“ you don’t ever have to pretend. not with me. not ever. ” David to Maggie
Maggie took off her glasses. Folding them with care, the florist placed them on the wooden tabletop that had more paper than wood showing at this moment. Bits of notes, blueprints, and sketches poked out here and there. She laced her fingers and rested them on top of those smiles.
"David, sit," she said, nodding to the chair across from her. She paused while waiting for her son to be situated at the dining room table. "I think it's time I give you some parenting advice. Mother to child and parent to parent."
She paused again. A wistful look crossed her face while she attempted to find the right words. She took a sip of water before continuing.
"Before I had you I thought the same thing. I don't have to pretend. I won't. Pretending is lying. That was my mindset," Maggie began. "And then I had you. I realized sometimes we have to do that. As parents it is our job to protect our children. It does not matter if they are one day old or forty years old. Your child will always be your baby no matter how old they are."
She paused a third time. "It is also not the job of the child to take on the weight of the parents' emotions or issues. It's your job to take care of that and not burden them. Of course, it happens. We mess up. We forget that. Every parent does. But when that happens, we need to pay attention," she added. "Because you have your own life and your own feelings. You are working through so much grief and loss and changes you don't need mine, too."
She sighed. She stared at the painting behind her son. "But I'm not pretending, too much. I am okay," Maggie assured her son. She reached over and squeezed her hand. "Deb and I are going to Sonoma next week to look at a vineyard and winery that is considering hiring me to redo their front gardens. She's going to offer some advice what she thinks. Of course we're going to have some wine. It'll be nice. It's not going to be a big job, but I feel like this is a good way to get my feet wet and back into the swing of things. A new normal. What about you, what are you doing to find that new normal?"
Today I will be swept away by the tide of grief and pulled into its embrace whether I like it or not.
Today I can’t outrun it, I can’t squash it down inside of me until it seeps out of the cracks.
Today I have to succumb to the way it tarnishes every memory, the way it bleeds into the edges of each happy moment.
Today, I will allow myself to miss you, Dad.
I’ll accept the chest crushing pain, and acknowledge the hurt that follows me around every single day, as it has done since the moment we lost you two years ago.
one moment i‘m ok and packing my things into neat little moving boxes, and one second later i‘ll remember how she always greeted me in a sing-songy voice and immediately offered me food, tea or coffee when i walked in.
and then i weep because she’ll never do that again.
i when i‘m somewhat ok again, i‘m telling people around me who never got to meet her who she was, how she was, hoping to make her immortal by planting little parts of her in the knowledge and memory of other people.
like, the way she planted mint in the garden and instead of taking over, it barley grew— she was always so frustrated about it! how does the mint not grow at all?! she just wanted to make fresh mint tea. or the way she managed to keep a huge pot of sage alive without doing anything. how she was concerned every winter for the fern that she planted outside of her kitchen window. how she scribbled into all of her cooking books, especially when she liked a recipe. how she collected and build her own library, but kept mixing classics with fantasy and children’s books.
she wrote poems and short stories. i hope she wrote them all down somewhere and we‘ll manage to find them. she wanted to color her hair in a hot pink once the white hairs were more prominent. she asked her youngest son in the morning how many books she should take with her to read in the hospital after the surgery. she asked her second oldest son what kind of cake he wanted next week for his 33rd birthday. she always let her husband trim her long hair. she wasn’t crafty at all and couldn’t sew to safe her life (it was her husband who would fix everything with the sewing machine) but after she spent one summer looking after her grandmother as a teen, she learned how to knit socks and kept doing that.
she believed that magic is found in nature, and she showed me where to look for it. she was always making sure that everyone is treated fair. she accepted immediately that i‘m non-binary’s without any fuss and called me ain from then on. she even understood how i felt about womanhood and related to it, and she told me she’s probably nonbinary too, and i was almost crying in relief, bc my own mother was just crushed and weeping as if i just died in front of her. one time she was more excited to see me that her 3rd son (my ex), despite haven’t seen him in a long time too, bc i wasn’t around as often after i broke up with him after my outing. she loved harry potter but no longer wanted to read it after i told her about jkr’s transphobia.
and she loved halloween so much! she decorated the house in fake spider webs and was always a bit disappointed that no kids came over for candy, mostly due to the fact that her house is on the very end of a steep road up the hill. she loved moomin. i hesitated taking the mug with moomin-papa bc it was her favourite, but i took it bc she also knew that i liked it a lot. the coffee tasted less bitter in it.
i once tried to embroider her medieval dress and only managed to finish one side, but she was excited nonetheless about my work and proudly announced that it’s my work whenever someone pointed it out. i still have the rings that she gave me as a gift, and she wanted me to inherit a beautiful hand-painted wardrobe from 17-something, just because it was a wedding gift of the girl who happened to share my deadname and she still thought i was meant to have it, even if my name is a different one now.
