My biggest fear was an inevitable fate we would all see. Death was the only real certainty in life, and I’d let my brush with it cripple me to the point of being afraid to fully live. It didn’t matter how hard I’d try to escape it or to protect those around me from it. I would eventually lose them all. My parents, who meant more to me than anyone, would perish in my lifetime. The gravity of that alone had me slightly reeling. Who was I to think I could escape it? I was created to try to heal those preventable hurts, but it was only by design and not my own. Did I believe in God and heaven after death? I looked down at my sleeping nephew and decided then that I did. I didn’t want to be a part of the bigger picture if it didn’t include a sanctuary for those I loved the most after life. I had to believe Grant had a home elsewhere and lived in the tranquility of that home. That his gentle sou
l dwelled in a beautiful place I couldn’t see, and it was full of joy. I had to believe that the beautiful baby in my arms truly had nothing to be afraid of. It was a decision to believe, just like it was a decision not to be afraid of inevitable death.
And as the wind picked up and I held Grant closer to me than ever, the unthinkable happened. I embraced the idea fully and with renewed certainty.
“Grant, if you can hear me, I love you. I’ll always miss you. I’ll always wish you were here,” I said as a few solid tears trickled down my cheeks. “I’m so thankful,” I said as my chest burned. “I’m so thankful to have known you, to have loved you. God, you were awesome. I’ll see you again.”
I heard my wind chimes sound behind me as another strong gust kicked up and swept over the pond and thunder rolled in the distance. I grunted and stood with the baby in my arms and made it to the house just as the rain started to come down. My phone vibrated next to me as I sat in my recliner, watching the rain pound away on my deck. I looked over to see a message from Jack.
Jack: I love you.
Rose: Rap & R&B 101 Come Back to Me, Janet Jackson
In the six days he’d been gone, he’d texted me every day with the same words. I wanted to give him the time he needed to come to grips with our situation. I had no plans of giving up on him, and even though he’d been absent, I knew he wasn’t going to let go of us, either. At least, I hoped he wouldn’t.
Life had been cruel to us both. Even ten years after his devastation and loss, he was still giving in to his fear, but it was only through his love for me that he had to face it again. He’d lived through unrequited love and loss, and I’d put him in the position to feel the exact same hurt. I couldn’t fault him for that. It made him human. It was hard to believe a man as beautiful as Jack could feel so insecure, but it made him even more real to me. He had a fragile heart and it wasn’t a flaw. It was a gift.
And I wanted that heart.
Laying Grant on my bed, a new decision made, I walked over to my desk drawer and grabbed an empty purple journal. I sat in my chair as I watched the rain fall outside and stared at the tree that had changed my world what seemed like a lifetime ago.
I picked up my pen and began to write.
We fell in love in a lightning strike, an anomaly in a sea of lost people.
“It’s really coming down out there, folks,” the broadcaster announced along with flashflood warnings for the southern parishes of Louisiana. I pressed through the storm in my SUV, my wipers working overtime as renewed excitement raced through me.
I’d finished writing the story of me and Grant the previous day, and once I was done, I wrapped the journal in purple ribbon and tucked it away in a hope chest. But I knew deep inside, as Grant had professed in his last words to me, he’d always have a home in my heart.
Always.
Though I knew those memories and the time I spent with Grant would probably never truly fade in detail, I could no longer relive them the way I had been.
The same heart that I swore could never hold another was now heavy and full of Jack and had been for some time. I’d just been afraid to admit it.
I missed him every minute of every day. That was how I was supposed to feel about the man I loved. I wanted to be surrounded by him constantly. I wanted that overwhelming need for him, a new and permanent part of my life. I was fully in love, fully invested in him, and I was determined to convince him of it.
The GPS informed me I had another twenty minutes as I took the exit as instructed.
I spent that time remembering the rough patch my parents had gone through when I was twelve.
It had been far too obvious with the extended silences at the dinner table, and my father’s long absences out of town for work. Though I’d never caught my mother crying, I could feel her heartbreak. It had lasted for what felt like an eternity. I remembered thinking: if they didn’t make it, no one could. Even then, I knew how special their connection was.
But even the best, rarest kind of love had its flaws, took work, patience, and dedication.
Feeling hopeless, I watched them disconnect. Those were some of my darkest days. I couldn’t imagine them not being together. I couldn’t imagine life with them separately, and apparently, neither could they because they’d put a stop to it. And I had witnessed it.
I was once again sneaking around for my usual midnight snack when I saw the living room light on. It was pouring outside, and I remember seeing lightning strike a few blocks away out of the kitchen window. I heard the sound of the TV but knew my mother was simply staring at it without retaining anything. She’d been so quick to smile whenever Dallas and I walked into the room, but I’d wanted to, more than once, comfort her.
My father had still managed to show up to every one of my soccer games, determined to save face, and yet I felt their emptiness. Dallas ignored the tension in the house, lost her in her own world, and refused to talk to me about it. I think she was just as scared as I was. I was just about to take residence next to my mother and pull a blanket around us when I heard my father’s truck brakes squeak in the drive. I dodged his headlights and jumped back into the kitchen to get a clear view of the front door. My mother lifted from the couch in confusion. When she saw his truck, she smoothed down her long hair and her nightgown then met him at the door.
My father stood there, defeated and soaking wet, just feet away from her as she looked at him with hopeful eyes.
“What happened?” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.
“You stopped talking to me,” my mother answered with the same shakiness in her voice.
“This life,” my father said with his eyes glued to her. “I can’t do it without you. I can’t, baby. I‘m so fucking lost.”