On The Other Side

Chapter Eighteen: Finding Home

I seal the white envelope, paste a stamp in the top right-hand corner. This small, seemingly inconsequential letter is going to Colorado.

I wrote my oldest, James, letting him know of the death of his father a few months back. Last week, I finally received a letter.

My fingers shook as they fumbled to open the wrinkled envelope, anxious for any word from my sons. I read through it quickly the first time, missing most of the words, then, slowly the second time. Soaking up James’s words.

I find out I have grandchildren. I can’t even imagine it, grandchildren. I wonder if they know about me, if they know they have a grandmother. A grandmother that loves then completely already.

I press the return letter to my chest, wishing it a speedy journey to Colorado, to my family. I think about seeing my boys again, hugging them close, seeing how they’ve grown into men. I’ve missed so much.

What would it be like to live close to them, their families? I wrap my shawl around my shoulders, button little Alex into his sweater, his smile lighting up his sweet face, his dark hair sticking on end. “Are you ready for a little adventure to the post office?” I coo to him.

At eight months, Alex is a sturdy, happy baby. Already, he’s scaling the furniture, the walls, becoming more and more balanced on his chubby legs, taking a couple steps, then falling to his diapered bottom. Alex only grins, pulling himself back up to try again. I press a kiss to his smooth cheek, rubbing my nose to his.

The October air holds a nip, the sun filters weakly through the clouds. Alex claps his dimpled starfish hands together, taking in all the chaos around him.

The newspaper boy stands on the corner, shouting and waving, his hair greasy, unkempt, his clothes torn and ragged, his body emaciated, bones prominent.

Alex waves, grinning, showing off his tiny front teeth, oblivious of the despair around us, the poverty.

I don’t need a newspaper, but I can’t pass the boy by without paying the three cents it costs. I hand him the pennies, tugging an apple from my bag, setting it gently in the boys outstretched hand. I smile gently as he takes a small nibble from the apple, the sweet juices trailing down his chin.

It’s painful to walk away, I wish I could help everyone, take everyone in.

We make it to the post office, my arms a bit tired from holding Alex for so long.
I kiss the envelope before handing it over to the postmaster, hoping the letter makes it safely to my boys.

I set Alex on my opposite hip, say, “Should we visit the store? Let’s go see mama.” Hearing the word mama, Alex giggles, bouncing excitedly in my arms.

Entering the store, the warmth of the black wood burning stove in the corner welcomes us with open arms. Alex wriggles to get down, crawling quickly over to the store shelves, happily pulling the canned goods off and onto the floor.

Declan comes out from the backroom, getting on hands and knees, chasing Alex around the scarred wood floor. The laughter coming from them both has my heart warming.

I think about the grandbabies I’ve never met, wonder if I’ll be meeting them in the near future. I smile softly as Dec kisses Alex’s cheek, tickling him under his chin.

“What a great surprise you coming here,” Dec pauses, noticing the tears that have escaped, trailing down my cheeks. “Milly, what’s the matter, are ya all right?”

I nod, “I’m just anxious, I guess. I sent a letter to my son, James, asking if I could come for a visit, reconnect with him, with Charles. I’ve never met my grandchildren, my daughters-in-law.” I shrug, another tear escapes, trailing down cheek. “I’m afraid I may have lost my chance with them.” I smile sadly.