Story.

I remember walking into the room and seeing that look on her face. I'd seen it before. It was her "Are you serious?" face. Except this time, it was more than that. I was not just "Are you serious?" it was "How the hell did this happen?"

I said her name, but she didn't look at me. I didn't really expect her to; she was in some other place. A place I didn't know, a place I couldn't know. I said her name again. She looked up and acknowledged me, but didn't say anything. Then she stared at her knees. I didn't know what to say. Nothing I could have said would have made a difference, or would have even meant anything. I looked at her for a long time, standing in the doorway, before I walked over to the couch and sat down next to her. She looked so beautiful. I don't remember a time in my whole life ever thinking she was so beautiful or ever feeling that much love for her. I wanted to tell her that, but I knew I couldn't. I couldn't say anything.

We sat in silence for about 30 minutes before she said anything. When she finally said "Hi," to me, I was taken by surprise, having been so caught up in the quiet. I looked at her and smiled a small smile. She kept her eyes on me for a full minute before she said anything else. Then she told me a story about her brother from when they were kids. A story I'd never heard before. She laughed. I laughed. At some point during the story, her hand had ended up in mine. She looked down at our clasped hands and then looked up at me and smiled. She said, "I love you." It had never meant so much. Then we sat in silence again, hand in hand for over an hour.

I broke the silence. Somewhere in my thoughts, I'd thought about the time when he'd taken both of us to the zoo when I was about seven and I'd been terrified of the monkeys. The two of them had assured me that I was fine, they were in a cage and couldn't get anywhere near me, but I didn't believe them. He'd scooped me up into his arms, even though I'd been entirely too big at this point and held me for five minutes telling me I was going to be okay over and over and over. Even as a seven-year-old, I remember seeing the love in her eyes when she looked at him loving me. I loved him, too. As, I recalled my story she looked at me, she never once took her eyes off of me. When I was finished, she pulled me into her and held me to her and said, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

I said, "I love you, too, Mom. I love you, too." And at the same time, we said, "I love you." We were talking to him. We both knew we were. In that moment, we both began to cry, and cry, and cry.

The end.