Chapter Thirty-Seven
Time To Let Go
Sam
May, Following Year
I became a grandfather for the first time on a scorching August day in Los Angeles, so hot the hospital’s HVAC couldn’t keep up. I’m not sure I sat still for thirty minutes during Chelsea’s labor and delivery, but hours later, Jolene Marie Del Ray entered the world with a cry that ensured everyone knew of her arrival. Jordan became a father, Colton and Graham became uncles, and I became a grandfather.
Today, on the fifth of May, I’m becoming a grandfather for the second time.
Instead of a hospital, we will file into the Falls County Courthouse for the final adoption hearing at one o’clock. A day that has been anticipated since Colton and Cheyenne filed their petition to adopt in August. Nine months of waiting and home visits and questioning if today would ever arrive.
Today, Colton is becoming a father, Jordan and Graham are becoming uncles, and I will once again be a grandfather. It’s not conventional; Milo is biologically my children’s half-brother and my stepson.
Our family isn’t known for conventionalism.
I turn onto the sleepy courthouse street and pull in behind Graham’s truck. Hazel lets me open her door, but she sets a hand on my arm before we can start walking. Catkins drift from a tree shading the hood of the Jaguar onto the cracked sidewalk beneath my dress shoes.
“Sam, wait.”
I tear my gaze away from Colton and Milo to meet hers. “Hmm?”
“Breathe.” She gently squeezes my forearm and twines her fingers through mine. “The last thing Colton and Cheyenne need is for you to be wound so tightly that you pass out. The waiting is over, my love.”
A nervous laugh rumbles in my chest. “I don’t think I’ll be able to take a full breath until I know it’s over.”
She smiles softly and leans into my arm as we begin walking. “Well then, all you can do is try.”
Try.
The word has become significant in my personal vocabulary. When I don’t know how to help Jordan through a PTSD-induced anxiety attack, I try. When Colton came to me after a CPS home visit with doubts I didn’t know how to assuage, I tried. When Graham struggles to explain a business venture I can’t fully understand, I try. When Indi needs to sit quietly with me in the middle of a workday, I try.
And today, one of the biggest days of my middle son’s life to date, I will try harder than I’ve tried before.
I am notably calmer than some of us, though. Jordan can’t stop adjusting the pink bow in Jolene’s hair, my mother is talking nonsensically about her cooking class, and Colton paces three steps, looks at his watch, and paces three steps back.
“Well,” I say. “I guess we can go in.”
Nine sets of eyes stare at me blankly. I gesture for my kids to precede Hazel and myself, and I take my mother’s arm to assist her up the stairs into the stone courthouse. Cheyenne’s family piles in after us, and we shuffle into uncomfortable, outdated wooden pews. Stale air creaks through vents, smelling of old papers and rusting pipes. It feels just as hot as the August day Jolene was born.
Then it begins. Our families, the attorney, and the social worker are sworn in before Judge Black by the chief of police, Seth Johnson. Sam McCullough, the attorney Justin recommended, asks Colton and Cheyenne to introduce themselves. They explain their reasons for adoption, and they answer McCullough’s direct questions to confirm their understanding of the adoption process. Less than an hour later, Judge Black scrawls his signature across the dotted line on the official adoption decree.
The resounding wood on wood of his finalizing gavel echoes through the courtroom, bouncing off plaster walls. Pride swells in my chest when he asks everyone to rise.
“Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Colton Del Ray on the adoption of Milo Del Ray,” Judge Black says. “Please join me for a photo in front of the stand to commemorate the occasion.”
Tears stand in my eyes. Jolene bounces between Jordan and myself on the pew until her father lifts her into his arms. Colton leads his wife with a hand on her lower back, holding Milo and his plastic sailboat in his other arm. Like his brothers and Nash, Colton wears a light blue suit with a white dress shirt, but his navy, sailboat-dotted tie matches only Milo’s. Beside him, Cheyenne not only wears the beaming smile of a new mother, but a glow that makes me wonder just how long it’ll be before the Colton Del Ray family expands.
Tripp, Grace, and I are invited to take a picture as the grandparents. Hazel tries to stay back, but Jordan nudges her forward.
“You’re part of the family too,” he says simply. “Mom can’t be here, so she would want you in the picture.”
Hazel’s emotion spills onto her cheeks as she hugs my eldest son tightly. The embrace is brief, but the meaning behind it is a pivotal moment for Jordan and for Hazel.
Today, we’ve taken a monumental step towards healing.
Tomorrow, we’ll take another.
