by TJ Fox
I stand and stretch. “I know that none of you want to eat or are even hungry, but I’d like you to try and eat a little something, then I think the best thing would be for everyone to get some sleep. If you don’t want to sleep alone, the couch pulls out, and you can all sleep in here tonight.”
They decide to stay together, so after getting out some crackers and cheese and setting them up at the table, I get the sheets and blankets for the bed. Only one leaves at a time to get ready for bed. None are gone longer than a few minutes. Simone brings B his PJs and Dean, so he doesn’t have to leave at all.
I tuck them in, but don’t go to my own bed. After taking a few minutes to swap my shirt with a dry one and wash my face in some cool water, I’m back in the living room. I set myself up in one of the chairs with my feet on the coffee table. I want to be close if they need me, and I don’t want them to feel as if they have been left alone. They need to know that I’m not going anywhere.
Chapter 21
Finally giving up on sleep a little after dawn, I shower and get ready for the day. This will be one of the hardest so far. Not that any part of this hasn’t already been hard. The therapist appointment will draw out the emotions we have all been smothering in an effort to get through the chaos of the last few days. It was already going to be difficult, but after yesterday, it might become volatile.
Hoping to encourage them to eat this morning, I mix up batter for pancakes, so it’s ready when they wake up. I cut up some fruit, set plates and silverware on the island, and set out napkins. Busy work to keep me occupied while I wait.
Out of things to do, I lean against one of the pillars between the dining room and the living room and watch them sleep. It’s what I did most of the night between my own snatches of sleep managed here and there. Not one of the three slept well. They are more relaxed now than I’ve seen since they went to bed last night.
The main thought that has continued on repeat in my head all through the night and into this morning is, “how in the hell do I get them through this?” The only positive role models I have for parenting are Jules and her family. My own are only good for showing me how not to be a parent. Jules’ family are all wonderfully loving people, but none of them have ever been through anything like this.
I am terrified of making a mistake. I refuse to do anything that would make these kids feel unwanted or any more left behind than they already do. I know what that feels like, and I won’t allow my actions to compound those feelings.
I decide to wake them, so I can start breakfast and get everyone to the appointment on time. It doesn’t take much, and they are up. Riff heads to his room to shower, and Simone takes B upstairs to get dressed.
They pick at the pancakes and fruit but manage to eat some. No one has anything to say. The quiet continues in the car on the way to their appointment.
The building is similar to the lawyer’s, but smaller, and the office we are going to is on the first floor in the back of the building. There is no receptionist, just a small waiting room with a couple of chairs. The door just beyond the chairs and across from the entrance is open when we walk in. A woman who looks to be in her thirties comes out.
She walks over to me, hand out, and introduces herself. “Hello. I’m Samantha Bader. You can call me Sam.”
“Teri Griffin.”
She turns to the kids. “Hey, guys. I’m going to talk to Teri for a few minutes, and then I’m going to talk to each of you. You know the routine.” She motions to the chairs. “Have a seat, and I’ll get you when it’s your turn.” Her smile is too bright for what will be discussed today. The kids don’t return it. They just find seats, lost in their heads.
Sam motions to the room, and I walk in ahead of her. She closes the door behind her. There are a few comfortable looking chairs arranged around the small space. A bookcase stands along the far wall, and a desk sits in the corner. Sam takes one of the chairs. I sit in another, facing her.
“Dylan mentioned he was dating someone, but I didn’t realize it was serious. It must be if he has you bringing the kids in.” She leads with a smile in an effort to start the conversation.
“Um… no. We aren’t. Weren’t.” She has a puzzled look, and her bright demeanor dims a bit.
“I think you should read this first, so you understand.” I hand her the letter that Dylan wrote. Much like with Mr. Ferrell, I watch the emotions cross her face as she gets deeper into the letter.
When she finishes reading, she looks at me with a stricken look on her face. “Teri, I had no idea he was even sick. I could have helped to prepare the kids for such a drastic change. Not that you can ever truly prepare, but… I’m kind of at a loss.” Her concern for the kids is genuine, and I like her all the more because that’s where her concerns went first.
“Dylan was never a client. He brought the kids, but he didn’t talk about himself. What I do know, I learned from the kids. And that isn’t much as our sessions were mostly focused on losing their mom and dealing with that loss.”
Needing her to understand the full scope of events, I give her a shortened version, “I was in the emergency room with B because he had an appendicitis, and we were waiting on Dylan to show when I was given that letter by one of the hospital staff.”
She doesn’t hide her surprise. There is anger there as well as concern for the kids.
“When I called for this appointment, that was the extent of it, but things changed yesterday afternoon when we were notified that Dylan was found dead. Riff and Simone were in the room at the time while B was napping upstairs. Riff brought him down shortly after.” My heart still feels bruised and bleeding. Going over it again does not help.
“Oh, dear!” She is clutching a pen in her hands, which are resting on a notepad in her lap. “How are you doing through all of this?”
