Can't Fall in Love Without You (Christian Yelich)

4

Christian rocked Ivy in his arms, glaring at the bright white walls of the family waiting area at the funeral home he himself had selected for his wife. He felt like the brightness was mocking him. His life was nothing but dark.

"You okay, man?" his brother, Collin, asked him, looking up from his phone to give his sibling a worried expression.

"Yeah, fine," Christian answered robotically.

"You should really go upstairs and stand in the line. People want to see you," he said softly, scared to upset his older, usually much more composed, brother.

"I can't," Christian said plainly, watching his princess sleep. She was the only thing that brought him any peace over the past week, and it was always fleeting. Just a few seconds here and there. Just enough to keep him here.

Collin stood up. He had to find someone else who could help. He knew he couldn't.

"Hey, buddy," Travis appeared a few moments later. "You should come up. You don't have to talk to a single person, but I think you'll regret hiding down here," he said softly. "Sloane wouldn't want you to hide from her. She'd want you to face this. She'd want you to be brave for her and Ivy." Travis swallowed, trying not to cry on his end.

Christian looked up at his friend and teammate, tears staining his cheeks. "I wish I was as strong as she thought I was."

"You're stronger. Let's get you two upstairs." Travis offered his friend a helping hand, and, to Travis's surprise, Christian grabbed it, skillfully getting to his feet with his daughter in his arms.

He didn't have to talk to anyone. He couldn't talk to anyone.

When he emerged upstairs, he saw his mom and Sloane's parents, Jen and Dave, accepting condolences. His mom was kind enough to stand in for him, and he appreciated that.

He had barely said a single word to Jen and Dave since their arrival. He was terrified. What did they think of him? The man that essentially killed their daughter? Maybe it wasn't murder, but it felt something akin to manslaughter. He was responsible. He knew it, and the weight on his heart dug even deeper into his chest.

He swallowed hard and made his way over to them, Ivy tucked away in his arms.

"Christian, sweetheart," Jen was the first to greet him, while her husband just gave him a nod. "And my perfect granddaughter." Dave couldn't even look at the baby. He knew Dave blamed him, and he was absolutely correct to do so. The blood was on his hands.

"Can I hold her?" Jen asked. Christian nodded and helped settle Ivy into her arms. Sound asleep, she didn't fuss.

Christian turned around to face the crowd of people in line to give condolences. Family. Friends. Teammates. Opponents. Coaches. Journalists. Everyone was here, and Christian could feel the panic settle in. He couldn't do this. How was everyone ready to say goodbye? To make this so final?

He received hug after hug, sorry after sorry. Counsell and his wife. Jeremy Jeffress and his sweet little daughter. Sophia Minnaert. Curtis Granderson. Justin Bour. Even G showed up. It was a who's who of the baseball world. And he wanted no part of it.

All these people he loved and cared about showing up for him and his family. And he was still so consumed by absolute emptiness. He couldn't feel anything but grief. Pain. Darkness.

Funerals were supposed to heal, and he just felt the Earth split open again. He wished it would just swallow him up. He wanted this all done.

He couldn't do this. About half way through the line, he left to find his seat in the front row.

The place was packed, but he didn't notice. He didn't notice when the seats filled in. He didn't notice when his mom and brother sat to either side of him. He didn't notice when the service started.

Sloane's sister, Angela, gave the eulogy, and he tried to listen. He only picked up bits and pieces. His wife was brave. Fierce. A force of nature. Stunning. Intelligent. Funny. A little vain, but who wasn't?

"She would have been a wonderful mother had she had the opportunity to raise her precious baby with the love of her life, Christian." That was another punch to the gut Christian didn't need. He didn't need any of this.

He thought about leaving. Running away to his apartment with Ivy. His beautiful Ivy who was still sleeping in Jen's arms.

He knew he couldn't. "Does anyone have any stories they want to share about Sloane? I know we were all fortunate to share a lot of experiences with her, and we'll never forget them."

He felt like all eyes were on him. They were expecting him to share something big. Something that would heal all their broken hearts. He had nothing.

Her best friend from college was kind of enough to spare him immediate pain. He owed that woman a shot.

Then more friends. Then Travis shared an anecdote about a time she fell off a jet ski that made everyone laugh. Then his mom. Then the eyes were back on him.

He stood up, hands shaking. "Sloane was the best thing that could possibly ever happen . . . To a man like me. Before her, I only really ever loved . . . Baseball . . . And . . ." He was struggling to find the words. He was struggling to keep his composure. How could he possibly define his wife's life with one simple story? "I'm sorry, I can't do this right now," he said through the tears, taking his seat again. His mom immediately pulled him into her arms, and he just sobbed into the embrace.

While he sobbed, his daughter started crying, clenching her tiny fists in the air. The sound of his little girl immediately made him want to pull himself together. He sniffled and rubbed his eyes clear of tears before retrieving Ivy from Jen. Her wailing stopped instantly. She was content in her daddy's arms.

And, for another fleeting moment, he was content too.