Page 70 of Dying to Meet You

I make it a few feeble steps before Matt’s arms wrap around me from behind. “Eden, sweetheart, you can’t…”

The world tilts. The choked sobs are lost in the void as I break completely. As I start to acknowledge what’s happened to all the people I love.

When I understand, I'll never see him again.

I feel myself getting faint. I give it one last shot trying to break free as Matt lifts me into Keir’s arms.

Shutdown. My body protects my brain, vision dimming…

The world goes dark.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Letting go

One week later

Eden

Griefhasmutedthecolors in my reality and altered the way I exist in the world. It robs me of the ability to feel happy in moments that should feel magical. It taints my interactions. Because that’s grief…it’s devastating.

My eyes fill fast with tears, and I’m on the brink of wanting to laugh. All I can think is how horrible and beautiful it is that our eyes blur the truth when we can’t bear to see it.

The truth of all that’s happened.

The night Zinnea’s fire burned the abandoned buildings and half the woods on the property to the ground, it’s as if the victims of the massacre at Camp Carroll reclaimed the land. When we rebuilt the center, we should’ve made sure not one of those buildings remained. We should've safeguarded ourselves in countless ways.

The effects of our actions will be long-lasting. A lifetime? The next generation? The one after that? Greg had a plaque in his office that read:There are no happy endings, so make the start or middle happy. It felt morbid. We counseled the patients at the center to help them find a place in life free from control…to give them a sense of happiness.

I understand the statement now.

Goodbye can’t be happy; it’ll always hurt.

There are regrets, unspoken truths, and bittersweet memories.

“Mommy?” Weston climbs onto my lap, and I wipe away my tears. They’re a daily occurrence, bouts punctuated by loss so heavy I’m sinking. His little arms wrap around me. “I love you.”

Oh, my sweet baby…He has no idea how much those simple words will always mean to me. “I love you, too. To the moon and back.”

The funeral service starts soon, but I needed a quiet minute to get myself together. I pull my purse up with my good hand, retrieving Hutton’s letter from the pocket I keep it in and reading the words I will reread hundreds more times: Eden, you gave my heart a purpose. All my joys came from you. Don’t look back. Hold our babies tight, love our family, and let them love you. We are forever.

Trying to keep my tears at bay isn’t working. Weston pats the sling supporting my casted hand. “Daddy B says to be careful, but can I touch it?” He places his little hand over my cast, his nose wrinkling. “It feels funny. Can I sign it later?”

He’s still our Weston…curious, sweet, and compassionate. Thankfully, what he went through hasn’t changed that. The trauma manifests in other ways-wanting someone with him at all times, always having his teddy bear close by, not wanting the lights shut off, and he’s now slower to warm up to strangers.

He hops off my lap, grabbing his teddy bear he put on the nearby loveseat. “We should go, huh?” I ask him while standing up to smooth out the black dress I’m wearing, a small gold pin of two figures embracing on the lapel.

There’s a soft knock at the door, and Caleb looks in. “I was just checking on you.” He looks so dapper in his suit, even if he’s not comfortable wearing one. “You don’t have to get up and speak. The minister said he can read what you’ve written.”

I owe him that, at the very least.

Taking my arm and picking up Weston along with his teddy bear, in his other arm, Caleb walks me out to the chapel. Casting my eyes down, it’s hard to look into the faces of the people we pass. A responsibility for his death rests with me. My existence in his life.

Our family is seated to the right, three rows back from the front of the chapel filled with beautiful floral sprays and bouquets. Keir stands holding Warner, moving aside for me to sit. Matt finds my hand to squeeze. Waverly points to the picture she had drawn gracing the front of the funeral program. But it’s the powerful pair of green eyes at the end of the row that draws my gaze, understanding written in them. He held me tight last night as I shared my guilts with him. Blaine holds Zeb close as he sleeps on his chest. Caleb separates Zach and Wes to keep their shenanigans to a minimum. Zinnea is seated primly beside Matt. It’s us…our family.

We lost Greg, but Hutton was spared that night. After being shot in the shoulder he was still able to end the lives of the four agents he found on his way out of the building before the building was fully engulfed in fire.

Gathering strength from their presence, I head to the podium to speak after a prayer from the minister. My breath catches when I spot a framed photo next to his urn of him and I. The wellness center had just reopened in New York, and we’d spent a whole day painting and moving furniture, readying it for patients. We were laughing, an arm around each other. That’s what I want to remember…his laughter.

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