“What happens when we finally stop running from our grief? When we allow ourselves to truly see what we’ve been avoiding?”
The room falls quiet, Irene’s question hanging heavily in the air. But before I can even process the question myself, my mother’s hand clamps down on mine like a vise.
“Is that what it feels like, Levi?” she whispers, frantic. “The silence. Did we leave you with that?”
My entire body tenses, embarrassment flaring hot beneath my skin as a few glances from around the circle land on us. “Not here, Mom,” I whisper, patting her hand.
Her eyes stay fixed on me, trembling and desperate for understanding. “We didn’t know how,” she says, louder this time, tears pooling rapidly in her eyes. “I swear we never meant…”
Before I get a word out, Irene rises smoothly from her chair. “Let’s take a short break, everyone. There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the breakroom.”
The group files out quietly, rubbernecking as they do to not miss my familial drama. “Levi,” Irene says, placing a steadying hand briefly on my shoulder, “do you want to introduce me?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say, hoarsely. “Of course. Irene, this is my mom, June. Mom, this is Irene. She runs the group.”
I almost add that she works with Hayden at the funeral home, but something stops me. The thought feels too complicated, too loaded. Especially today. Best to keep things simple, at least for now.
“Lovely to meet you, June,” Irene says warmly, holding my mother’s gaze. “I’m glad you came today.”
My mother nods shakily, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…didn’t mean to disrupt everything.”
“You didn’t,” Irene reassures her. “You spoke your truth. It’s what this space is for. Maybe take a moment privately. No audience, just honesty.”
She starts to step away but I stop her. “Actually, Irene…would you mind staying? If you’re comfortable, that is. I think we might need…” I trail off, unsure how to put it into words.
Irene pauses, understanding completely. “Of course. If you both want me here, I’ll stay.”
My mother nods, visibly relieved, and takes a slow, shuddering breath. When she speaks, it’s like she’s finally seeing me clearly for the first time in years.
“I didn’t know how much we hurt you, Levi,” she says, her voice breaking. “Your father and I…we left because staying felt unbearable. But we never thought about what we left you with. The silence…I never thought about you facing it alone.”
My throat tightens painfully. “I stayed,” I whisper, “because leaving meant losing him again.”
Tears slip silently down my mother’s cheeks. “I see that now,” she whispers, her voice thick. “And I’m so, so sorry, son. You deserved better from us.”
Irene clears her throat, gently interjecting. “Grief breaks us differently. But maybe you don’t have to carry it alone anymore,” shesays, reaching over and patting my mother’s hand that is clasped in mine. “Maybe this is your chance to finally face it together.”
I exhale, the tightness in my chest loosening just slightly. It’s not fixed. Not even close. But maybe Irene’s right…it’s a start.
Irene calls everyone back in, resuming today’s class as if interruptions like ours are just part of the process. As she speaks, my mother sits beside me, eyes fixed intently on Irene, hand gripping mine tightly. Halfway through Irene’s words, tears quietly stream down my mother’s face. But this time, she doesn’t try to hide them or look away. Watching her now, after all these years, feels surreal and oddly hopeful. For the first time, it seems like she might finally be ready to confront everything she’s spent so long running from.
When we step outside again, the air feels lighter somehow. Easier to breathe. Mom hesitates, eyes cautiously searching mine as we climb back into the truck. “Maybe we could come back next week?” she suggests. “Together?”
I pause, glancing at her. “Won’t that mess up your travel plans?”
She shrugs, resting her head on my shoulder. “We can reschedule. Some things matter more.”
A warmth blooms gently in my chest, and I find myself nodding, relieved. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’d like that.”
32
Hayden
The funeral homeis painfully quiet.
It’s the kind that claws, stretching through the walls, slipping beneath doors, curling around my ribs, waiting to drag me under.
And I let it. Days blur as I prepare one body after another, washing, dressing, stitching with care.
