We stroll past a long row of headstones, a cold breeze blowing through the cemetery. It’s taken me far too long to visit my brother and father in Boston, where my mother had them laid to rest. I wanted my son to meet the person he’s named after. Mia found out she was pregnant with Erik a few days before our wedding. She swears she conceived him in Las Vegas on the night of my bachelor party.
Erik jumps up and down, his chubby little cheeks puffed out. He latches onto me and yells, “Swing, swing, swing.”
He loves when Mia and I swing him in the air. It’s kind of funny considering I met his mother on the old swing set in her parents’ backyard. I fell in love with her in the most unusual of places.
“Hold Mommy’s hand,” Mia says to our three-year-old son, who we named after my twin brother.
He slips his tiny fingers between hers and then latches on to me. “I want to fly, Daddy,” he says in his baby voice that makes my heart melt. “Make me fly.”
“You got it, buddy.”
We lift him off the ground at the same time. Mia laughs, her smile so wide it reaches up to her clear blue eyes. I love this woman and my children more than anything in this world. And I have them because of the darkest parts of my life.
My brother’s death had set into motion a chain of events that I never thought would lead me to this point. Years ago, I thought I would be dead by now. Part of me wanted—no needed—to be with my brother again. My depression and guilt over Erik’s death, mixed with my drug habit, should’ve killed me. But it didn’t because Mia, my little lamb, was there to save me. She was always the light to my darkness, the good to my bad. To this day, she still saves me from myself. She keeps me grounded and makes me whole.
Maintaining a strong grip on Erik, we rock him back and forth, all the way through the cemetery until we reach my brother and father’s graves which are next to each other. My mom hovers over their headstones with her hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. She has her back to us, but once she hears our footsteps, she spins around.
“Grams,” Erik screams. “Look, Grams, I’m flying.”
Her cheeks redden from the smile stretching across her withered face. She looks so much older than the last time I saw her. I’m hoping she will finally consider my offer for her to live with us. I’ve asked her at least a hundred times, and I still get the same answer every time. She’s never ready to leave my brother and father, and I fear she never will be. I hate seeing her alone and with no one to talk to other than the staff who live inside my childhood home with her.
The second we set Erik on the ground, he runs into my mom’s arms.
“Hey, baby.” She hugs Erik and kisses him on the cheek and forehead, holding on to him for dear life. “I missed you.”
“You made it,” my mom says to Mia and me, lifting Erik up and into her arms, adjusting him on her hip. “How was the trip?”
“Not bad. We hit some traffic but nothing major.”
“There’s always traffic.” She sighs. “Well, I’m glad you made it in one piece.”
Ever since Erik’s death and my accident, my mom worries every time I travel long distances in my car. What happened when I was a teenager was nothing more than a result of an unfortunate series of events. Since then, I haven’t had a single crash or a blemish on my driving record. It was nothing more than a response to my brother needing help and me feeling helpless.
These days I think of Erik more. I don’t want to forget the past or the memorie
s we shared. If anything, now that I have a son and another child on the way, I want them to know their family. Even though he’s too young to remember, I tell Erik stories about his uncle. He knows I named him after my twin brother and mentions him from time to time.
When Mia found out she was having a boy, I knew Erik was the perfect name for him. My mom cried for days after I told her we were calling him Erik. She still does on occasion. Today is one of those days. Even though she tries to blink them away, her eyes are watery and filled with tears. She says Erik reminds her so much of my brother and me when we were his age.
“How long have you been here?” I ask my mom.
“Not long, maybe twenty minutes or so. You know, my usual visiting hours.”
Every day since she moved back to Boston, my mom has sat at my brother and father’s graves, who are now buried next to each other. Some days, she spends hours here talking to the dead, and knowing that breaks my heart. She never moved on, never got the second chance I had with Mia.
“Have you reconsidered my offer?”
I ask her every time we speak.
My mom’s gaze shifts between Erik and me until she settles on Mia’s stomach. She’s pregnant again, this time with a girl. Her belly is huge, two seconds from popping. I told Erik he could rub Mia’s belly for good luck, and now he does it every morning when he wakes up. Sometimes, I find him with his mouth pressed to Mia’s stomach whispering to his sister. Erik tells her about us and loves her already. He can’t wait to meet her. Neither can I.
I thought having a boy was the highlight of my life because I can pass my name onto him. But I’m honestly terrified of having a girl and the added responsibility that comes with it. My little princess will probably take after her mom, who’s always challenged me, but I’m ready this time.
My mom runs her hand over Mia’s baby bump and smiles. “I think it’s time.”
I sigh with relief. “Really? You’ll come live with us?”
She nods and then kisses Erik on the forehead, holding him tight against her chest. “Do you want Grams to come live with you and the new baby?”