God. I clenched my teeth, preparing for the details of the dream.
“She was downstairs,” Bianca whispered. “And everybody was happy because she was back, but then I realized nobody else could actually see her except me.”
I swallowed hard.
“And she kept trying to tell me something,” Bianca continued shakily, “but I couldn’t understand her, and then she started getting farther away and farther away and?—”
She broke again. I pulled her closer immediately. “It’s okay.”
“I know she’s dead,” Bianca said miserably. “Iknowshe is. So why does my brain keep doing this to me?”
Because grief was cruel.
Because love didn’t disappear just because someone died.
Because children weren’t supposed to lose mothers this young.
But I couldn’t say any of that without sounding helpless. So, I kissed the top of her head and stayed with her until she finally fell asleep sometime near dawn.
Then I emailed work.Taking PTO today. Family emergency.There was no hesitation or guilt, just an immediate protective reaction. I needed to be home with my kids.
When Winnie arrived that morning, she took one look at the atmosphere in the kitchen and immediately understood something was wrong. CJ sat hunched over cereal without talking. Billie was coloring aggressively. Bianca looked exhausted. None of them were talking. That alone was a dead giveaway that something was seriously wrong.
Winnie set down her bag slowly. “What happened?”
I rubbed tiredness out of my face. “Mother’s Day is on Sunday.”
A sudden, quiet empathy anchored her gaze. “Oh.”
She understood grief. I didn’t know exactly how or why, but she did.
“I took the day off,” I said quietly.
“Good.”
Bianca pushed cereal around her bowl. “I hate May.”
Billie nodded solemnly. “It makes my tummy feel funny.”
CJ sighed.
Winnie slid into the chair beside Billie and rested her chin on her hand. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “perhaps we should fight back.”
“Against Mother’s Day?” CJ asked.
“Against sadness,” Winnie corrected.
Bianca frowned slightly. “That sounds like a made-up solution.”
Winnie smiled. “Made up or not, I think it will work.”
“Can we commit crimes?” Billie asked.
“No.”
“A small crime?”
“Still no.”
