know how I can stomach it right now, to be honest.
I want it to be a tribute, though. So, this chapter is dedicated to Emily. She was beautiful and she belonged on a farm just like Genie did. She was twenty years old, just like me. She was one of the greatest human beings I have ever had the pleasure to meet. I know people always have great things to say about those who have passed away, but I am not exaggerating - this girl was always an inspiration to me and so, so many others. She loved everyone. And everyone loved her back.
Other things I want to say: I think this chapter feels almost emotionless, and that's intentional - Graham is incredibly numb right now. Also, even though it is pretty understandable what was going on with Genie, I'm sure on some level you're confused or wanting to know more about what exactly is going on in her mind. There will be a chapter later, in Joey's generation, to explain some of that. For now, I leave you as confused as Graham is, because the reality is Genie never told him the extent of what was going on, either.
Finally: I sincerely hope I haven't written this in a way that is offensive to anyone who has experienced this sort of thing. I wrote it before I had any personal experience, but it felt truthful after I had very unfortunately gained some. Still, please do let me know if I've written anything in a way that could offend someone. I do not mean to minimize mental illness or mock it in any way. If anything, I am posting this to emphasize just how incredibly important a topic it really is.
Thank you to anyone who actually read this entire rambling. I would honestly love to hear from you, what you thought about this chapter, etc. And since Emily reminded me of this last week, I will tell you how important you all are to me! Thank you for being some kickass friends and fabulous writers. I appreciate all of you and I'm so glad to have you as part of my life!