• Alexander sits studiously bent over reading the morning paper,
    His glasses slip slowly down the bridge of his nose
    And he absentmindedly adjusts them as he hungrily reads
    The goings-on of the world.

    Around him 2 of his 3 children scamper and laugh
    As they chase each other through the kitchen
    Yet Alexander barely notices them run around the table,
    Barely averts his eyes as his son calls out "Gotcha!"
    And his daughter hides behind his leg giggling.

    He folds the paper up the way it was found
    And leaves it upon the table for his wife Isabella,
    She will be down in a few moments no doubt.

    But the minutes tick by and his wife does not come down
    Cradling their daughter in her thin arms
    With the usual radiant smile on her face.

    Soon he begins to fret as he smooths the creases upon his sleeves;
    He is in his best shirt today, the shirt his wife took special care
    To iron for him and leave folded upon the dresser,
    All ready for when he woke up,
    Much earlier than her,
    She always did like her sleep...

    The thoughts course in and out of his mind
    Like fearful rabbits trying to elude the fearsome wolf
    And soon he makes his way up the stairs,
    His children still behind in the kitchen
    Tirelessly chasing each other around and around,
    Their feet clapping on the tile floor.

    He opens the door to their bedroom and finds that she is not in bed,
    The bedsheets are strewn here and there and the blanket has been tossed aside
    To make way for tired feet to rest upon the cold hardwood floor.

    He hears the shower running and a smile plays across his lips,
    He will surprise her, he thinks, and they will make love among the water
    And he will watch it bead up and drip down her back
    As he presses his lips against hers and tastes the sweet taste of her mouth.

    He clasps the doorknob in his hand and turns it slowly so as to not disturb her
    Should she hear its rattle,
    He opens the door, taking great care to be subtle,
    But at first does not see his wife's silhouette.

    He stands there for a moment puzzled,
    Did she leave the water to warm up perhaps?
    But then he DOES see something,
    Resting on the bottom,
    He sees an arm, and then a leg,
    And then her head leaned back against the shower wall.

    His heart speeds up to twice its normal beat
    As he runs with the bathroom nothing but a blur
    And throws open the shower door to a confusing mix of images
    As he screams as if trying to pry his soul out
    To search for hers.

    She is resting there upon the shower floor,
    Her hair obscuring half of her face,
    Yet even with half of her face hidden by her dampened hair,
    Hair that he touched and caressed so often when they kissed,
    Hair that he smelled sometimes while he lay beside her at night
    Soaking in the flowery aroma of her shampoo,
    He could still see the distant look that her face conveyed
    And knew the truth before he even placed a hand upon her naked body.

    That his wife was dead, had taken her life,
    Her wrists an angry red from the prying blade,
    He begins to beg and plead with her dead form
    To come back to him, he'll do anything,
    He'd take his own life if necessary
    To bring back hers.

    He looks at her lifeless face
    And thinks of how precious she is,
    Even in death how very precious,
    And he lays beside her
    Not bothering to take off his shirt,
    His best shirt, the one that she ironed,
    And rests his head upon her bare shoulder.

    Soon after, though it could have been hours for all he knew,
    Their oldest child comes up to see where he has gone
    And asks nervously when he sees his father in the shower
    Fully-dressed beside his mother...
    "Daddy?",
    However he does not move
    And makes an inarticulate sound from the back of his throat.

    This is enough for his child to run back down the stairs
    And grab the phone to call the police.

    Months later that child will know a very different father,
    A quieter father, one who has a hard time getting up in the morning,
    One who has a hard time spooning breakfast into his mouth,
    One who is thinner and his hair is longer
    And his eyes shimmer more and more distant with each passing day.

    This is the look of a man who has lost everything,
    Lost it when he never really believed he ever would
    Or if he did it would be more than 20 years down the line
    When both him and Isabella were old and tired
    And their children off and grown.

    This is the look of a man whose sanity has passed
    As quickly as the life of the one he loved
    And will always love
    Till death.