by Aceves, Gigi
As we walk up the little hill where our Dominic will be buried, I start remembering his last few moments with us. Even though it hurts, I play them in my head over and over again. I’m afraid I’ll forget how he feels in my arms. I never thought a pain like this existed. Who creates pain like this? We finally stop, and Brian guides me to sit on a chair directly in front of a small casket holding our son a top a lowering device.
I can feel people around me, and eventually, everyone sits when the pastor starts praying over Dominic’s body. Trish hands me a white rose to put on his coffin before they lower it, but I just can’t. I don’t want to say goodbye—not just yet. Instead, I stand.
Without anyone’s help, I walk toward the box holding my son. My final goodbye . . . I’ll do it my way . . . my choice. I kiss the coffin right above where his head should be, and I let my lips linger for just a few moments just like how his dad kisses me.
Then, I whisper my final goodbye. “I hope you’ll remember me when we meet again. You’re a blessing to me, even for just a few hours. I hope you’ve felt the love I have for you. You’re with the angels now, baby. When I look up above, I hope you’ll see me. I hope I can feel you then.”
Brian’s hand is next to my head as I let my cheek rest on the hard cold coffin. His short goodbye still brought tears to my eyes. Four short words.
“I love you, Son.”
He pulls me back and nods to someone, then our little baby’s casket slowly moves lower until I can’t see it anymore. A life taken too soon, while I feel I’m falling into the same darkness that now surrounds my son.
The voice of my dad talking brings me back to my painful reality. I feel them scuffle away; my dad explaining how I should be allowed to grieve the way I want to. Then a warm hand covers my cheek, waving the coldness that constantly surrounds me. I now stare at the eyes of my savior . . . my husband. How he hasn’t left me, I’ll never know; but he should since I’m nothing but a shell of the woman he married. I’m covered in grief, surrounded by pain, and weighed down by depression; I am almost dead—a living dead.
“Tami, you have to get out of the room. How about we go out with Roxy and Cody, or let’s go house hunting since we decided to move back here. You know we can’t stay with your mom and dad forever. Are you up for it?”
“I want to go to Dominic.”
He moves away from me facing the window. “I was in a limbo of pain when we lost our first, even before then. I’m not gonna ask you how long will it take you to get past it. What I want to know is this . . .” He turns to face me, then asks, “What is it that you need me to do for you?”
“Why are you still with me?” I ask as a single tear slides down my face.
“I’m not leaving you or asking you to leave, so quit thinking about it. You may have let me go to help me figure my shit out, but I’ll never do that to you. That’s not how I function. We’ll do this together. I’m standing right here.”
“Why? Right now, it’s hard to live with me.” The softness of my voice masks the anger that’s brewing deep inside me, not for my husband, but for myself.
He tips my chin to meet his eyes. “You’re only making it hard because you’re not talking. Your heart doesn’t need to learn acceptance as mine did because it comes naturally to you. Your heart knows, T. . . . you just need to tell your heart to move again. I’m not afraid anymore, you know. I’m willing to risk it all again because I know it’s worth it. It’s worth it because of you. . . . and because of you my heart is full of hope. I want you to have that, too, T. I want that so much for you.”
I shrug my shoulders not wanting to speak, to think, to feel. I just want to be numb. Sighing out loud, he stands and walks away, but stops long enough to give me a sliver of strength enough to go take a shower.
After my short but successful attempt of leaving my bed, I jump back in pulling the blanket over my chest and face the window. Once again, assuming the position of a helpless woman. God knows I want so badly to snap out of it, but I can’t. It’s easier to wallow in self-pity than face the reality of my own pain. I know what Brian is saying, I truly do. I just can’t find it in me to—feel anything . . . want something . . . and hope for that one thing I’ve craved the most.
DOMINIC DUNLOP
ONE MONTH LATER—DAY OF THE ACCIDENT
I HATE IT WHEN CLAIRE picks me up instead of my mommy because she’s always late—always, and when she is, I’m stuck at the principal’s office. Why can’t I have a dad who can help take care of me like most of my friends? Every time I feel this way, my mommy always tells me that the Big Man in Heaven will send me one someday. I wonder when that someday will be.
“Nick, your ride is here,” Mrs. Granger, the office secretary, tells me after she gives me another one of her sad looks.
I grab my backpack, excited to leave so I can play my X-box as soon as I get home. My mom won’t be home until much, much, later since it’s her night time shift at the restaurant. Claire smiles at me wiggling a Mc Donald’s bag. Her form of bribery every time she’s late.
“Good afternoon, kid. Sorry I’m late, but I come bearing good news. Your mommy just texted me, and she’ll be home by the time we get home.”
I do a fist pump and give Claire a high five. It always makes me happy when she comes home early. As soon as Claire parks the car, I run as fast as I can knowing she’ll be there welcoming me home, but she isn’t there. After an hour of playing X-box, she still hasn’t come home. When I hear the doorbell, I run to greet her, but Claire beats me to it. I lean to the side to see past Claire, and a policeman is standing outside the door with another guy wearing a suit.