gods, i miss her so much. she was less like a second mother and more of a friend to me. this shouldn’t have happened. she should be around and complain about the heat and how she gets tired more quickly while reading. she would tell me how this time, she would refuse to do the math exercises during recovery, even if it‘s important to monitor her brain function, and eventually admit that she would do them, but still has the right to complain about it bc of her dyscalculia, and i would send her pictures and videos of my cats to cheer her up.
i wanted to tell her that i found my person and that i‘m engaged and we’re planning to get married. i wanted her to meet my fiancé and see them both talk about movies and art and board games. i looked forward to see her excited smile and feel her crushing hug and her breathless „…but oh ain, that is so wonderful!“ i wanted to share my special interest in danmei with her and give her one of the books to read.
i just want her back. i want her to be around happy and healthy and enjoying retirement with her husband.
got this idea on father’s day but wrote it last night after reading a few too many sad quotes
It’d been a year since it happened.
A year since mother nature decided to be so indescribably cruel.
A year since his heart was torn out of his chest and shown to him; as a wailing bundle with a mop of black on her head.
She wailed; oh, she wailed so loudly, crying out for her mother. For a semblance of something akin to one. And it came in the form of sleeves from a tattered old band tee that cradled her with the most delicate hold, like she was coated with fragile stickers on every surface.
He’d stolen her tears from her, holding her close so that she didn’t have to cry, even when he did, wailing out for the same thing she had.
You didn’t come home that night. Or the day after.
He buried you out by the sea. Behind the hillside beach house you’d always dreamed of together. Where his family now came to visit, to help him care for his newborn as the single parent he’d never hoped to be.
He liked to sit on the porch with her when things got hard, in the rocking swing you used to love. He’d listen to the waves crash below like a symphony of memories of all the times he’d listened with you. The times spent hand-in-hand that he took for granted so easily.
All he had now was her. His baby, your baby that he loved so dearly in spite of what happened. He could never blame her, the remains of your heart stitched together with his that was still beating. She did nothing wrong, so pure and new yet already with such a heavy burden to bear.
She looked so much like him, but her eyes, they were yours. Every time they peered up at him through that innocent soul, that ocean of grief came back to claim him. She was yours. She was yours. You would never know how glad he was that despite your hopes that your baby would be born with his eyes that held the sea in them, she was born with yours.
As long as he was alive, she would be loved. And as long as he was alive, you would be too.
I really miss you. I wish you could call me at stupid o’clock in the morning just one more time. I still have your number saved in my phone because.. I have a stupid hope that maybe one day you will
I really miss you. I look outside where you used to live every time I go past to see if your out there with your coffee and your cigarette. Because I have a stupid hope that maybe one day you might be.
I really miss you. I would give anything to come and see you. Just one more time. For one more cup of tea. I love you I love you with all my heart. And though you didn’t say it often. I know. I know you loved me too
Summary: Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: "Family Don't End with Blood," takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her, is what happens when she falls in love again?
Pairing: Sam Winchester x F!Reader (past) | Dean Winchester x F!Reader (eventual)
Warning: angst, grief, panic attacks, language, fluff if you squint
Words: 2,327
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Dean had been right. The few weeks you’d been back at work had done you the world of good. There are still nights you can’t sleep, and you still have good and bad days, but mostly you’re doing okay now. You’re back into somewhat of a routine, and once the staring and whispering stopped at the office, you fell back into the swing of things, quickly making it feel like you’d never been away. And for the first time since you’d been back, work has been so busy that you’re glad it’s the weekend.
Parking up in the driveway, you grab your purse from the passenger seat and get the groceries from the trunk. As you stand outside the door looking for your keys, you can hear the landline start to ring, prompting you to quickly grab your keys and unlock the door. Finally making it in, you haphazardly push the door closed with your foot and stumble towards the phone. Your fingers just manage to close around the device, ready to pull it off its cradle, when the ringing stops and your heart drops.
“Hey, it’s Sam!” The tinny sound of your husband’s voice comes out of the small speaker. “And Y/N!” You can hear the smile in your voice clear as day and it makes you feel nauseous. “We can’t get to the phone right now, so you know what to do!”
Sam’s parting words are the last thing you hear before your heart starts to race, and you feel yourself getting hotter and hotter. There’s a whooshing in your ears and your throat feels like it’s closing over. You struggle to breathe with the heart palpitations and the crushing weight on your chest. You can’t hear at all now that the whooshing has changed to a deafening ringing. Your vision blurs with the tears that are falling, and the more you fight to breathe, the darker your surroundings get.
