Page 111 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
It’s all there.
The weight. The ache. The knowing.
We’ve spent our whole lives locked in orbit. Two halves of something fierce and fractured. Tonight, there’s recognition.
Whatever’s next, it won’t be what came before.
We both feel it.
Our lives are about to change.
thirty-two
Stevie
Four Months Later
Thesunblazesunseasonablywarm for June as we settle on the chipped wooden bench outside Molly Moon’s.
Jude’s already sticky, chocolate smeared along one cheek. Lila licks the edges of her cherry chunk cone like she intends to win a race. Isla sits beside me stoically staring at her mint brownie without taking a single bite.
We’ve just come from the cemetery.
I didn’t know what to expect this morning. Whether they’d ask questions. Cry. Shut down completely. Jude is too young to remember much, thank God. Lila laid her hand on the marble plaque and whispered something I couldn’t hear. Isla stood frozen beside me until I reached for her limp hand.
Now she stares straight ahead, melted ice cream dripping down her wrist. Of all my children, she’s having the hardest time recovering. She was a daddy’s girl through and through and can’t comprehend the rest of her life without Coop.
“Want me to throw it away for you, love?” I offer, brushing a curl out of her face. She shakes her head, mute. Dumps it into the trash next to us and sits back down.
Lila, who’s been adjusting surprisingly well, notices. “Isla’s being weird again.”
“Lila.” My voice holds a warning.
She shrugs. “Well, she is.”
“I’m not weird,” Isla snaps. “I don’t want to celebrate something sad.”
“This isn’t a celebration,” I say tenderly. “It’s remembrance. We’re honoring your dad. It hasn’t been easy and we all miss him terribly, but we have each other.”
Jude tugs my sleeve. “I drew Daddy a picture and left it on the grass by his grave.”
“It was beautiful.” I lean down and kiss his sticky forehead. “He loves it. I know he’s smiling down at you from heaven.”
“I want to go home,” Isla whispers.
She continues to unravel in her own quiet way.
I don’t push her. I can’t. Because my eldest won’t confide in me, I’ve got her in more intensive therapy now, with someone who specializes in pre-teen grief. One thing has been working incredibly well—art therapy. She’s constantly drawing in her notebook. It’s her way of coping.
As for me, I’m taking it day by day. I’ve built a schedule, pay bills on time, cook meals and shuttle the kids around. Even when I don’t want to I show up because I refuse to let the grief define us.
Some days, survival might be the only metric. On others, when the kids are settled and the house is quiet, I let myself dream again. Embers & Bloom Custom Events isn’t real yet. Not in the way it will be one day. I’m making progress, though.
I picked a name. Registered the business. Bought the domain. Locked down the social handles even though I haven’t posted a thing. I made a rough logo on Canva and saved it to a folder I haven’t opened since.
All of this preparation is kinda like laying out clothes for a life I’m not quite ready to live.
Every day, though, I move forward. Slow and steady. One step, then another. A list on the fridge. A spreadsheet on my laptop. Notes in my phone with color palettes and tagline ideas.
