Page 132 of Borden 3

“‘Someday I’ll wish upon a star

And wake up where the clouds are far behind me

Where troubles melt like lemon drops

High above the chimney tops

That’s where you’ll find me.’”

My lost boy closed his eyes and didn’t open them back up. I didn’t stop singing. I finished out the song with my arms wrapped around him, my face pressed against his bloodied torso.

Tears from deep within my soul poured out of me.

I said my goodbye.

I sang it to Theo.

I sang it to myself.

For our lost souls.

“‘If happy little bluebirds fly

Beyond the rainbow

Why, oh why can’t I?’”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Emma

Six months later…

Life had a way of showing you that joy and pain were one and the same. We lived for pleasure. We endured the pain. Sometimes, they co-existed to remind you that all great joys came at a high price, and it was worth it.

It was worth every tear shed.

New beginnings lurked in places you didn’t expect, like the death of a friend.

When Theo passed, I rediscovered parts of myself I’d let go stale. My sense of wonder and adventure. The desire to weave through parts of the city that I’d left forgotten. The reminder that my upbringing kept me tethered to a world silently ignored, where kids felt lost and afraid.

It was my sole mission to be what Theo was in that alleyway all those years ago. A person that had noticed them, made them feel visible.

Charities were carried out discreetly. Programs were erected for kids to explore their variety of interests, giving them the option and available tools to shed their energy in a healthy and productive way.

I didn't want a lost kid to fall through the cracks of a failing system.

The world didn’t need more Theos or Emmas or even Bordens.

Every time it felt like I was way over my head and that these dreams were too big, I’d stop to watch my kids. I’d watch them build puzzles in a room full of toys and games. I’d see Stasia who, between snacking on copious amounts of snacks, come out of her shell more and more.

I saw what safety and stability was doing for her.

The house, so big and cold before, felt suddenly so loud and full of life. Every corner of the house had a dent in the wall, a drawing from a broken, abandoned crayon, and a memory that joy was imprinted in that very spot.

Yes, in times of tragedy, something beautiful could emerge if you let it.

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