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1.
The April sun beat down upon the leaf strewn lawn, its light reflecting off of the numerous headstones; some old and crumbling, others more new and pristine, the cold stone not yet weathered away by the elements. The heat mocked her, the rays burning into her back. Normally a day such as this would bring her comfort, but she no longer saw the world in colour; flickers of the lonely graveyard fluttered in shades of monochrome.
The world was unfair; it selfishly endeavoured to keep turning despite the fact that it should have ground to a deafening halt the moment her anchor had slipped away.
For her world had ceased to exist the moment Wednesday Addams had taken her final breath.
Her sneakers snagged against the overgrown foliage as she traipsed through the graveyard though she took care not to stumble. She carried a bouquet of red roses in one hand and a precious cargo in the other.
She approached the headstone with a quiet resilience, she both hated and loved coming here. It was the only place she ever felt close to Wednesday, when in reality she knew that Wednesday was no longer here. What made Wednesday..Wednesday had left her in those final moments. All that had remained was a barren corpse, a tribute to the person Wednesday had been - but her soul had departed, leaving for a place where she could not follow.
2.
To say that Wednesday had suffered was an understatement.
Any other person would have cracked under the pressure of a terminal cancer diagnosis, but not her moon. Although Enid knew it was affecting her deep down, Wednesday never, ever showed it. She was the master of her own emotions.
Enid, although she had tried so hard not to break - eventually broke down a few weeks into the diagnosis. At first she would lie awake in bed, waiting for Wednesday to fall asleep and only then would she allow herself to cry. Not deep guttural sobs, but quiet tears - she would allow the emotions to leak from her eyes and soak into the black pillow beneath her head. She would remain calm and composed, and strong for her wife, because the last thing she needed was for her partner to go to pieces.
It had happened on a dark September evening. The weather outside was as cold and as miserable as Enid felt as she loaded dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Her hands trembled as she rinsed off the plates and slotted them into the top rack of the machine.
It was late and she was exhausted, keeping up the façade of being okay when she was internally combusting was taking every ounce of energy she had, she was so tightly wound that she thought she may break. As her mind wandered, her grip faltered on one of the glasses she was rinsing beneath the faucet. It slipped out of her grasp and fell to the grey tiled kitchen floor in slow motion, the silence before the storm pounded in the back of her head as she watched it fall. As it hit the ground, shattering into a million pieces, so did her composure.
The tears burst from her like a broken dam, thick and hot - flooding down her cheeks like a waterfall. Her hand flew to her mouth to try and muffle the sob that threatened to break free as she bent down to assess the damage of the broken glass on the floor. The shards ranged from tiny to significant, reflecting the dim ceiling lights. She sniffled as she suppressed the urge to pick up one of the larger shards and make the pain go away.
She closed her eyes and tried to get her breathing under control. Hurting herself wouldn’t help anyone, especially not her terminally ill wife, she had people who were depending on her to hold things together. Bringing her right hand to her cheek she rubbed the tears away with the back of her hand and she got up from the floor, turning to grab the dust pan and brush from the pantry when she froze in her tracks at the sight of Wednesday standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
The last of her emotional walls came tumbling down at the sight of her wife and the tears continued to come in waves. She felt such deep shame allowing herself to be this vulnerable in front of the person who needed her to be strong, but there was nothing she could do, the sobs just kept coming.
Wednesday said nothing and simply observed, she looked tired - dressed in black silk pajamas and her grey robe, she rarely dressed these days. The pair stood locked in each other's gaze. The silence seemed to drag for hours, punctured only by Enid's ragged sobs as she struggled to get herself under control.
After an eternity, Wednesday stepped into the kitchen, crossing the space between them in mere seconds, and she took her wife in her arms as Enid sobbed into her shoulder. Wednesday said nothing, only patted the back of Enid’s blonde hair, occasionally running her fingers through the pink and blue tips. Enid sobbed until she had nothing left, the dam of tears finally drying up. She took several deep breaths before pulling herself out of Wednesday’s embrace, guilt plastered all over her face.
“I’m sorry.” She whimpered.
“For what?” Wednesday asked, surveying her with curiosity.
“I’m…I’m supposed to be strong for us,” She admitted. “You’re relying on me to hold it together and I just went to pieces on the kitchen floor.”
“You are allowed to feel, Enid.” Wednesday assured her. “Just because I rarely show my emotions doesn’t mean I don’t feel them.”
“The last thing you need is me being a crying mess.” Enid sighed.
“I need you, exactly as you are.” Wednesday said with a tone of finality in her voice.
3.
It wasn’t long after the diagnosis that Enid had found herself visiting the family doctor to get herself signed off from work. Although her workplace had been brilliant with her since Wednesday’s diagnosis, she was struggling to hold it together, finding herself running off to cry in empty hallways multiple times a day, she was unable to focus on work, she was unable to focus on anything apart from the impending deadline that had been imposed upon her.
