Chapter 27 Colson
twenty-seven
Colson
I’ve seen beautiful things in my life but this view may be at the top.
Sadie is snuggled up to my side, one of her legs over mine, her head on my chest and her arm thrown over me.
It feels like she’s holding me close–keeping me to herself–and I have to remember that she was sleeping and these were most likely subconscious choices.
Her dark blonde hair shines as the light hits it from the window. I soak in the moment of her breathing into me and the flutter of her dark eyelashes. Birds chirp in the morning and it’s quite the contrast from last night.
Last night.
Did I intend to spill my guts about my mom?
No. Did it feel like there was another way?
Not really. It felt very much like it was the time to tell the story.
She was calling out all the things my mom would’ve loved to hear—would’ve been music to her ears—how light the house felt. Not many people know those details.
Even when I tried telling May, who was supposed to be the person who could help me through this, she kept telling me to stop.
It was too sad. It wasn’t the right time.
She’d always let me get to the opening pages of a story, details from a doctor’s appointment or a visit with my mom, until she’d wave me off.
She told me it was too much.
At first, I was kind of waiting for Sadie to find a way to end the conversation last night.
But in the dark, with the storm pounding the house, it was clear she’d let me go for as long as I needed to.
At no time did it feel like she was crowding me or waiting for the right length of pause to jump in and pivot.
I’ve been running from a lot for a while. Maybe this is also part of why this is hitting me so hard. I didn’t have many people to talk to about my mom’s diagnosis, the logistics of treatment, and—when it came to it–supporting her as she died.
Kevin did his best but it was so hard to open up. Especially after May kept making it feel like I was such a burden. My coaches kept tabs on what was happening, but at the end of the day, they were running a business and had a lot of shit going on with the team.
The doctor suggested therapy and a support group. My mom and I went to therapy a few times together, mostly to make sure I knew the best way to take care of her, making sure she got everything she wanted when it came to worst case scenarios.
She wanted to be prepared because that meant it would be easier on me. My mom may have never said it, but that’s how she always was; how she sacrificed for me her whole life.
This place? She made it clear that I was to keep it. Use it. Take the trips. Swim in the lake. Make time for the moments she never got to.
Everything has been so complicated since finding out she was sick.
It was all the appointments, therapy, logistics, and then fitting all of it in alongside basketball and my commitment to the team.
But one day, she had a setback and never really made it out of it.
The end was quick and I was thankful. I never wanted her to suffer.
May left me shortly after, still reeling in a wave of depression and grief. If I was too much for her before the loss, there’s no way she could be there for me at that time. Honestly, it felt like I’d lost her a long time before the day she actually left.
Then it was the injury. Everything with the team. The slimy athletic trainer. It feels like I’ve been punched while I’m down for longer than people should be allowed to.
This morning feels different. Like it’s the lightest I’ve felt in a while. It’s not that things are perfect, or simple, or really even all that clear, but it feels like there’s a bit of hope for me to grab on to.
Sadie starts to stir and when she picks her head up, eyes on me, I can’t help the smile that breaks out over my face.
“Good morning,” I say as she rubs her eyes.
“Morning. But your smile is kind of throwing me off,” she jokes as she sits up, putting a kiss to my lips and then looking out the window.
“You’ve definitely seen me smile.” I roll my eyes in fake exasperation.
“Whatever you say.” She shrugs her shoulders.
Fuck, she’s pretty.
She squints toward the window, sunlight pouring in like it’s making up for lost time. “Looks like the storm finally gave up,” she says, then her smile fades a notch. “I should probably go check on things. Make sure nothing’s… floating away.”
I catch the hesitation underneath it—the way her shoulders tense like she’s bracing for bad news. “Hey,” I say, more gently. “I’ll come with you.”
She looks back at me, surprised, then relieved, like she didn’t realize she wanted the offer until it was there. “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” I reply, already swinging my legs out of bed. “I want to.”
Sadie stands and puts her hands on her hips, weight on one leg like she’s testing me.
I walk towards her. “There isn’t a world where I’m staying here and not going with you, so…”
Her smile returns, smaller but real; when she laces her fingers through mine, it feels easy. Like whatever comes next, we won’t be facing it alone.