Death and Other Interruptions

Chapter Fourteen

I finally realized that I hadn't truly been moving on. I should have known that—it should have been obvious, but I was sure that I was fine, that the lawsuit would bring me the comfort I needed. When would I realize that none of my so-called productive plans would heal me any faster than time itself could?

"We'll move the lawsuit to the back burner," Amy said, but she was being generous; we all knew the lawsuit was gone, a life raft we'd all needed and clung to at the time, but it didn't suffice anymore. It hadn't occurred to me that my family might need comfort as much as I did, that the lawsuit was filling a need in all of us, but they were my family and they hurt for me even if they did not miss Al on their own.

She stayed for that weekend anyway, the lawsuit planning giving way to talking. About feelings, about life. Once again, Amy was acting as a sister and though it was a new feeling, it wasn't an unwelcome one. We spent that Saturday talking about the baby, her own pregnancy and childbirth experiences shared to help coach me through the next few months.

"I know this is a weird thing to say," I said after a lull in breastfeeding talk, "But I miss Bubbe." Our tiny Polish grandmother, a woman who lived her whole life to feed the ones she loved, whose swollen arthritic hands had kept forming balls of meat and cookie dough and mondeblroidt until the morning she died, had passed away when I was in college.

"That's not weird. I miss her too."

"I know, but...it's just that she was such a good mother, you know? And a good maternal figure. I guess I just wish I could have her around to teach me how to be a good mom."

"Oh, Jen, you're going to be a great mother! I was terrified to have kids, I was never a very maternal person, but it just happens naturally."

"I hope so." I lapsed into silence.

"Plus," Amy said after a pause. "She gave me her cookie recipe. That's really the main trick to being a good Jewish mother."

I laughed and the mood lightened. We steered clear of any talk about any of the other mitigating factor—the dead father of the baby, for example. But on Sunday she sent David to the park with the kids and Mom sat me down in the living room. Amy fiddled with pots and pans in the next room, but I could tell she was listening in.

"I don't want to make you talk about anything you don't want to talk about, Jen, but I wanted to know if you've been thinking about everything that's happened lately. By which I mean Al and the bombing and this Darian Jones guy. We went straight from the lawsuit into this, and it can't be easy to transition so suddenly. And if you have been thinking about it, I want you to be able to talk to me about it." Mom stopped, clearly wanting to say more but waiting for me to speak first.

"Mom, my brain is still kind of stuck in November 19th. I mean, during the day I'm fine but some mornings I wake up and still wonder where I am and why Al isn't next to me. So, no, I haven't exactly caught up to the latest developments." I don't know why I insist on becoming defensive exactly when my mother is trying her hardest to connect.

She nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe talking about it will help," she offered.

I shrugged. "If you want to."

"I do," she said, barely restraining her eagerness. "I know you and Amy spoke about the baby yesterday, but I'm concerned about the news we got the day before. That Al is officially innocent. You've been waiting to hear that for weeks, and when it's finally publicized, you hardly take notice."

"Well, I was a bit distracted. By, you know, the child growing inside me."

"I know, sweetie, and that of course makes sense. But that doesn't mean it's not a big deal."