It was three in the afternoon on a cold November day, hovering just on the precipice of December. She sat opposite the doctor, her hands folded on her lap and tried to keep a straight face, despite her trembling body. The room was cold and clinical, filled with a desk, two plastic chairs and an examination bed in the corner.
“What can I do for you today, Enid?”
Enid bit her lip as she attempted to find the words to describe the way her world was ending.
“My wife was recently diagnosed with terminal cancer.” She explained, her hands fidgeting as she started to pick at her nails. She struggled to hold eye contact for fear of bursting into tears so averted her gaze to the floor, unable to look at the doctor.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, how is the prognosis?” The doctor asked.
Enid closed her eyes in an attempt to stop the onslaught of tears which she knew were coming. She said nothing and simply shook her head, unable to speak the forbidden words into existence.
“I see,” the doctor noted. “And when did she receive the diagnosis?”
“Four weeks ago.” Enid replied.
“Under the circumstances, is there anything I can do for you?” The doctor offered.
“I need some time off work. I can’t function right now. It’s consuming me. It’s just - it’s just too much…I,” She paused to take a breath. “I can’t do this, I don’t know how to do this.”
“Are you having any suicidal thoughts?”
Enid’s gaze flicked up from the floor and she met her doctor's gaze head on, eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. The tears fell, she was incapable of stopping them.
“I.. I can’t do that.” She sobbed. “It would destroy her. I don’t want to die, but I also don’t want to be here.” She admitted, brushing her cheeks with the back of her hand to wipe the tears away. The doctor stared at her with pity and nodded.
“I’m going to give you something to help with the anxiety, we will need to be careful with the dosage given your current situation, its a common side effect of anti-depressants that they can make you feel worse before they make you feel better.”
Enid nodded.
“I don’t care about me, I just need to make sure she’s okay.”
Enid left the doctor’s office that day with a 6 month sick note and a prescription for zoloft.
4.
Over the next few weeks, there were good days and there were bad.
On a good day, Enid felt as though maybe the world wasn’t ending after all, life seemed so normal with Wednesday by her side. They spent days together curled up on the sofa watching bad movies, or taking short walks around the nearby lake. On bad days, Enid found herself alone most of the time as Wednesday struggled to keep her eyes open. She stayed loyally at her side, her hand curled around Wednesday’s until the sun sank low below the horizon.
Over the next few days, Wednesday had found herself engrossed in her latest project, rarely leaving her desk, her fingers hammering away at the typewriter keys, as though she was pouring her soul into the pages in front of her. Enid entered the study and placed a steaming hot cup of coffee down on the desk beside her and placed a gentle kiss on Wednesday's head.
“What are you working on?” She asked casually, leaning against the desk.
“I have much left to say before I leave this world.” Wednesday said, not looking up from the keys and continuing to write.
“Can I read it?” Enid asked.
Wednesday shook her head.
“Not yet.” She said and Enid simply nodded and left her wife to it.
Later that evening, the pair sat in bed, wrapped in each others’ arms, the silk sheets shrouding them, keeping them warm from the winter air.
Wednesday reached up and placed a cool hand to the side of Enid’s face, her fingers tracing her jaw line and she lightly turned her head so their eyes could meet.
“I want you to promise me something.”
“Anything.” Enid replied, her voice barely a whisper. She leaned her head into the cool touch of Wednesday's palm, as though trying to memorize it.
“I am an Addams,” Wednesday began. “We endure. But you, Enid, you are the sun. Do not allow what is happening to ever take your light. The sun does not have the luxury of flickering out simply because the moon has vanished from the sky. Promise me that whatever happens, you will endure.”
“I don’t feel like the sun,” Enid choked out, a single tear escaping and rolling down her cheek. “I feel like I’m going out with you.”
“You cannot.” Wednesday said, a simple finality lacing her words. “Promise me that when my time comes, you will not allow the sorrow to touch what is inside you, you must endure.”
Enid closed her eyes and buried her face into the crook of Wednesday’s neck, inhaling her scent, her hand closing over Wednesday’s
“I promise.” She sighed.
“Good.” Wednesday murmured, her strength finally wavering as the undeniable need to sleep overwhelmed her.
5.
A week, they’d said. That was all the time Wednesday had left. The house had been occupied by family members and on-call doctors, coming both in the morning and the evening, ensuring that she was at the very least, comfortable.
Enid had known that her time was close when she stopped eating and drinking, when she spent more time asleep than awake. A hospital bed had been set up in the house because Wednesday Addams would not take her final breaths in a hospital.
Enid sat at her bedside night and day, holding her hand, dabbing at her dry lips and mouth with a watered cotton swab to try and give her wife the water she so desperately needed.
