Steady

Chapter Nineteen

 Sometimes, in the depths of despair, it's hard to remember what strength feels like. We consider this diluted form of ourselves to be the new norm, when really it's a transitionary chapter in the story of our lives—one of many we wade through between 'Once upon a time' and 'They lived happily ever after'.

But like all transitions, there's always something waiting for us on the other side—whether it's success or ruin, we won't find out until we weather the storm.

The girls often slip and say his name, and I take five steps back after taking two forward. But it's better than the ten steps back I was taking a week ago. Or even three weeks ago. When I find Jay's name leaving my own lips in conversation, it surprises me, but not as much as it surprises my friends.

Their hidden smiles speak of progress. Their softening eyes belay their pride. But when I open my mouth to tell a story, only to clamp it shut a millisecond later, their demeanor changes. They think I'm struggling—holding myself back in fear of the crushing weight that accompanies his loss. But they don't know what's happening to my insides when I have to silence myself, because they don't know. They'll never know.

There are some stories I'll never share with my friends, no matter how close we are. They'll never be able to comprehend what Jake's presence did to me or even why he floated into my life in the first place. So I refuse to open that box. It's locked, and it will remain that way until the heart protecting its secrets refuses to beat.

Months after Jay's death, I receive a call. The voice on the other end of the line has me throwing my purse over my shoulder and driving out to the West Plains Cemetery at dusk—a place I've avoided at all costs until now.

I park on the narrow road and get out of my car before I can talk myself out of it. Every breath is shallow and measured as I chastize myself for not visiting sooner.

The plot is easy enough to find, tucked away in a quiet corner of the cemetery that isn't often visited. There, Ellen stands between her two sons' graves, holding two identical bouquets of roses. When my Toms crunch through a pile of leaves, she turns to face me.

She's been crying, but her shoulders are pulled back and her head held high.

"I didn't want them to see the old withered flowers when they come to deliver the headstone." She points to a bundle of brown stems that were probably beautiful in the peak of their lives. "I just couldn't stand the thought of someone thinking they weren't loved. Is that crazy?"

I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her close. She tugs me closer.

"That's not crazy at all, Ellen."

I wave my hand, gesturing for her to proceed and she lays a bouquet at the foot of each grave. It's clear that the grass on the left has taken root and is flourishing. On the other, the rocky soil is barren and sun-hardened. Still fresh.

Ellen stands, but not before blowing a kiss to each boy.

"I wouldn't wish this pain on anyone," she whispers to the ground. "Not anyone."

I lean my head against her shoulder and choose this moment to unburden myself. The words are there, simmering under the surface, and she's the only one who will understand. There's no fear when it comes to voicing how I felt about her sons.

"I keep trying to understand the point of it all," I confess. "Why take two people who were so loved? Why cause so much heartache? It doesn't make sense to me."

Ellen turns to face me, but I continue speaking.

"Jay once told me he didn't believe there was a reason Jake died. He didn't believe in anything like that. He said the world was a cruel place and shit happens. But...there has to be a reason, right? Otherwise, what's the point?"