This trip to Maine with my daughter and sons was planned when we learned the court date for the adoption finalization. I’ve had months to decide what I want to say, revise it, and start all over. A three-hour-and-eight-minute plane ride with Grayson Adair in the cockpit of the Gulfstream to reflect. To quell my nerves and prepare myself.
All of it vanishes when we pull up to Sea View Cemetery.
A faint salty mist hovers over the gravestones despite the balmy May temperatures. The ocean’s briny texture carries from beyond jagged granite bluffs. It’s a wilder body of water than the lake will ever dare to be, but it’s not lost on me that my late former wife was still drawn to the siren call of the water. Our marriage had been rocky at best and tumultuous at worst, but the water had always been there.
Blue Mind Theory, researchers and scientists called it.
I need this goodbye to move forward. To put the past to rest before I begin my future by marrying Hazel next month. I owe it to the woman who gave me my children and to the woman I will love for the rest of my life.
“I’ll wait here,” Grayson says crisply, pausing at the gate.
I squeeze the young man’s suit-clad shoulder before I wrap an arm around my daughter. Jordan, Colton, and Graham remain quiet as we cross willowy grass, stopping where Kathleen’s headstone rests. It’s a small stone, given the extravagance of the woman it beholds, but it says what it needs to.
Kathleen Del Ray Pierre. Sister, wife, mother, and lover of adventure.
That’s the truth of life, I suppose. An adventure, just like Milo has taken to calling everything these days. And what would an adventure be without a few plot twists along the way?
Jordan clears his throat. His hands are clasped behind his back, his shoulders at attention under his black suit jacket. “I thought I’d know what to say,” he says hoarsely. “I thought…” He trails off and shakes his head, blowing out a hard breath.
Eyes red-rimmed, Colton sets a hand on his older brother’s shoulder and squeezes.
Graham lowers before his mother’s grave. He gently brushes the stone clean before he sets a small bouquet of wildflowers beside her name. “You always brought me flowers, Mom. Now it’s my turn to bring some for you. My wife picked them from our field this morning.”
Indi loses it. She turns into my chest, clasps the lapel of my navy jacket, and gives into the sobs wracking her petite frame. I don’t know how to comfort her, but I try. I clasp my daughter to me, and I let my own tears roll down my face.
After Graham straightens, Colton takes his place. He’s empty-handed, but he has the words the rest of us can’t seem to get out.
“I spent a long time being mad,” he says, fighting tears. My gold wedding band on his finger catches a stray beam of sunlight as he trails his fingertips across his mother’s name. “Mad at you, mad at Dad.” He chokes on a laugh that becomes a sob. “It’s probably why I decided to ride bulls who were mad at me for a change.”
A strangled laugh catches in Jordan’s throat. He puts his fist to his mouth while Graham presses his fingertips to his puffy eyes. In my arms, Indi begins to still, her cheek still pressed into my chest. I kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter.
“I wish I’d realized sooner that anger wasn’t the answer. I can’t change it, but I can choose differently from now on,” Colton continues, words trembling. “Instead of being mad at you, I want to thank you. You might never have been truly happy with us, but you gave all of us the chance to choose happiness for ourselves.” Hand resting over the word mother , he lowers his chin to his chest and closes his eyes. “I love you, Mom.”
He stays there for a long moment. When he stands up, Graham wordlessly passes him a Kleenex. It’s from the travel-size pouch Ember sent with him before we left this morning, and the bright floral plastic wrapper is a stark contrast to our surroundings.
It’s my turn now. This is where I should remember everything I thought I would want to say, all the things I should say, but none of it feels like it matters right now. Indi steps from my arms to Colton’s sheltering embrace, and I kneel before Kathleen’s grave.
“I need to thank you, too,” I say quietly. Moisture seeps through the knees of my slacks, but I ignore it. “I also need to set you free, Kathleen. For my sake and for yours. I’ll hold everything together down here. I just need for you to be truly at peace.”
The five of us stand shoulder to shoulder, lost in our own thoughts. Overhead, warmth seeps through briny clouds, suffusing me with warmth. Physically, but also emotionally. With the warmth comes the peace that has evaded me for most of my life.
Not a fleeting peace that comes and goes, but a peace that ebbs and flows with life itself. One that sinks below the surface, deep into my bones, and burrows there with great permanency.
One that gives me the courage I need to close this chapter and walk into the next one. I might always reread the old pages, but the time for rewrites has ended.
It’s time to let go of what was, and welcome what is.