The situation felt as though it couldn’t possibly be real. How was she, at the tender age of thirty sitting at her wife’s bedside, about to bid her farewell for the final time? How was that fair? In what world did this make any sense? They were meant to be forever. They shouldn’t work, but they did work, they worked so well.
The sun had set only moments ago as Enid shifted in her seat at Wednesday's bedside. She felt exhausted but also numb. She’d spent the past few days barely sleeping, fearing that Wednesday may pass during the night and she’d never get the chance to say goodbye. She blinked and tried to moisten her tired eyes and gripped Wednesday’s hand in her own even firmer.
“I don’t know how to do this without you.” She whispered. “I don’t know how to live without you.”
Of course, Wednesday could not reply, she lay motionless in the hospital bed, her breathing ragged, rattling within her chest, deep and foreign, a sound that Enid had never dreamed her wife could make.
“Please don’t leave me,” Enid begged, as the tears once again began to fall. “Don’t leave us.”
She stared down at her wife, her body seemed so fragile, so tiny in the hospital bed. She wanted to pick her up and just run. Run far away, get the hell out of this situation - run until her lungs burned, leaving the cancer behind them in the rearview mirror; but there was no running from this, their time was up.
Wednesday’s breathing evened out, what had once been a deep rattle, softened to a peaceful breath.
One breath.
The air screamed in the silence, Enid held her own breath, her eyes not quite believing what she was seeing.
Two breaths.
Nothing.
“No!” Enid nearly screamed as she fell to her knees, her head hitting the mattress as the world imploded around her. “No, no, no, no!” The sobs came, her entire body trembled as each cry fought its way out of her mouth and she felt as though she may vomit. This wasn’t happening. This could not be happening. How could a world exist without Wednesday Addams in it? She barely even noticed as time passed around her, other family members eventually retreating to bed, but she was determined she would not leave Wednesday’s side.
She knelt on the floor for a long time, she cried until there were no tears left, and her sobs faded as the numbness took over. Her entire body felt as though it was buzzing as she lifted herself up off of the floor and sat back in her chair. She took Wednesday’s hand in her own. It was cooler now, what little temperature her raven had, was now filtering away.
She didn’t speak, she didn’t blink, she simply sat.
Hours passed.
From time to time, her heart leapt in her chest as she could have sworn she saw Wednesday take a breath. But her eyes were lying to her. Her wife was gone, gone to somewhere she couldn’t follow.
The world ceased to function as it should, she felt as though she was trapped underwater, without an ounce of strength to break the surface. She didn’t feel like fighting anymore. The world had ended, so why should she? Then she remembered her promise, it flickered through the static, Wednesday’s words wrapped around her mind like a comforting shroud. Endure.
Absent-mindedly, Enid slid her hands beneath her wife’s body, into the space between her back and the mattress upon which she lay. The final remnants of Wednesday’s body heat remained, the warmth soothed Enid in a way which she didn’t think possible. This was the very last evidence that Wednesday Addams had lived. She was sitting here, seeking the heat, feeling like a child seeking reassurance.
The house eventually began to stir, in the distance, muffled by her grief she could hear the faint noises of footsteps, and the low melodic hum of Morticia’s mourning. Enid didn’t move, she couldn’t. She sat, completely anchored to her seat, her hands still tucked beneath Wednesday’s back, desperately clinging to the ghost of warmth which remained between Wednesday’s body and the sheets.
When the heat finally dissipated, replaced by the chill of the winter’s morning, Enid slowly withdrew her hands, and stared at her palms, they felt like lead weights as she rested them upon her thighs. Her gaze remained unbroken as she surveyed her trembling hands, she felt so powerless, so ordinary, she was just a wolf who had lost its moon.
She rose from her seat for the first time in hours, her body screamed in protest, her joints stiff and heavy from the lack of movement. Her joints cracked as she stepped towards the living room window. She felt clumsy and lightheaded as she shuffled forward. She reached the window and rested her head against the cool glass. The sun had begun to rise, and she watched as delicate snow had started to fall, covering the garden in a crisp white blanket.
“I promised,” She whispered to nobody but herself, staring at her reflection in the window. She barely recognised herself. Her reflection began to blur as her breath fogged the glass in front of her. “I’ll endure.”
She placed a hand over her heart, her fingers rubbing against the cotton fibers of her sweatshirt. She felt the steady pace of her own heart beating beneath her palm, a cruel and painful reminder of the fact that her clock was still ticking, whilst Wednesday’s would never beat again.
Enid turned away from the window and towards the door, leaving the room and her old life behind in the dark.
6.
The silence of the graveyard was heavy, broken only by the distant caw of a crow in the distance, and the rustle of the wind blowing through the overgrown grass. Enid knelt before the looming granite headstone, her knees protesting at the movement as she carefully laid the bouquet of roses upon the grave. The dark red petals were the only bright thing in her field of vision, a splash of colour intruding into a world of grey.