The sound I make can’t be called a laugh, because it isn’t funny. None of this is. “Me? After knowing three kids all of five minutes, they are suddenly mine because Dylan decided he saw some mysterious thing in me? Something that made me a perfect choice for his plan to abandon his brothers and sister, so he could go off somewhere to die alone? None of this is about me. It’s about them.” I fling my arm in the direction of the waiting room. “What they are going through. What they have lost. What they need. That is the only thing I am focused on right now.” Sitting is making me fidgety, so I get up to pace.
“I’m angry at Dylan for doing this to them. I am pissed that he stole precious time those kids desperately wanted and needed. It breaks my heart that they no longer have that time. I’m scared that he made a mistake in choosing me because the Dylan that can do any of this isn’t the one I got to know. And if I didn’t know him, how could he have known me enough to make the right choice? There is also the potential that none of this was really what he wanted, but the tumor causing him to make these choices. That opens the door for so many other questions that I’ll never get answers to. No matter the reasons, I have three fragile lives that I’m now responsible for. Kids I have to help through this horror. And I am terrified that I’m going to screw them up, or that they will be taken from me just as I’ve accepted them as mine. But, none of that matters. The only thing that matters is them. They are ALL that matters in any of this.” Out of steam, I drop back into the chair.
Sam leans towards me in her chair, watching me for a moment as though she is getting ready to say something. I can see when she changes her mind and instead says, “The fact that you are here, that one of the first things you did was to make sure they got in to see me, tells me you are doing right by them. Their needs are being addressed. They are getting support and care. That is all you can do.” She sits back again. “That said, you also have to make sure you take care of you, or you won’t have the energy for them. Make sure you are sleeping and eating. Doing the things around the house that need to be done. Going to work. All of those are essential to maintaining the kind of b
alance you will need. It is okay, even necessary, to take a break for yourself now and then, or you will burn out.”
She’s right. I am starting to wear thin, especially after last night’s lack of sleep. I don’t think I’ve had a full night since this all began.
“I’m going to have you step out, and I want to talk to the kids together first, so I can see if I need to give them individual time, too. I think we should plan to have them in once a week for a while to be sure we stay on top of any problems that might come up, or even more often if something warrants it.” Before I go out to the waiting room, I schedule several appointments for the next few weeks.
All three kids go in and are in there for nearly an hour before Sam calls me in to join them. She says that she is going to keep it at just the group today and meet with them individually next time. Her advice to all of us is to talk about everything with each other. Even if it feels unimportant, even if it hurts, we need to talk about what is going on with each of us to be able to help each other through. After saying our goodbyes, we leave to head back home.
Home.
That thought throws me. It has always been mine, but now it is absolutely theirs as well. Signing the papers in Mr. Ferrell’s office, I still had doubts. That there was still a chance Dylan would change his mind and come back to them for the time he had left. That there was still a chance they wouldn’t stay. Now even that possibility is gone, so it is their home. Our home.
Chapter 22
It’s nearly eleven when we get back home. The furniture delivery is scheduled for after noon, so we have a little time to get ready. Deciding that working together would be good for them, we all go down to Riff’s room. We each help him clear what little is in there out of the way.
B isn’t allowed to do much, but we have him carry small things like the game controllers and games over to a spot just inside the unfinished section of the basement. Riff works on taking down the blow-up bed. Simone and I move the boxes and partially unpacked suitcases. After the bed is deflated, we take over while Riff works on unhooking the rest of his gaming system from the TV. Once everything is cleared out, I run the vacuum, and his room is ready.
I gather all the new bedding to put it into the wash. Wanting to fill out the load, I grab the few towels that he has been using from his bathroom. I’ll wash the new towels when that load is finished.
When I see the trash can and the mess in the bottom, I stop and lean back against the sink debating what to do. I’m in a precarious position with him right now. Calling him out may push him too hard. It may be too much so soon after news of Dylan and the rough morning with the therapist.
I push off the counter, put the towels in the pile of bedding just outside the bathroom door, then grab the trash can and hunt down Riff. He is in the unfinished section of the basement where we’ve moved all his things. I walk over to where he is and sit on one of the boxes, holding out the trash can in front of me.
He glances at it then up at me, looking a little unsure and a bit defiant. “I think we’ve talked about this once.”
I wait for a response, but he just shrugs and looks away. I see a light twitch at the corner of his mouth, obviously remembering my moment of inappropriate crazy.
I set the can at my feet. “A couple of things to think about. One…” I hold up a finger on my left hand and point to it with my right. “We’ve already established it’s gross. Two…” I hold up a second and point. “If you are ever considering wanting to kiss someone? Even more Eww! No one wants to kiss that!” Dumping as much disgust into my tone as I can, I push the moment into over the top dramatic with a full body fake shiver. My effort to keep things light for a moment gets me a surprised look from him.
“Three…” I point to the third and drop the teasing, dramatics. “Three, I want you to think about the fact that you now have two people in your family that have been diagnosed with some form of cancer. This?” I motion to the can. “Can put you right there with them.” His face sobers fast at that.
