Falling

I'm choking on bile and I splutter, tears rolling down my cheeks, as I wildly drag the covers off my soaking body. The pit in my stomach pulls and aches with that emptiness that is worse than pain, and I push my face into my trembling hands. Shivers still alive down my skin, I sink to the floor, digging my nails harshly into my palm as I watch the sun rise into my bare room. I  feel so alone.
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Breathing in short gasps, incontrollable sobs racked her body and she crumpled to the floor, longing for his warm embrace to shield her from this unbearable pain. The two men were hopeless in front of the grieving woman, "Would you like us to call someone to-"
"Get OUT!" she snarled, whipping herself up in boiling resentment and agony, "Get out, get out, get out" her shouts were weaker and turned into guttural sobs as the policemen hurried from the residence, leaving the home only marginally more distressed than they were before.
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I loved him so much, your father. John's death feels a million miles away, I don't know what I'm sad about any more, John, Charlie, you. My mind is torn up and wasted, I feel so old and vulnerable and nothing seems to mean anything. You and Charlie have been taken away from me and I did it, I lost myself and now I've lost you.                                                                                                       
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Charlie held Lily in his arms, peering out the grease smeared window, to see his mother still sitting with unseeing eyes on the deckchair outside. At only five years old, he didn't know how to look after a four month old baby, and he didn't know why his mother wouldn't just come back inside. For almost two weeks he had been living off Mrs. Peterson's home-made lasagne, their old neighbour bringing round the same dish every day, and he didn't like her gum-less smile or her yappy little dog. Most of all, he hated his mother, who had barely said one word to him and just sat alone on that  horrible deckchair. Even if he cried, or hit her, or screamed at her, she wouldn't say a word. 
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It's funny but I don't remember singing your brothers favourite lullaby or ever swinging you above my head and playing silly games with you. As you curled up with one tiny gasp of life left, for the life of me I could not move from that damn chair. 

 I do remember your hands. Small and soft little things, that held my thumb tightly while you smiled for the first time, that played with your brothers old toys and patted my cheek gently when I held you in floods of tears. I held your hand in a dream; one that I was dragged from. I couldn't stop crying after, but I was with you, and we were happy, and I swear I...
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Rain blurring her vision, she  breathed in and out into the cold night air and leaned against the deckchair, mindlessly staring out into space. Suddenly, the metal door clanged open, and Mrs. Peterson stood in front of her, shaking her shoulders and shouting at her frantically, as she continued to sit and breathe. Two men in dark coloured uniforms pulled Mrs. Peterson gently to the side, and lifted her up and out of the house, as the old lady cried into her handkerchief and clutched Charlie to her side. 
As she was guided away, she caught sight of a pale little baby being placed onto a stretcher, cold and lifeless. Lily. Eyes snapping wide she pushed herself out of the surprised men's arms and  ran to the stretcher, letting out one choked cry of pain. Clasping her baby close, she fell to her knees, sobbing into her child's limp body.
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 I am so sorry, I am so sorry it's unbearable, and what I wouldn't give to hold your hands now and see you grow up and all go somewhere together, me, you and Charlie, all together again. When I dreamt about you I thought I could stay, that maybe you were really there and with me, and I had never left you alone, never lost myself so far away in my mind. Now it's me who's abandoned, but this time I won't give in. I will get better and I will fight for Charlie, fight for the only things I ever should have, and I will see you soon my darling.