Father's Song

3 • R U M O R S • 3

Katelin Jones
9/8/2023 (Friday)

"You're sure you're okay to go in today?" I ask Abby while she ties her shoe laces.

She looks up at me and sighs. "With all due respect, mom, you have got to stop asking me that. If I wasn't fine, I would tell you."

I nod. "Okay. I'm just making sure, baby. I think the bus is at the end of the street, go wait for it."

"I don't like taking the bus," She whines. "It's so loud. And I can't do loud in the morning."

"I'm sorry," I say as she opens the door. "Our car needs to be towed because it won't start. Tommy's mom said he's not feeling well this morning, so they're all sleeping in. How come you didn't ask Emma to take you?"

"I texted her. She's at an appointment." Abby said.

"This early?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Apparently so."

I wave off to her as she walks to the end of the driveway just as the bus driver pulls up. My heart aches to see her moving on from this seemingly fast – she's such a strong girl, but I just hope she isn't hiding anything.

My plan for today is to try and help myself move on. As much as it stings to even think those words, I know it'll do me more good to try to accept this as soon as possible so I can help Abby better.

I pulled out my phone and message her.

Would you like to see your grandparents today? Maybe stay the night?

As I reached the doorway to my bedroom, I receive a message from her.

Yes pls

I open up my mom's contact.

Hi ma. Can you take Abby for the night?

While I wait for an answer, I open the closet and stare at all of his clothes.

Henry's clothes.

I open a cardboard box and start tossing some of his jeans and pants inside. The hangers I don't need; Goodwill can have them.

I tape up one of the boxes once it's full, and then move on to the next. I take his socks, bathing suits, and some shoes to put inside. I start to feel good about doing this. "Sorry, Henry," I say out loud. "It's for the best–"

I stop packing when I see I missed a shirt in one of his drawers. I pull it out and unfold it.

My favorite shirt.

It's a navy blue crewneck he always wore during the winter. It always kept his cologne smell for days at a time - and it was strong.

I give it a good sniff, and feel the memories come flooding back. Thanksgiving, Christmas, any other day of the winter season.

My heart rate starts to pick up, and my throat begins to close. I quickly stand and go to the bathroom to get my Prozac. My hands shake as I started to open the bottle, and I swallow one without water. I sit down on the toilet lid and wait until I start to relax, which may take a little while.

Still no tears. I still have not cried one time about his death.

Something has got to be wrong with me.

When my heart rate begins to slow and I can finally breathe right again, I stand back up and walk to the closet to see where I left off.

I take his cologne from the shelf, and the sweater to put them into a separate box. I pick it up, walk over to the bed, and shove it underneath. I go back to the closet and turn the light off.