Page 114 of Came the Closest

A nervous laugh rumbles in my chest. “I don’t think I’ll be able to take a full breath until I know it’s over.”

She smiles softly and leans into my arm as we begin walking. “Well then, all you can do is try.”

Try.

The word has become significant in my personal vocabulary. When I don’t know how to help Jordan through a PTSD-induced anxiety attack, I try. When Colton came to me after a CPS home visit with doubts I didn’t know how to assuage, I tried. When Graham struggles to explain a business venture I can’t fully understand, I try. When Indi needs to sit quietly with me in the middle of a workday, I try.

And today, one of the biggest days of my middle son’s life to date, I will try harder than I’ve tried before.

I am notably calmer than some of us, though. Jordan can’t stop adjusting the pink bow in Jolene’s hair, my mother is talking nonsensically about her cooking class, and Colton paces three steps, looks at his watch, and paces three steps back.

“Well,” I say. “I guess we can go in.”

Nine sets of eyes stare at me blankly. I gesture for my kids to precede Hazel and myself, and I take my mother’s arm to assist her up the stairs into the stone courthouse. Cheyenne’s family piles in after us, and we shuffle into uncomfortable, outdated wooden pews. Stale air creaks through vents, smelling of old papers and rusting pipes. It feels just as hot as the August day Jolene was born.

Then it begins. Our families, the attorney, and the social worker are sworn in before Judge Black by the chief of police, Seth Johnson. Sam McCullough, the attorney Justin recommended, asks Colton and Cheyenne to introduce themselves. They explain their reasons for adoption, and they answer McCullough’s direct questions to confirm their understanding of the adoption process. Less than an hour later, Judge Black scrawls his signature across the dotted line on the official adoption decree.

The resounding wood on wood of his finalizing gavel echoes through the courtroom, bouncing off plaster walls. Pride swells in my chest when he asks everyone to rise.

“Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Colton Del Ray on the adoption of Milo Del Ray,” Judge Black says. “Please join me for a photo in front of the stand to commemorate the occasion.”

Tears stand in my eyes. Jolene bounces between Jordan and myself on the pew until her father lifts her into his arms. Colton leads his wife with a hand on her lower back, holding Milo and his plastic sailboat in his other arm. Like his brothers and Nash, Colton wears a light blue suit with a white dress shirt, but his navy, sailboat-dotted tie matches only Milo’s. Beside him, Cheyenne not only wears the beaming smile of a new mother, but a glow that makes me wonder just how long it’ll be before the Colton Del Ray family expands.

Tripp, Grace, and I are invited to take a picture as the grandparents. Hazel tries to stay back, but Jordan nudges her forward.

“You’re part of the family too,” he says simply. “Mom can’t be here, so she would want you in the picture.”

Hazel’s emotion spills onto her cheeks as she hugs my eldest son tightly. The embrace is brief, but the meaning behind it is a pivotal moment for Jordan and for Hazel.

Today, we’ve taken a monumental step towards healing.

Tomorrow, we’ll take another.

This trip to Maine with my daughter and sons was planned when we learned the court date for the adoption finalization. I’ve had months to decide what I want to say, revise it, and start all over. A three-hour-and-eight-minute plane ride with Grayson Adair in the cockpit of the Gulfstream to reflect. To quell my nerves and prepare myself.

All of it vanishes when we pull up to Sea View Cemetery.

A faint salty mist hovers over the gravestones despite the balmy May temperatures. The ocean’s briny texture carries from beyond jagged granite bluffs. It’s a wilder body of water than the lake will ever dare to be, but it’s not lost on me that my late former wife was still drawn to the siren call of the water. Our marriage had been rocky at best and tumultuous at worst, but the water had always been there.

Blue Mind Theory, researchers and scientists called it.

I need this goodbye to move forward. To put the past to rest before I begin my future by marrying Hazel next month. I owe it to the woman who gave me my children and to the woman I will love for the rest of my life.

“I’ll wait here,” Grayson says crisply, pausing at the gate.

I squeeze the young man’s suit-clad shoulder before I wrap an arm around my daughter. Jordan, Colton, and Graham remain quiet as we cross willowy grass, stopping where Kathleen’s headstone rests. It’s a small stone, given the extravagance of the woman it beholds, but it says what it needs to.

Kathleen Del Ray Pierre. Sister, wife, mother, and lover of adventure.

That’s the truth of life, I suppose. An adventure, just like Milo has taken to calling everything these days. And what would an adventure be without a few plot twists along the way?

Jordan clears his throat. His hands are clasped behind his back, his shoulders at attention under his black suit jacket. “I thought I’d know what to say,” he says hoarsely. “I thought…” He trails off and shakes his head, blowing out a hard breath.

Eyes red-rimmed, Colton sets a hand on his older brother’s shoulder and squeezes.

Graham lowers before his mother’s grave. He gently brushes the stone clean before he sets a small bouquet of wildflowers beside her name. “You always brought me flowers, Mom. Now it’s my turn to bring some for you. My wife picked them from our field this morning.”

Indi loses it. She turns into my chest, clasps the lapel of my navy jacket, and gives into the sobs wracking her petite frame. I don’t know how to comfort her, but I try. I clasp my daughter to me, and I let my own tears roll down my face.

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