“I don’t want that for you or your brother and sister.” I bring my left hand back up again, holding up four fingers. “Then, number four…” I point to the fourth finger then over and touch the first then the second again. “I refer you to reasons one and two… gross and no kissing.” I smile and try to lighten it back up again.
“So you understand, I’m not telling you what to do here, only pointing out some important reasons as to why this isn’t a good idea. I’m just asking you to think about it, okay?”
He looks irritated and confused, but says, “Sure.”
I point to the can. “Your mess, you get to clean it up.”
I leave him to think about what I said. Heading back to his room, I grab the pile of laundry to take upstairs and toss in the wash. Jules shows up with Jorie and Rusty in tow just as I turn on the machine. She isn’t planning on staying for long but wanted to come by and bring us lunch. Needing to pull on some of her strength and with Sam’s words fresh in my mind, I agreed.
I grab Rusty before he can run off after his sister, who is in search of B. Giving him tickles and snuggles and hearing his peals of laughter helps to lighten my own mood. Hopefully, these two walking balls of sunshine can help B, Simone and Riff as well.
Riff surprises me when he comes in the kitchen and asks if he can take Rusty outside to play. Wanting him to feel he has a place in these kids’ lives, I agree immediately. From the kitchen window above the sink, I watch them run around playing tag in the back yard. He is even laughing a bit as he lets Rusty catch up to him a few times.
Jules is making her homemade chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. She makes her own noodles from scratch, and it’s one of the best things I’ve ever eaten. It’s the perfect meal for today. Comfort food at its best.
“How are you holding up, Ter?” She adds already cut up and prepared ingredients to my large stock pot on the stove.
“Better now. Yesterday was so hard. It gutted me to watch them have a part of their lives torn away forever.”
Riff has Rusty on the ground playing tickle monster and making goofy faces as he goes for Rusty’s belly.
I’m smiling at their antics when Jules crosses her arms, spoon in hand, and turns to lean on the counter next to the stove. “You know, you lost him too.”
Reluctantly, I look away from the boys playing and over to Jules. “What? You mean Dylan?”
“Yes. Dylan. You two were dating for almost two months, and now he’s gone. He left you too, you know.” Her words are soft and gentle, but they hit their mark.
“I don’t… he…” Stopping the automatic denial, I listen to what she is actually saying and realize that I haven’t once, in all of this, thought about it that way. I still haven’t been able to put the Dylan I got to know while we were dating and this Dylan, the one willing to leave his siblings, together as the same person. Somehow, I’ve separated him into two different people in my mind. One, the sweet, funny guy I had been dating. The other, a stranger, a person that was capable of doing such emotional damage to these kids.
I swallow. “I need a few minutes. Can you watch them for me?” I don’t wait for her answer and head into my room. My windows overlook the back yard and the playing boys, and I need to be away from it all. I head through my bedroom and bathroom and into my closet where I shut the door and slide down onto the floor.
For the first time, I’m crying for me. For my loss. In all the craziness, I had somehow forgotten about the potential I had just started to believe I had found with Dylan. We had created a connection. It was still young and fragile, but it was real. I don’t know that it was love yet, but it had that potential. We were friends at the very least. We had become comfortable and enjoyed spending time with each other. By creating a second Dylan in my head and turning him into some sort of awful person, one I didn’t know, I hadn’t let myself accept what his illness and death meant for me
beyond caring for the kids.
Understanding hits me like a wrecking ball.
We wouldn’t have another date. He wouldn’t bring me coffee again, fixed exactly the way I liked it. I wouldn’t get to feel his hand in mine in a way I was just beginning to like. We wouldn’t go to another pretentious art show and make fun of the snooty attitudes and laugh so hard we nearly get kicked out. None of those things, and all the others I hadn’t imagined yet, would happen now. The loss of what we did have and what it could have become is excruciating.
I sit on the floor of my closet in the dark, crying until my tears dry up. The collision of the two different Dylans hurts, but I am beginning to see how wrong it was and the problems it could have caused. He wasn’t just some stranger to me, some monster that willingly hurt the kids. No matter how much I hate what he did and the way he did it, he was not an awful person. He was just human. Someone with an awful situation dropped in his lap trying to do the best he could, in the only way he knew, for those he loved. Remembering his letter, I realize that I got to maybe hold a tiny piece of that love.
Finally, I get up and go into my bathroom to wash my face. Jules’ question helped me to purge a festering wound I didn’t even realize I had. I think Sam had tried to get at that when we were talking this morning, but I don’t think I was ready to deal with it. She recognized that and didn’t push. Everything still hurts, but it isn’t cutting me quite so sharply.
Jules is still stirring away at the stove when I walk into the kitchen. I step up behind her and hug her tight. “Thank you.”
She squeezes my arm with her free hand in response. “I’ll start the grilled cheese in about ten minutes. Why don’t you have the kids come in and get washed up before setting the table?”
