Little Moments (Second Chances 2)

Shakily I reply, “Roman Moretti, and I am eleven years old.”

“Do you have any family who lives in the city? Aunts, uncles, grandparents?”

I bow my head. “Yes, my uncle lives in the Bronx.”

I look back at the cop as he questions me. “Do you know his phone number?”

I give him the number and he orders another officer to dial my uncle. He gives me his attention again. “What about your father? Is he around?”

I shake my head. “No, he died three years ago of cancer.”

I hear a loud breath escape him. He kneels down to my level and places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss Roman. I’ll make sure that we get through to your uncle so you can be with family.”

Tears start to spill as a small sob escapes me. He squeezes my shoulder. “Rivera told me that you almost ran back inside the building. You’re a brave kid you know that? It took a lot of guts to try and save her. We would be honored to have someone like you with us.”

All I can do is nod. The feeling inside is gone, completely numb. My mother was my shining light, and now all I have is darkness. Darkness and despair.

I arrive at my uncle’s house later that night—or should I say morning? By the time I get there, the sun is starting to rise. After the officer drops me off, my aunt and uncle hold me for what feels like hours. My aunt’s tears spill down her cheeks and onto my hands as I hug her. My uncle, mourning the loss of his sister, holds me tight and says a light prayer. They want to talk about what happened, but I’m not ready. I just want to be alone for a while, so they put me up in my cousin’s room for the day.

Now, here I am, looking up at the ceiling. The events of last night continue to replay in my head over and again. My mother’s screams echo in my mind as a shiver tremors throughout my body. I get suddenly cold and snuggle deeper into the covers. Why couldn’t I save her? What went wrong? I should have done something. How come both of my parents are dead? Why me?

Closing my eyes, I picture the flames bursting before me, heating up my skin. Panic builds inside as I recall those scary moments of not knowing if I’d survive. I can feel my chest constrict with fear, and my breathing becomes heavy. I picture my mother, her face full of bravery, and the realization hits me. My eyes shoot open.

That was the last time I’ll see her.

I can’t help but burst into tears. An uncontrollable sob cries out from within my chest as I bury my head into the pillow. My body heaves as I let out the anger, the despair, the longing. A few minutes later, I hear the bedroom door open, and weight sinks into the bed as someone sits next to me. I look up to see my uncle, sitting there in silence as tears continue to spill down my face.

He looks at me and places his hand on my shoulder.

He sighs. “Let it out Roman.”

He bows his head and brings his hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes close and he takes in deep breaths. After several moments of inner struggle, my uncle begins to cry. At that instant, I sit up in bed and reach out to him. His eyes meet mine as we share a moment of understanding, and he pulls me into his arms.

My throat catches as I ask, “Why did she have to die?”

My uncle whispers, “I can’t tell you the reason. Some things just happen in life, and we have no control over them. We can’t predict the future, and we can’t change the past.”

“What’s going to happen now?”

My uncle gives me a comforting squeeze on the shoulder. “Well, your aunt and I are here for you now. You’ll live with us and, of course, you’ll have to change schools, but I know that we can make it through this. It won’t happen overnight, but as long as we have each other, we can overcome this.”

I sob, “I don’t want to let her go.”

“No one ever said you have to let her go. In fact, cherish the memories you had with her. Those are the moments that will always last. Never forget those times.”

We hold on to each other until sleep and exhaustion take over. As the sun rises and the city starts to wake, I feel my body beg to rest. Weakness spreads to my arms as I can no longer hold on to my uncle. He senses my tiredness and slowly lays me down on the pillow. My crying begins to fade as the tears dry. As I close my eyes, I feel my uncle lay the covers on top of me and whisper, “I’ll always take care of you. I promise.”

Roman

LOSING ONE PARENT IS DEVASTATING, but losing both parents is life changing. I remember when my father died. It was different from my mother’s death. We had time. We were prepared. We had the chance to say our goodbyes. I don’t remember too many details, but I do remember seeing my mother cry. We were in the hospital, my parents had just come out of the doctor’s office, and my father was consoling her.

At first I thought something was wrong with Mom, but it wasn’t until later that night that I found out it was Dad that was sick. Cancer; it was difficult to understand it all, but I got the gist of it. Luckily, the doctors were able to find a treatment for my father to prolong his life.

But, after two years, the medication wouldn’t take. The doctor visits became more frequent, the constant tests became a routine, and my father’s illness worsened. By that time, there was nothing else that could be done.

So my mom took time off work, and we spent three weeks traveling and spending as much time with my father as we could. We visited so many interesting places and watching my dad experience it all was truly amazing. After months of noticing a dark cloud over him, I finally saw him smile. I think it was when we went to visit Elvis; that was his favorite spot.

My father’s death was the first in my life. I was eight years old. After our travels, my mother decided to stay home with him and get a nurse to help out as well. I remember it was right before Valentine’s Day; my mother had picked me up early from school.