2
I woke up to find a foot in my face. Bobby had flipped completely upside down in the night, and the arch of his foot was pressed up against my forehead.
He was taking up most of the bed, while I slept on a sliver at the edge.
Susie, however, looked comfortable on Harry’s side.
She lay on her stomach, her face pressed into his pillow.
It didn’t still smell like him—I did check from time to time—but Susie swore it did.
She hadn’t slept in my bed for months now, but she’d frequently sneak in while I was sleeping and take his pillow.
I offered to let her keep it, but she didn’t want that either.
I had caught her standing at my bedside with a hand on my chest several nights, making sure I was breathing.
She was too young to understand that Harry had died of a heart attack—the same thing that killed his father at a similar age—and that I couldn’t have inherited that.
The kids sleeping in my bed wasn’t about Harry though—I understood that Grandma leaving was another loss, even if it was just the next step for us.
But as I eased myself out of the bed to avoid waking them, the crick in my neck reminded me that they were going back to their own rooms the following night.
Thirty-two certainly didn’t sound ancient, but I was finding that I turned into Methuselah very quickly if I didn’t get enough real sleep anymore.
I slipped on my bathrobe and slippers and padded downstairs to make the kids a special breakfast.
I flipped on the lights in the kitchen and began gathering the supplies for pancakes.
The calendar on the fridge caught my eye, and I set the eggs on the counter.
It was Sunday, March 3. Still jarring to see that we were in 1963.
It felt like time had stopped two years ago in so many ways.
Those early days of grief were so overwhelming—even more so because I had to stay upright for the kids.
Not for me the luxury of wallowing in bed.
No, I had to propel myself through the appearance of a normal day, taking Susie to school and pretending to be too busy to chat with the other moms so I wouldn’t have to hear their expressions of sympathy that would send me spiraling into sobs.
Passing Bobby to my mother when it became too much and crying in my closet to avoid detection before washing my face and reapplying makeup to hide the evidence.
Death and taxes may have been the two certainties in life, but if I were in charge, husbands and pets would live exactly as long as we did.
But that kind of thinking got us nowhere.
Although it did remind me that I would have another battle on my hands soon—a dog was ostensibly off the table while my mother was here.
She wasn’t allergic, but the idea of a creature tracking mud into the house practically gave her the vapors, and that was a good excuse to avoid decisions I couldn’t handle yet.
And puppies could be as hard to keep alive as toddlers. I didn’t need that much extra responsibility.
Which was a problem to be dealt with when it arose, not now, I thought resolutely.
Instead, I grabbed a pen from the junk drawer next to the refrigerator and circled the date, writing the number one in the box.
Today was the first day of our new lives.
We just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other and someday, hopefully within this calendar year, we would stop having to remind ourselves to do that.
“Mama?” Susie’s voice called from upstairs. Then more frantically before I could respond.
“Making breakfast,” I called up sunnily. She appeared at the top of the stairs in her nightgown, her hair a halo of disarrayed brown curls, which she had gotten from me.
“I didn’t know where you were,” she said.
I climbed the stairs and cupped her chin in my hand. “Mommy isn’t going anywhere,” I said. “You know that.”
“But—”
“No buts. My mother is still fine. My grandmother is still fine. And Bubbie—”
“Mama!” she said insistently. “You’re not listening to me.”
I straightened back up. The pediatrician had said it was important to listen to their concerns so that they felt they were getting a full answer. “You’re right. What’s wrong?”
“Bobby wet the bed.”
I slapped the heel of my palm to my forehead. “My bed?” Susie nodded. “Okay, plan B. Pancakes can wait.”
“I can get the sheets,” Susie said.
I pulled her in close and kissed the top of her head. “Call me if you need help.” I turned from her and raised my voice toward the bedroom. “Bobby, go put your pajamas in the washing machine for me, please.”
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” his mournful voice replied.
“Happens to the best of us,” I said, with a cheer I didn’t feel. If I remembered my Heloise, I’d need to clean the mattress with baking soda and vinegar, which was only a Slight improvement on what it would smell like if I didn’t clean it at all. “Now hurry up. I’m making pancakes.”
“Ooh, pancakes!” He scampered out of my room and down the hall.
“Day one,” I said quietly to myself as I poured flour into a bowl. I took a deep breath and let it out, feeling like it was the first real breath I could remember taking.
By the time the kids were downstairs, I had the first batch of pancakes on the table. Perfectly golden brown with the crispy edges that they loved. I returned to the stove to make more while they tucked in.
I opened the window over the kitchen sink and felt the breeze that swept in.
March in the Washington, DC, suburbs tended to flip-flop wildly, from balmy to snow, and the sunlight was often deceptive.
A bright red cardinal landed on the branch closest to the window, and I smiled when it chirped like it was speaking to me.
The air was crisp, but not cold, with the promise of a lovely lamblike day before the lion roared again.
Lions . Now that was an idea. We hadn’t been to the zoo since before Harry died.
Bobby probably didn’t even remember it. What better way to start our new adventure as a family of three?
“What would you think of going down to the zoo today?” I asked.
I should have waited until they were done eating, because the pancakes were abandoned immediately.
But I made some sandwiches as they scurried off to get dressed and then fielded their complaints about how slow I was as I put on my makeup and dressed as well.
Completely unfounded, I might add. I was ready to leave in under an hour, and off we went.
And at least they wouldn’t want ice cream after last night.