With a shaking hand, she reached out to trace the letters carved into the magnificent headstone, her wife’s beautiful name. She traced each letter, still unable to process the fact that this was actually real. It felt like a cruel joke - she couldn’t be a widow at the tender age of thirty. No, Wednesday had simply gone on an extended vacation. Surely her wife was laying in wait just behind the headstone, waiting to jump out and surprise her.
Enid sat back on her heels and placed the precious cargo down on the grass beside her, then sitting cross legged, she absent-mindedly began to fiddle with her shoelaces, one of which had come untied during her trek through the foliage.
She fumbled with the laces, tying a knot, then untying it, then re-tying it again. “I almost didn’t come today.” She whispered, her voice cracking from lack of use. “The sun, it’s too bright. It feels like it’s mocking me.”
She ran a forefinger through her blonde locks and twisted the hair around it, turning it in circles. “It’s not fair that the world just…carries on.”
“I keep waiting for it all to stop. For the birds to stop singing, the sun to stop shining - but it keeps on going.”
She let her hands fall limp and rest on her lap, exhausted with the effort of looking everywhere but the granite headstone in front of her. She turned her gaze to the bundle resting on the grass beside her. The charcoal-grey blanket moved slightly, and it was the only thing keeping her grounded in the present.
“I brought her,” Enid said, the words almost catching in her throat as her voice strained in an attempt to stave off her unshed tears. “I endured, just like you asked me to. I kept going, not for myself, but for her.”
Reaching down to the blanket wrapped bundle, her gaze was met by a tiny pair of eyes. The baby didn’t cry, merely stared up at her mother with a piercing gaze that echoed with the memory of Wednesday. Enid unbuckled the infant from her car seat, lifting the child into her arms, resting snuggly in the crook of her arm.
She shifted the baby in arms and turned her towards the granite headstone, she cooed and one tiny hand crept out from beneath the grey blanket, reaching towards the engraved letters.
“Look, my Wednesday,” She sighed, a single tear falling as the monochrome world around her exploded, and her senses were invaded by a slew of colour. The greens and browns of the overgrown lawn, the black of the cold granite stone, the impossible blue of the sky. “I brought our daughter to see you.”
The baby’s fingers brushed against the carved letter ‘W’ on the dark granite and stayed there, as though she recognized the cold touch of her lineage.
“She has your eyes, she has your exact stare.” Enid whispered, leaning her head in and nuzzling against her daughter for comfort. “God, Wednesday she looks just like you.”
She pulled the baby in closer, the warmth of her body seeping in through her coat. She gazed down at the headstone, her voice dropping to a low whisper, laced with honesty, a brutal confession.
‘It hurt for the longest time to even look at her, Wednesday.” She admitted, her thumb tracing the baby’s soft cheek. “It was too much, it felt like she was this living, breathing reminder of everything I’d lost. Every time she looked at me with her tiny little raven stare, I felt like I was drowning in you all over again.”
She let out a small, watery sob - unashamed of her public outburst as she cradled the infant in her arms. “I can’t even tell you how hard it is to do all of this alone. To wake up in the middle of the night and reach for your hand, only to find an empty bed.”
“Your family has been amazing, they’ve been everything. Mine? Not so much. Pugsley is such an amazing uncle, you’d be so proud, even though you’d never admit it. Your mom stayed by my side the entire time I was in labor. She held my hand as I pushed and screamed for you. I think she knew I was looking for your face in hers.”
She looked down at the baby, who once again was reaching for the intricate carved ‘W” on the headstone.
“But one day, she smiled,” Enid continued. “And for the first time, I didn’t see the ghost of everything I’d lost, I saw the part of you that got to stay, the part you left behind. That’s when the colour started to come back, just a little bit - just enough for me to keep going.”
The confession felt like a lead weight being lifted from her shoulders for the first time in months. She felt lighter somehow, she felt free. As she leaned down to press a delicate kiss to her daughter's forehead, a strong gust of wind tore through the cemetery. It ruffled the leaves and foliage as it whipped between the numerous headstones. From somewhere high above, the leaves of a giant oak tree rustled and something fell.
It fell with the grace of a tiny dancer, swinging left to right as it found its way from branch to ground. Enid felt as though she was in a trance as she watched it fall. A single black feather came to rest on the empty car seat, pristine and beautiful.
Enid reached down and grasped the feather, silky soft but the spine was hard and sharp as unyielding as the woman she had lost, she rubbed the silky threads with her thumb and smiled.
“I see you, Wednesday.” She whispered, as she tucked the black feather into the folds of the baby’s blanket, the first heirloom from a mother she would only ever know through stories. She stood, finally steady on her feet for what felt like the first time in forever, and turned away from the grave.
She wasn’t leaving her wife behind, she was carrying her legacy back into the light.