The doctor prescribed me valiums today. He says I’m in a state of shock and the best thing for me to do is rest.
The attorney agreed with him and left his wife to attend to me as he talked with my husband in the other room.
I really liked her but couldn’t stop crying long enough to tell her how much she helped me. She inspired me but I don’t remember how.
I’m still crying. I don’t know what to do with all the pain. I’m tormented, tortured, taking blow after blow. It’s exhausting.
She is outside of me, my spirit, I see her resting on my shoulder. She is lost, looking for a way back in. She is suffocating in my sorrow; abandoned and displaced, along with my strength. They are searching, demanding that I get it together in all the confusion, but I just don’t know how. I am lost along with them.
Nothing makes sense. I remember Stacy calling. I remember leaving the salon. I remember 75 miles an hour. I don’t know how I got home. I don’t know how I lived through the drive. I don’t know how I’m living amongst the wreckage. I’m still trying to piece it all together.
I remember his cold words; fueled with heartless greed. They won’t stop repeating themselves in my head. They make it hard to breathe.
“He’s not here right now.”
“He’s not home, Kerri.”
“He’s dead Kerri, I found him this morning and I’ve cleaned his house out of anything worth anything”.
His exact words.
I don’t understand. I keep replaying it, like a movie stuck on repeat, over and over again in my mind. The phone call, the strange voice of my brother on the other end, the conversation, the knife in my back, the woman God chose as my mother, the pain in my daughter’s voice……..Why Why Why??? That’s all that I can think to ask myself.
Hope is also lost.
I needed to talk to my father. He would know what to do.
I started to choke on the pain. My airway severed under the wreckage of what he’d just said. I could only scream to catch a breath. I struggled then as I struggle now.
I really need to talk to my Dad.
My mind recalls more and more. I heard others in the background.
His razor-sharp tongue; like a dagger, piercing my heart, slowly yanking, methodically and willfully cutting me through the core as he speaks again, saying……..
“He’s dead Kerri. I don’t know what else to tell you”.
My tears are still present. I feel the devastation of the pain.
His wife yelled in the background, “Get off the phone with that fucking bitch, all she wants is money!” Her exact words; spoken from her heart. Words I gave no response to.
I imagine her saying them now, dressed in black, applying red lipstick to the smile on her face.
“I really need to talk to my father.” He comes to mind again and again. I said the words out loud to which my brother replied, “He’s dead Kerri, I found him this morning and I’ve cleaned his house out of anything worth anything”. His exact words, spoken from his heart.
My father would tell me to pray for them.
I won’t take the valiums; I will put my care in the hands of God. He will see to it that I rise above. He always has, He always does. He always will.
From the personal journal of Kerri Bishop Reece written December 6, 2010
© Kerri Bishop Reece | Kerri Chronicles