Chapter 23
AYLA
“When you said last night that you didn’t want to talk about Kane because you were afraid you’d break down… and look weak…”
“Yeah…”
“And I said because of that, you weren’t really dealing with your grief.”
“And I said I was.” He pauses. “But you didn’t believe me.”
I duck my chin in agreement.
“That’s how I was when my dad died. I had to keep it together so I could look after my mom and my sisters.
There was no time for wallowing in self-pity or grief.
My sisters and my mom were heartbroken, and I hated it.
So I had to be strong. Dependable. They didn’t need to see me breaking down in grief. I needed to show them how to be tough.”
“You were so young,” I whisper.
“Yeah. I had to grow up fast. I gave up a chance to play major junior hockey in Vancouver because I didn’t want to move so far away from home. Instead, I played in Kamloops so I could be closer and help out.”
My heart crawls up the back of my throat at his sacrifices for his family. And at the fact that nobody was there for him. “Have you ever talked to someone about your dad?”
“Who would I talk to?”
“Your mom? Your sisters?”
He slowly moves his head side to side in the negative.
“It doesn’t surprise me that you felt you had to be strong for your mom and your sisters. But you were just a kid yourself. And maybe… looking after them was a way of avoiding your own feelings.” Just like I used looking after other people to avoid working on myself.
I get up and move over to sit next to him, and take his hand in mine. I look down at his big hand, his long, lean fingers and slightly roughened knuckles. He’s warm and strong, but I feel the faintest tremor. I squeeze gently. “Grief isn’t a weakness, Carson.” I pause. “Look at me.”
He lifts his head and a host of emotions crisscross his face. He meets my eyes, his troubled and dark.
“Grief isn’t a weakness. It’s love. That’s what Nonna meant this morning. You rush to get rid of grief because you think it’s holding onto loss. But the truth is, grief is hanging on to love, and that’s why you’ll always have it.”
His jaw tenses.
“I know you wanted to get over it. But grief isn’t something you get over.”
“What? Yes, you do. You feel sad after someone dies, and you push through to get to the other side.”
“There is no other side. There is no pushing through it. It’s not like something you check off on your to-do list—get over the death of my son—check.”
His half-smile is lopsided and sad.
“I guess I thought that too. But now I know… grief becomes part of you. Part of who you are. It changes you, because we don’t move on from it. We learn to carry it with us. It gets better. It does get better! But it never really goes away. Does that make sense?”
He nods and his throat works.
“I know you loved Kane.” I hesitate. “Do you still love him?”
“He’s…” He stops, looking like he might be passing a kidney stone. Moisture gathers in the corners of his eyes and a silver tear slides beside his nose.
My chest aches for him.
He ducks his head. “Yeah.” His voice is gritty. “Of course I do. And it fucking hurts.”
“It’s okay. Let yourself feel it,” I say softly. “Let yourself mourn. Let yourself remember. And if you break down… that’s okay. Especially that’s okay with me. You don’t have to be afraid of that.”
He closes his eyes, brackets tightening around his mouth. “I wanted to be strong for you.”
“I know. I know you have a hard time talking about this stuff. I know you like to keep things light. But… it makes me sad that you wouldn’t be vulnerable with me. Your wife.”
Eyes full of agony, he says in a low voice, “I’m sorry, Ayla.”
I nod, my throat squeezing.
“I was terrified,” he murmurs. “After Kane died.”
“Terrified?”
“For you.” He turns my hand in his and drops his gaze there, stroking his thumb over my hand. “You were so wrecked.”
I nod again.
“I was absolutely terrified.” His voice quakes. “Seeing you like that. Not being able to help. I… Of course I was devastated by losing my son. But if I lost you… I didn’t know if I could go on living.”
I close my eyes, my throat raw, my chest burning. “Carson.”
“I know you couldn’t help it.”
“No. It was… I didn’t really understand what was happening at the time. I remember having this deep, aching desire to hold Kane again. I kept thinking about h-how he died. Tormenting myself with it. I couldn’t stop.”
“I remember you getting up in the middle of the night one night because you thought you heard him crying. I found you in his room, sobbing.”
That memory is hard. “Yeah. I was terrified, too. I didn’t want to leave the house. I didn’t feel safe and I was so afraid something else terrible would happen. I was so messed up.”
“You were. But look how strong you are. Look at you now—stronger than me.”
One corner of my mouth lifts and I touch my fingertips to his face. “I don’t know about that.”
“Fuck yeah, you are. Women are so strong. Men are idiots.”
I huff out a laugh. “When I started feeling better, I wanted to help you. But I couldn’t.”
He nods.
“And that made me feel like a failure. I couldn’t help my husband deal with the grief of losing our child.”
“Fuck. That was because I wouldn’t let you.” His voice is ragged. “That was on me.”
Oh.
“I was a failure. I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t even help myself. When you needed me, I couldn’t fix you.”
“I didn’t need you to fix me.” I hold his gaze steadily although my voice wobbles. “I needed you to love me. Support me.”
He closes his eyes, makes a rough noise in his throat, and reaches for me. I move into his arms, climbing onto his lap and straddling him, wrapping my own arms around him. We sit like that for a long time, holding each other.
“I’m sorry, Ayla,” he says again in a low rasp. “I’m so sorry. I did love you.” He swallows. “I do love you.”
“I love you, too.” I drag my fingers through his thick hair. “When I saw your face when you were holding baby Marco… I knew. I knew you hadn’t really dealt with it.”
“He’s the same age… as Kane was…”
“Yes. It’s hard. It’s okay.” I draw back to peer at his face. Red-rimmed eyes meet my own.
“It wasn’t just me, trying to move on,” he chokes out.
“It was everyone else, too. Nobody asked me how I was doing. Everyone asked how you were doing. Everyone assumes the man can handle it. They didn’t want to talk about how I was feeling.
” He pauses. “That just reinforced that it was better not to talk about it.”
“I didn’t know that.” I lay my hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s just how the world is.”
“But it doesn’t have to be.” I lean forward to softly kiss him. “Can I ask you something else you won’t like?”
“Sure, why not.”
“I know you want to fix things for people. And I told you… how I felt judged when you tried to step in and help.”
He closes his eyes.
“It was probably like that with your sisters…? I know you wanted to look after them and keep them safe, and they probably wanted autonomy and independence.”
His eyes shift as he takes that in, then gives a slow nod.
“Something to think about, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
“And… that time…” My voice trails off as my throat clogs. I clear my throat and sniff. “That time we were arguing about getting over it and… and you were trying to tell me I needed to move on… and you said, ‘For Chrissake Ayla, he’s been dead longer than he was alive.’”