You hear the phone start to ring again – though this time it sounds higher and more musical in tone – and the thought of hearing your husband’s voice again panics you into taking a deep, gasping breath. The air you release from your lungs comes out in a sob and you force yourself to your hands and knees and crawl over to the corner.
When the wall stops you from moving any further, you curl your knees into your chest, wrap your arms around them and begin to rock, trying to provide yourself with the comfort you’re in desperate need of. Your slowly healing heart begins to shatter again in a symphony of tears, shallow breaths, and a painfully pounding heart.
You don’t know how long you’ve been crouched in the corner of your living room, but it’s completely dark now which tells you it’s way past sunset. You’re startled out of the daze you’ve been trapped in by a car door slamming outside. You take an experimental deep breath, and though your chest still feels tight and it still hurts a little, you manage okay. Trying to get up is another matter entirely. Your body is just too tired, and everything aches. All of your energy has been depleted by the panic attack that had hit with none of the usual warning signs – you don’t even have the energy to lift your head when you hear the front door open.
“Y/N?”
Dean’s voice makes your heart jump, but your emotions are all over the place and you can’t tell if it’s relief that he’s here and will comfort you, or fear that he’s going to read you the riot act for not calling him.
“Sweetheart, you here?” The light flickers on and you don’t even flinch at the sudden brightness. “Shit!” He mumbles as he takes in the mess of the floor; groceries scattered all over the place, their brown paper bag burst open, your purse lying abandoned next to your keys and the cordless handset of the phone.
Dean spins around searching for you, the look of panic clear on his face. You can see he’s ready to move into another room when he stops short, eyes trained on you curled into a ball in the corner of the room.
“Y/N, thank god! You scared me! I’ve been calling and texting you all night. What happened?” His brow is furrowed in concern, and you curse yourself that he looks like he’s aged five years since you saw him yesterday and you know that–once again–it’s because of you. Everything you’ve done for the past three months seems to be ageing either John or Dean. Or both.
“Hey,” he says, cupping your cheeks in his hands. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”
You try to open your mouth to say something–anything–but all that comes out is another sob. Dean is quick to wrap you in his arms and pull you into his chest, letting you cry it out on his shoulder.
When you finally stop crying, you feel your bone-tired body sag against his, grateful that he’s holding you so tightly or you’re sure you’d have collapsed in a heap at his feet.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed, sweetheart. Maybe you’ll feel better after some sleep and we can talk about this in the morning, huh?” Dean whispers into your ear.
He slides one arm under your legs and the other around your waist and lifts you into his arms. He walks towards the door, stopping short as you squirm in his embrace and reach your hand out. Grabbing hold of the phone cable, you pull it as hard as you can, yanking its connection out of the wall socket.
Dean doesn’t say anything other than a quiet, “you good?” before continuing to carry you up to your bedroom when you nod and rest your head on his shoulder. He makes you feel calm and safe, and you can already feel your body lose some of its tension and your eyes become heavy with sleep.
“Alright, sweetheart, I’m gonna get you a little more comfortable, alright?” Dean holds your gaze to make sure you hear and understand him. “So, I’m gonna take off your boots and your pants, okay? Then we’ll get you under those covers, what d’ya say, huh?” You don’t remember doing it, but you must nod because Dean gives you a wink and mutters, “that’s my girl,” as he pulls one of your boots off.
Dean settles you in bed and strokes your cheek with the pad of his thumb, smiling softly at you.
“Try and get some sleep, yeah?” he whispers and starts to stand up from the bed. Your hand grips his wrist and squeezes gently, stopping his movement and making him look back at you.
“Please stay.”
Dean’s POV
“Please stay,” Dean hears her begging him, and damn, if he isn’t a sucker for a damsel in distress at the best of times, never mind that damsel being Y/N. He’d give a kidney to that girl. Hell, he’d give her his last breath.
“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Dean smiles at her as he stands from the bed and moves to the opposite side.
Taking his shoes off, he slides under the duvet and opens his arms, inviting his sister-in-law into him in an effort to provide her with the comfort she no doubt needs after the emotional turmoil of the evening.
Y/N shuffles over and rests her head on his shoulder, releases a heavy sigh and thankfully, falls asleep almost immediately. Dean was worried she’d lay awake for hours thinking about whatever it was that had set her off earlier. She’d been doing so well recently, but he’d had this feeling of dread deep in his gut all day and when she didn’t answer any of his calls or texts, he knew something was really wrong. He just hadn’t expected to walk into her house and see her curled into a corner.
Wrapping his arms around her, Dean lets out a sigh of his own before he places a kiss on the crown of her head and strokes her hair. Something made her have a panic attack and he’s certain he knows what it was. He just wants to make sure she’s sound asleep before he finds out if he’s right.
