Grey Wolf

The Birth of the Wolf “Ashina”

Book One



Feray

I woke up this morning with a terrible heartache. I can’t believe I’m going through this. It’s like I’m in a dream, more like a nightmare.

Every morning for the last month I have been waking up with the same heart pain and numbness. My mind cannot process what I am going through. This is called the denial phase of grief. I have no idea how long my state of denial will last, but I know that I am still a million miles away from acceptance.

I lost the man I loved, my husband of ten years, my best friend. I woke up one morning and he was not breathing beside me. Then how can I accept that. Everything we created together was taken away from me, I didn’t know why. And I guess I will never know why. He had no major health problems, we had regular check-ups every year. There was no heart disease in his family.

I rolled over to his side of the bed. The blackout blinds were closed, so the bedroom was dark, as was the rest of the house. I can’t stand the light, I hide from it, afraid that it might give me a glimmer of hope. For days I’ve been shuffling back and forth between the kitchen, the bathroom and the bedroom in an empty and dark house. I eat only enough to survive. I can’t say I shower very often. I haven’t even changed the bed sheets since he left.

I take refuge in our memories of him at night or during the day when I am not aware of it. When I close my eyes, I hunger to feel him kissing me, touching me. I see his face smiling at me in front of my eyes. His sexy lips curve upwards slightly and I can see the love he has for me in his eyes. I am so afraid that his face and smile will fade from my mind. There is no way to describe the longing growing inside me. How can I breathe without him?

3 MONTHS LATER

I woke up with sobs. My pillow was already wet with my tears. I was genuinely crying. I pulled myself up slightly and leaned against the bed head. I took my husband’s pillow from the other side and hugged it. I dug my head into the pillow and I gave a silent scream. I wanted to burst out. Why?

I am so angry, at myself, at him, at life... at everything. Why did he abandon me? I don’t know how I can breathe without him.

I’m in the “anger” phase of grief. I’m resentful of everything and everyone. I haven’t been to work for months. I don’t know how much longer they can manage me. They agreed to let me take time off without pay for a couple of months.

I refuse to contact my family and friends. I call my sister and my mother once a week and we only talk briefly, just enough for them to hear my voice and know that I am not dead. Thankfully, they don’t push me at all about my grieving process. They know that I suffer a lot. I am most grateful to them for that.

I storm out of bed, straight into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I’m so angry that I’m so far away from all the sensations of the moment. I don’t even bother to turn on the light in the bathroom. As I step out of the shower, my foot hits the bathroom cabinet. A big curse is flying out of me.

I go straight to the living room with a towel wrapped around my wet body. I’ve been collecting his photos that I’ve been scattering all over the house for months. I’ve been looking at his photos for hours every day in fear of forgetting his eyes and smile. I can say that I made a “bed” for myself out of my phone archive, the photo album we printed, the photo frames with the memories of our travels scattered in different corners of the house. I used to spend certain hours of the day in that space just looking at him and crying. But now I’m so cross that I’ve collected them all in one fell swoop. I can’t stand it anymore, I’ve had enough, enough, enough of this pain!

ONE YEAR LATER

This morning, as I gaze upon my reflection in the mirror, I see a semblance of the person I used to be. A person who, for months, had been ensnared in the suffocating embrace of darkness.

After the storm of anger subsided, I found myself engulfed in the depths of severe depression. My body, once vibrant, had become a mere shadow of its former self, a testament to the turmoil raging within. It took the unwavering love and persistence of my sister to coax me out of my self-imposed isolation. And when I awoke one fateful morning to find her and my mother at my bedside, I knew I couldn’t continue to wallow in despair.

They gently guided me from the confines of my bed, leading me to the cleansing waters of the shower. Words were unnecessary; their presence spoke volumes. In the comforting embrace of family, I found solace, if only for a fleeting moment.

As they ushered me to the breakfast table, I realized how long it had been since I had truly eaten. Months had passed, and my diet consisted of mere remnants of sustenance ordered online. The once-grand collection of spirits my husband cherished had dwindled, a testament to the sleepless nights drowned in alcohol-induced slumber.

In the mirror, I saw a reflection that bore the weight of my grief. I couldn’t help but wonder how my absence would affect those I loved. Would my husband bear the burden of my loss? The thought pierced my heart like a dagger.

For weeks, I had been imprisoned in the suffocating darkness of my grief, shunning the light of day. But as time wore on, a flicker of determination ignited within me. With each passing day, I took tentative steps towards reclaiming my life.

Returning to work was an uphill battle, one I soon realized I wasn’t ready to face. The pursuit of wealth seemed meaningless in the wake of my profound loss. For my husband and me, money had always been a means to create cherished memories together. It funded our adventures, our shared passions, and our dreams for the future.

But now, the prospect of amassing more wealth held no allure. I made the decision to resign, knowing that our shared savings would sustain me for the foreseeable future. And though the thought of selling our home pained me deeply, I knew I couldn’t continue to inhabit a space tainted by memories of happier times.

My husband, Onur, ever the driven soul, had embarked on a new venture—a platform to uplift struggling artists and showcase their talents to the world. Together, we navigated the world of online art sales, finding solace in the beauty of creation amidst our shared grief.

Onur always came up with new ideas. He was excited about everything. Not loving him would be the greatest harm one could do to oneself. Because he made every moment beautiful with his very existence.

I met him at the birthday celebration of a friend from work. He was sitting at the other end of a big table set up in the garden of the tavern on a beautiful spring evening. Since I had left work late, it took me a while to get dressed, go home and reach the tavern on the opposite side of the city in Istanbul traffic. The atmosphere was absolutely beautiful. The flowers in the garden of the tavern heralded spring, and the trees surrounding the garden had blossomed green. People were chatting cheerfully with each other. I was not fond of going out on weekdays, as I worked a lot, I did not prefer to go to work the next day with a sore head. But I remember that night very clearly. It had a calmness and beauty that was good for my soul.

I embraced the birthday girl, greeted the table in general and took my seat. When I sat in my chair and glanced around the table, our eyes met. He caught me with a long deep look. I'd had a few handsome boyfriends, tall, short, muscular or not, blond, brunette or dark-haired... But this man was beautiful regardless of everything. His short dark hair emphasized the beauty of his shaved face. His dark and long eyelashes framed his eyes. When he appeared at the end of the night, I could tell his eyes were light brown and he had a beautiful smile.

I knew at that very first glance that I was in love with him and throughout the night I prayed that he wouldn't get involved with anyone. Even though the conversation at the table was deepening, we continued to throw glances at each other throughout the night. As the guests were slowly leaving the table, he pulled the chair next to me, sat down beside me, raised his glass of "Raki" and said with a smile, "Let's toast to us, beautiful." After that night, our eyes never left each other again. It was the most beautiful thing that came into my life. We had wonderful years where I felt loved to the fullest.

As I pondered my next steps, I knew that rebuilding my life would be a journey fraught with challenges. But with the love of my family and the memories of my loving husband guiding me, I was determined to forge a new path—one filled with hope, healing, and the enduring legacy of love.