Liam standing beside me.
Being told Cole was laid to rest beside Eva and Chloe.
Nodding when people spoke to me.
The funeral itself felt like something I had watched happen to someone else.
Faces came and went, unfamiliar and indistinct. Conversations were nothing more than noise. Every hug felt stifling, like something was pressing down on my chest.
I didn’t want to be held.
I didn’t want to be comforted.
I wanted Cole back.
Jack didn’t leave my side. Not once. He checked on me every single day, sometimes more than once, making sure I was eating, making sure the children were okay. Geeta did the same, quietlystepping in wherever she was needed, filling in the spaces I couldn’t seem to manage anymore.
Lucas took it the hardest.He cried almost every day.
Oreo would often climb onto the bed beside him, staying there without moving as the sobs tore through him.
“Why, Mama?” he asked one evening, his voice breaking as he clung to me. “Why did God have to take my dad away?”
I held him tightly, pressing his head against my chest as I stroked his hair, even though my own heart was splintering with every word.“God didn’t want him to suffer anymore, baby,” I whispered, wiping his tears with trembling fingers. “Dad’s not in pain anymore.”
He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine.“Do you think he’s happy there? Does he not miss us?”
My throat tightened.“Of course, he misses us,” I said softly. “But he’s with his family now… with Eva and Chloe. They’re all watching us… protecting us from above. And he’s with you all the time… right here.”I placed my hand over his heart.
“Really, Mama?” he asked, his voice small, hopeful.
“Truly, sweetheart.”He nodded slowly, trying to understand, trying to accept something that didn’t make sense to either of us.
Emma was too young to understand.
Every time she looked around and asked, “Where Dada?” it felt like something inside me shattered all over again, splintering into pieces I could not put back together.
The days stretched endlessly before me.
The first few, I could barely get out of bed.
Most mornings, I would wake to find Milo already lying beside me, curled into the space Cole used to occupy. Oreo often lingered near the bedroom door as though he were standing watch over the family Cole had asked them to protect.
The space beside me still held the memory of his warmth, the faint imprint of where he used to lie. The room still smelled likehim—his aftershave lingering in the air, clinging to everything.His clothes still hung in the closet.
I found myself wearing his shirts sometimes, wrapping myself in them, pretending for just a moment that he was still there.
But he wasn’t.
Every time I walked into the living room and saw his picture, it hit me all over again, hard and unforgiving.
I had known loss before.
I had survived it.
But this…
This was different.
