Page 49 of To Save Him

 

 

 

Chapter Sixteen

 

AFTER ALL THE work Brandon had had to put into first my orgasm and then his, I would have expected him to go right to sleep when we got back in bed.  But he didn’t.  I didn’t, either.  I realized then that my pussy was sore, a sensation I hadn’t experienced in decades.  It would be fine, but I was sure it would still feel that way in the morning.

Brandon didn’t talk for a long time, and I was going to try to go back to sleep as he held me close, but he finally said, “Kim, thank you for letting me sleep in Gabe’s room.  I appreciate it.  But…sometimes it’s kinda weird.”

I nodded as I felt my body settling into the mattress, ready to give in to sleep.  But I could sense that Brandon had more to say—and this was important to him.  “I can imagine.”

“It probably wouldn’t be so bad if his presence in there wasn’t so strong.  You can almost feel him in the room, you know?”

I was quiet for a bit, remembering moments of my oldest son in his room, like the time he won MVP for the intramural softball team he’d joined one summer.  He’d won a huge trophy and couldn’t figure out where to put it.  We’d wound up buying a book shelf that had become functional on so many levels.  It reallywasGabriel, because it held his high school yearbooks, the tiny plaque he’d been awarded in third grade for winning the school spelling bee, postcards from various vacations we’d taken over the years…and more things I didn’t want to think about, didn’t want to see ever again because they were a painful reminder of my son’s absence from this world.  It emphasized the void left in my life, and I avoided Gabriel’s room because of it.

I knew then that I still had so much healing left to do.

But my Gabriel was a special soul, and feeling his presence wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.  “Yes, I know.”  I felt comfortable with Brandon, enough that maybe I could tell him things I’d never told another soul.  “That’s why I can’t go in there.”  Changing the sheets on the bed the day I’d invited Brandon to stay had been the longest time I’d spent in my deceased son’s room since his passing.

No, that wasn’t true, and—digging through my brain—I knew it.  When I’d first gotten the news, I’d spent the day in there, unable to leave, unable to believe.

We were quiet for a while again until Brandon asked, his voice soft, “Would it help to box everything up?  You know…maybe…”  His voice trailed off, because I think he could sense my hesitation.

But he was right.  The way I had left Gabriel’s room…it was like a tomb or a memorial.  It was as though I had sealed it off, unwilling or unable to deal with the tumultuous emotions his untimely demise had caused inside me.  Just thinking about boxing up his things felt like I’d be burying him again, letting him go once more, and even though the logical part of my brain knew that was what I needed to do, the sensitive mother side couldn’t bear the notion.  “I—”  I was trying to voice that I couldn’t do it, but emotions restricted my throat, making me unable to speak and forcing tears out of my eyes.

“What if I helped?”

Oh, God…those four quiet words.  They seemed so innocuous, but I could feel the strength in them.  Yes, the rational part of me knew that putting Gabriel’s things away didn’t negate his life, didn’t mean that I no longer loved him, but it would most certainly signify that I was finding a way to let go.  Actually, I knew deep down that the act would help me begin to let go.  It wouldn’t besignifyingso much as it would bepermitting it to happen.

And it needed to.  I’d known that for a long time.  For as much as my schedule had forced me to begin living life again, I was only doing it superficially.  Up to that point, I’d been going through the motions.  Yes, it had been better than I’d been doing before, especially where my other two children were concerned, but I was like a crappy actor in a community theater play with a bit part.  I’d memorized the lines, learned the blocking, and I looked the part—but I didn’t feel it at all, and I wasn’t sure my audience was completely convinced.  My heart hadn’t been in this life for a very long time—and maybe it was time to live again.

Thinking about Brandon beside me helping me sort through my son’s life felt comforting.  I could feel his strength beside me, and I knew it would permeate my essence as I did one of the hardest things I’d ever have to do.  I stroked his chest with my hand.  “Yeah, I would appreciate that.  Very much.”

More than I could express.

 

* * *

 

I COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time I’d hit the snooze button on my alarm clock, but this morning I was grateful for the opportunity.  My bedroom was full of shadows now, but I could see the outlines of things.

And Brandon.

I felt a pang of something in my chest as I lay back down after tapping on the button on the clock, giving me another nine minutes of rest before it would begin making noise again, and I was struck by how young he looked as he slept.

Hewasyoung, I reminded myself.

Okay, but notthatyoung.

I couldn’t sleep now, in spite of the fact that I was tired enough to and even though I would have time to.  Yes, I was off my schedule again, but I didn’t care anymore.  I felt more alive at this moment than I had in years, and I wasn’t going to dismiss Brandon’s place in it all.

I smiled, snuggling up close to him, thinking about my weird sleeping schedule over the past decade.  After Mel left, I’d struggled with depressive states, and I’d alternate between sleeping way too much or suffering from insomnia—and both often fed into the other.  Since putting together my life-saving schedule, I’d relied on my alarm less and less and, even when I needed it to wake me up, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d grabbed a few more minutes of sleep, thanks to hitting snooze.

---