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Letting go of my son, I ask him, “What do you say I take you to a place where we know your dad is?”
“Can I see him?”
“No.”
“But remember your daddy’s always right here, so you can talk to him whenever you want,” and I touch the spot on the left side of his chest where his heart is. He looks down at my finger and places his small hand over mine as he closes his eyes.
The tears I’m trying so hard to hold back break free, as I watch my son try to connect with his dad.
Please, Ben, give him a sign.
But Braxley opens his eyes and shakes his head. “He’s not answering.”
“That’s okay; it doesn’t mean he’s not listening.”
“Can you take me to the place?”
“Sure, honey…”
***
“Can we have pancakes every day?” Braxley asks me from the backseat of my car as I make the trip to the cemetery with him.
“Sure can. But I thought you loved lasagna for breakfast?”
“I do, but Grandma Jan says it’s not breakfast food.”
“Sure it is. You can eat anything you want for breakfast.”
He smiles at me in the rearview mirror then looks out the window as we pull through the gates of the cemetery. It’s funny how a place where everything looks the same and you’d think would be confusing to navigate around isn’t. I know right where I’m going. My heart is pounding, and my hands are clammy as I pull down the row where Ben is.
Putting the car in park, I take in a deep breath, “We’re here.”
Getting out, the smell in the air is the same, the same as the day Ben was laid to rest. Pine trees and dead flowers, it’s almost nauseating. “Ready?” I ask Braxley, doing my best to stay strong for him as he grabs the bouquet of flowers from the back seat that he picked out.
With both of his feet on the ground, I hold his free hand and walk along the back of the tombstones until we reach Ben’s simple white marble one.
“Here he is,” I tell Braxley through a sob, imagining my Ben, buried below the dirt. It’s so unfair how life dealt him the hands of cards it did.
“So daddy’s here?”
“Yes, baby, daddy’s here.” We both kneel down, and I wipe the marble clean of debris, like always. Braxley takes the flowers and lays them down, just like all the others are. He’s so observant for his age.
“Can I talk to him?”
I nod and wipe my eyes dry.
“Hi, Daddy, it’s me, Braxley. I miss you, and Mommy misses you too. I can’t wait to see you in heaven; I hope you’re okay and not sick no more.”
Listening to his words breaks my heart. He’s so young and doesn’t deserve to know death this way. If only I could keep him protected from the pain of grieving, I would. I’d lay my life down on the line to give him back his dad in a heartbeat.
