Dear, Hamilton

It's Quiet Uptown

The days are darker.

Lonelier.

I find myself frequently sitting in silence in the darkness of the house, gazing out the window at a bustling city. Life has moved on, but I haven't. I'm still laying on a cold bed with my dying son, listening to his labored breaths.

I still think that I'll walk into Phillip's old room and find him sitting before his desk, studying, or perhaps laying on his bed. But every time I stand before the doorway, not quite entering the room, I find it empty. I feel empty.

I still feel shocked at the revelation before despair and grief overrides it.

But I haven't been hit the hardest by Phillip's death; Angelica, my daughter, has.

"Mother!" I hear Angelica shout from the hallway, tearing me from my thoughts. I turn from the window and towards the door in time to see Angelica walking into the drawing room.

"Angelica," I greet with a weak smile because my face has forgotten how to smile.

She plops down on one of the chairs and asks with bright eyes, "When is Phillip coming back from Columbia? Why does he never visit anymore?"

It's an effort to keep myself from breaking down right there. I manage to keep my shaky smile on my face as I replied soothingly, "He's gone, remember, Angelica? He's in heaven. He's at peace-"

She frowns and begins shaking her head adamantly, and my words die on my lips at the sight. "Phillip is at school," she tells me. "He's gone to school."

But then Hamilton enters the room, having obviously overheard, and he says gently, "That's right, Angelica. He's too busy with his studies to come home right now."

Angelica's face lightens at this. "Oh," she says. "Well, then I suppose I'll see him at the end of the month." She gets up as she says this before prancing out of the room.

Angelica acts like this for the next couple of weeks; long enough that I begin to worry for her. Hamilton, though, plays along. He continuously plays the piano with Angelica and joins in on her play pretend life.

Part of me thinks he enjoys going along with Angelica because at least in her world, Phillip is still alive.

"I can't wait for Phillip to come back from his trip," I hear Angelica sigh one day as I'm about to round the corner into the living room where she's sitting on the couch.

I stop in my tracks, just short of rounding the corner.

"Me too. But, he'll be back soon," I hear Hamilton assure her.

I allow Alexander to play along with Angelica's games for another couple of days after this incident before I confront him.

Last I checked, he was in his office, so I start walking towards his closed office door at the end of the hallway.

But when I swing it open, I don't find him writing relentlessly or reading intently at his desk, brow furrowed in concentration. Instead, I find him with his head buried in his arms on his desk, his shoulders shaking silently.

"Alexander," I whisper softly, and he slowly brings his head up and looks up at me. His eyes are red, and I can see tear streaks down his cheeks. "Something is wrong with Angelica," I say quietly.

Hamilton nods in agreement, turning his head away as if to hide his tears from me, but he doesn't say anything.

"We need to take her to the doctor," I tell him quietly.

"No," he says firmly without looking up, his tense tone surprising me.

I rear back in surprise and demand, "Why not? Alexander, something is wrong with her. She thinks her dead brother, our Phillip, is alive-"