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I slide into the wheelchair and let my dad push me toward my hospital transport and back to a town that has always owned my heart.
* * *
Two Days Later…
Standing in the cold, dressed all in black I listen as the preacher starts. “We gather here today to send Angel Arsenault, a precious baby who was taken too soon. A baby boy who brought joy to his mommy, but also the heartbreak of losing someone so precious. We ask you to watch over Dale and guide her to healing. Bow your heads,” the preacher states, as the instrumentals to “Dancing in the Sky” by Dani and Lizzy begin to play.
Closing my eyes, I allow the tears to fall, as a sob rips from my throat. Before they lower the tiny white casket into the earth, I stand up and kneel beside the coffin. I place one tiny yellow duckie on the top. “Watch over me, my Angel.” I kiss my fingers and place them against the casket near the head. Standing, I turn and allow my parents and a few other people time to say goodbye. Jackson’s parents showed up, apologized profusely for the way their son was, and made me promise to live a life filled with love. Jackson wasn’t invited. Jackson had his goodbye at the hospital before they caught him trying to steal the body.
His parents admitted him to the psychiatric hospital for observation. He claimed it was all my fault for letting his son die. I’m lucky that between my mom and Shannie, they were able to talk my dad back from doing harm to the man.
I understand he is hurting. But fuck him! He let me walk out of the house while I was in labor and had no inclination to follow me to make sure I made it to the hospital.
As the people begin to leave, another procession pulls in. This one is a line of jet black vehicles with deeply tinted windows. As the hearse pulls to a stop just behind the last vehicle in my party, the door to a limo flies open as a woman screams that it shouldn’t have happened. She bellows to the darkening sky that he was her baby boy.
I sympathize with her loss, but I don’t want to console her. My son never stood a chance. By the size of the coffin being pulled out of the back, her son was an adult.
Tilting my face to the clouds, I suck in a deep breath as the heavens part and the rain falls, hitting my face and mixing in with the last of my tears.
“Watch for me, my Angel,” I whisper as my dad wraps his arms around me and directs me to the limo in the front of our procession.
DALE
One year later…
Life moved forward so quickly. I was able to find a place that would help me through the heartbreak of losing my child and be able to face my days with a little more enthusiasm. Part of my healing was to write Jackson a letter. I was to pour my soul and my hurt into the letter, then burn it and let the smoke take it all away.
I can remember my dad telling me to send it to Jackson, to let him know his job as protector failed. The thought had seriously crossed my mind. But then I remembered what my therapist told me. Trauma affects everyone differently. Some people can go through the five stages of grief and be able to slowly move through life with memories and love. Others can’t get past the heartbreak and fall into a deep depression, oftentimes having to be committed.
Having spoken to Jackson’s mom and dad on numerous occasions over the last year, I know Jackson was placed in a psychiatric hospital and hasn’t been able to get over the loss of a child he didn’t even want.
Remembering the conversation I had with him when I originally found out made me wonder why I stayed with him. I understood it was a surprise. Usually happens when you claim to have the best pullout game in the world. Thank god he wasn’t a couch, because he would have been sent back for being defective.
As I pull into the parking lot of the cemetery, the clear blue sky seems to become crisper, and beams of light from the sun fall to earth. I never used to believe that this was a sign, and thought that the people who did may have been high on some substance that was illegal. Then my Angel passed, and on the days that I needed to be reminded to live in the light, they shone brightly.
I step out of my car, dressed in a black pencil skirt and pinstriped blouse with my three-inch heels laced up my ankles on my feet. This isn’t what I wanted to wear today. I was supposed to quietly celebrate my son’s first heavenly birthday alone and in comfortable clothing. Instead, I am dressed for an interview that happens at one o’clock.
I walk along the brick path to get to the section where my son lays. It is a long walk, but it allows me to take in the many families that have suffered from the loss of a loved one. , like me.
When his truck shaped headstone comes into view, my heart starts to pound. I have spent many days out here talking to his ghost. But it seems to have been the only way I could let out the pain of losing something I never had the chance to hold.
Reaching into my bag, I pull out the stone statue teddy bear with AA engraved on the small heart on his chest and prepare to sing happy birthday, and hope the tears don’t mess up my make-up.
I kneel in front of his stone and run my fingers gently across the face.“Here lies an Angel that now flies amongst the stars,”I murmur to myself the quote on his headstone.
“Happy birthday, my baby boy. Today you would have been one-year-old. We would have celebrated with a huge party where Poppy and Nanny and Nonna and Nonno would have spoiled you rotten, just like Mommy would have. You would have had an entire cake to yourself so you can smash it to bits and have fun playing in the frosting. Then we would have had to chase you around to wear off all the sugar you had, and eventually you would be placed in your bed to fall asleep. I brought you a gift, my Angel. Your first teddy bear.” The tears slowly drip down my cheeks and fall to the grass beneath me.
Placing a baby blanket on the grass, I lay down and look at the clouds, pointing out different shapes and forms. I make the sound of the animals that I think each cloud looks like and sing songs. My eyes begin to close when I remember I have an interview. Raising my arm to look at the watch on my wrist, I begin to panic. I have thirty minutes to get to my car and to the place for my interview. I have no time to make sure I look decent, but at this point, it’s a wing and a prayer that I will get this job. If it hadn’t had been for Lakyn, the owner of one of the clothing boutiques who pointed out the listing at the local coffee shop and encouraging me to apply, I would still be looking for something that could help me to start to live again.
After quickly placing a kiss on the stone, I gather my belongings and rush toward the lot. I’ll worry about my face when I reach the house. Until then, my only job is to get me from point A to point B.
Throwing my stuff on the passenger seat, I slide in and start the car before I even have my door closed. “Send me angel wings, baby. This will help mommy heal,” I whisper, peeling out of the parking lot and heading toward the rich part of Coree Harbor.
XAVIER
“Okay, Mrs. Everett. Thank you for coming in. I am currently looking for a live-in housekeeper. I will need you to be the one in charge when I leave for extended periods of time. Meaning, you will have access to house funds and protection around the clock,” I state, looking down at the resume in front of me. This woman is mid-sixties and looks like she has some health conditions due to age. But that doesn’t mean she can’t handle this.
“Mr. Sannetti, when you say protection… Do you mean from something that won’t happen? Or are the rumors true?” Mrs. Everett asks. Even in this small town, my reputation proceeds me.
