A Show of Faith

by Greer Hendricks

I lost my own mother nearly two decades back, to heart disease. I also lost my daughter, Faith, a year and a half ago. She would have been twenty next month. When a spouse dies, you become a widow or widower, but there is no word for what you become when you lose a child. Perhaps it’s because there is simply no language to describe that kind of devastation.

My mood was always tethered to hers, like a ribbon attached to a helium balloon. When she rose, I sailed along with her. Of course, the reverse was also true.

Faith’s death was the final fissure in a marriage that had already begun to fracture. And so in less than a year, I had lost my only child and my husband.

well-wishers assured me that “time heals all wounds,” but the reality is grief does not possess an expiration date, and my anguish is ever present, an internal jagged scar that will never fade away.

empty evenings and weekends stretch before me like gooey strings of taffy.

if we were on time, we were actually late. In order to be on time, we had to be at least five minutes early.”

As the cashier rings up the groceries, an unfamiliar warmth blooms in my chest; it takes me a moment to recognize the sensation—it’s joy. I try to recall the last time I’ve felt anything akin to pleasure.

I look back at the photograph and zoom in to better read the dosage. That’s when I see the name on the bottle isn’t Maya Hays. It’s Mara Haynes.

My mother’s death, my fake birthday, even my age, these are just a few of the many, many lies I’ve told Blair.