Once her breathing evens out and Dean’s sure Y/N’s in a deep sleep, he carefully picks up his cell phone and calls her and Sam’s landline number. It’s the only thing he can think of that set her off–the phone lying on the floor, her yanking the phone line from the wall–there’s nothing else that could have done it except…
“Hey, it’s Sam!” Dean’s heart drops to his stomach.
“And Y/N!” And then it breaks.
He ends the call and puts his phone on the bedside table and his eyes catch the wedding photo of Sam and Y/N bathed in the moonlight. He’s never seen two people as happy as they were that day and it kills him that his baby brother was taken from this world far too soon and that he left a beautiful, young woman who was perfect for him, behind.
Dean’s never been one for emotions, always burying them and trying to hide them, but lying next to his brother’s grieving widow, he lets his emotions find him and the tears fall silently. And finally, when he has none left, he settles himself down for what’s sure to be a long, sleepless night.
He wakes with a start. It’s still dark outside, but he can see from the open curtains that dawn isn’t far away. He hears a dull thud coming from downstairs and quickly looks to the other side of the bed to check if Y/N is still asleep next to him. Seeing her side of the bed empty he sighs in relief before frowning and turning to check the time.
5:58am
Dean pulls the covers from his body and gets out of bed. Following the soft thuds, he finds Y/N sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the sideboard in the kitchen, pulling out papers and various bits and pieces.
“Y/N? What are you doing?”
“Cleaning,” she states like it’s the most natural thing in the world to be doing before the sun is up.
“It’s 6am, sweetheart,” he replies, even more confused about what’s going on.
“There’s coffee in the pot. Help yourself,” again said like it’s normal to be shredding paperwork at 6am.
“How long have you been doing… whatever it is you’re doing?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “Like 3:30, 4am?” She looks at him for the first time and giggles. “Your hair is adorable when you wake up! You look like a hedgehog!”
He can’t help but laugh at her obvious joy having seen so little of it lately. Still chuckling, Dean walks over to the cabinet to get a mug of coffee.
“So,” he says as he sits on the floor across from her, “what exactly are we doing here?” Dean takes some time to look over the piles of stuff she’s making and sees that everything had belonged to Sam and she continues sorting things into piles before glancing up at him.
“It’s time. I need to let him go,” her eyes begin to water. “And to do that, I need to start getting rid of things.” Dean nods at her solemnly.
“Are you sure about this?” he questions softly. “Sure you’re ready?”
“I’m never going to be ready, Dean. But what happened last night… I can’t go through that again. I haven’t been that bad since the funeral, and I’m tired of being scared of what I’ll find when I open a cupboard, or what happens when I don’t get to the phone on time,” she explains as she bravely fights more tears. Dean nods again and takes her hands in his.
“Okay. Then let me help. And when it’s a less ungodly hour,” he playfully scowls at her. “I’ll call dad and Jody. You shouldn’t do this alone and without the support of family around you. Alright?” He checks, and when she nods, he smiles at her.
“Alright,” he rubs his hands together and picks up a pile of papers. “Wanna tell me what I’m supposed to do with these?”
Y/N’s POV
Sighing, you look around the room and smile softly at Dean and Jody laughing and joking over a beer in the kitchen. Your house is almost empty of all of your husband’s belongings now, and yet, somehow, it looks exactly the same. You’d let John and Dean take what they wanted and there were two boxes to go up to the attic. You’ve kept a closer hold on his wedding ring and your wedding album, his Stanford mug, t-shirt and hoodie, and some of his other most prized possessions, by putting them in a box in your closet. Everything else is either going to goodwill or in the trash.
“You doing okay, honey?” Jody asks, placing her arm around your waist.
“Yeah, m’okay.” You’re not really, but you don’t have it in you to talk about how you feel right now.
“Liar!” Jody chuckles but thankfully leaves it at that. “How about we go for dinner at the Roadhouse? We’ve earned a decent meal and should have a drink to reflect and remember. It’s not necessarily a celebration, but I think we need to mark this occasion somehow, Y/N.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. I could do with a decent home-cooked meal and the biggest glass of wine they have!” You smile sadly.
“Darlin’,” John says as he comes back in from a trip to the recycling centre. “You deserve a damn bottle! C’mere,” he opens his arms and invites you into his embrace.
“I did the right thing, right?” You mumble into his chest.
“It was time, Y/N,” John reassures you. “Ain’t no doubt about that.”
I'm sorry for the sad themes of my posts lately. It's just that I lost my grandpa 4 days ago and it has been really really hard.
I do want to say thank you to the handful of friends on here that have really supported me through his and have made sure to check on me and give me a shoulder to lean on. I appreciate you guys so much ♥ I'm so lucky to have the community on this blog that I do.