“Nick?. . . . Nick!’
“I’m right here.”
“Go to your room, Nick. Now.”
I want to turn around, but seeing a policeman in my house makes me want to talk to him. My mommy always tells me policemen are heroes like soldiers and firefighters. Then, I hear the policeman say my mom’s name and hospital, but I don’t know what that means; then I hear Claire crying. Why is she crying? Hurriedly, I run to my room when I hear footsteps coming my way. I don’t want to get into trouble with Mr. Policeman.
“Hi, Dominic. I’m Officer Morales.”
“Hi, Mr. Officer Morales. Call me Nick, please. My mom calls me Nick.”
“How old are you, Nick?”
“Six, sir.”
Mr. Morales tussles my hair then asks, “How are you doing, buddy?”
“Waiting for my mommy. Why is Claire crying? Is she in trouble?”
He sighs, then sits on the bed next to me. “How about we take a ride?”
I jump up. I’m super excited. “In your police car?”
He smiles at me then says, “Yes, Nick.”
Claire walks in and her eyes are so red. “Claire! I’m going for a ride with Mr. . . . .” I look sadly at the policeman because I forgot his name.
Sniffling, Claire says as she picks me up, “Mr. Morales, Nick. I need to pack you a bag too, okay?”
“Why? Will mommy go with me?”
Claire’s eyes starts to water and her lips starts quivering. “Nick, your mommy . . . your mom-my got hurt really, really bad.”
“Got hurt? How? Is she, okay?”
She wipes her eyes then says, “Remember how your mommy talks about Heaven?” I nod at her, still not understanding what’s going on. “Mommy is there now, Nick. She’s safe there, okay?” Claire embrace me so tightly and starts crying.
“She didn’t say goodbye.” I start crying, missing her already. I know what Heaven is . . . I know people who die go there. Claire helps me pack and tells me how I’m going to enjoy staying at Nonna’s house.
Sighing, she says as she winks at me, “She wants you to go with Officer Morales and go to Nonna’s house. You remember her, right?”
“Yes, but . . . but I . . . I want Mommy.” I try not to cry, but I can’t stop.
“Buddy, how about that ride?”
“Okay.” I mumble as I wipe my face with t
he back of my hand.
Claire hands a folder to Officer Morales, plus my backpack and my rollaway luggage. How long am I going to stay at Nonna’s house?
He nods, and Claire walks us out. I remember something—something my mommy told me I should always have. I run to my room and get two things—a picture of her holding me, and her picture with her angel. She’s my angel, too.
I’m enjoying my police car ride, we get to Officer Morales’ office really fast. His office is a huge, huge building. Wow! He holds my hand while pulling my luggage with the other, then he tells me to wait in a room. He tells me I can play with the toys Claire packed for me. Then, the door opens and Officer Morales walks in with a very pretty lady, but not as pretty as Mommy or my angel.
“Hi, Nick. I’m Ms. Lynn Mckenzie. I’ll take you to your Nonna’s house. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Ms. Lynn.”
“Ms. Mackenzie, here are the papers Ms. Dunlop’s roommate gave me. All documents are in order and properly notarized.”
I look back at Officer Morales, and he smiles at me as he gives me a big, big hug. He walks us out and. . . . wow! Ms. Lynn’s car is just like my mommy’s. It’s a yellow VW Beetle, except hers is a lot nicer and shinier. Ms. Lynn likes to talk. She’s been talking forever and stops only to buy my dinner at Mc Donald’s. After eating my nuggets and my fries, Ms. Lynn said it’ll be another hour and a half until we get to Nonna’s house. One hour and a half? How long is that?
I’m dreaming I’m floating on the clouds. Wait is that Superman flying with Batman, then I hear voices.
“Mrs. Mancini? I’m Ms. Lynn Mckenzie. I’m a social worker for the county of L.A.”
“Yes, how can I help you?”
“Mrs. Mancini . . . I’m sorry for your loss.”
Then, I see my mommy waving at me with Superman carrying me. I like my dreams.
BRIAN
I leave Tami still asleep while I drive down my parents’ house earlier than I normally would have but they called me late last night to discuss something important. I just can’t find it in me to leave my wife, especially at night since it’s when she’s most vulnerable. It’s when the sadness hits her the hardest.
I go through the kitchen ready to call out to my mom when voices from the living room stop me in my tracks. My parents are sitting across a woman positioned next to a boy who’s staring down at his feet. The words that register in my still sleep induced brain, are death, Carrie, and foster home; but what wakes me up from my stupor is my mom saying . . .
“Nick will be happy with us, Ms. Mackenzie. Carrie lived with us when she was sixteen. Once she aged out of the foster system, we convinced her to stay and finish high school with us. I’ve loved that girl like my own, and we’ve communicated through the years. They moved from San Francisco about three months ago, but between everything going on with my daughter-in-law and Carrie’s new job, we really couldn’t find the right time to visit.”
“Do you know if she has a sister, maybe a cousin?”
“Ms. Mackenzie . . .”
“Mrs. Mancini, please call me Lynn.”
“Lynn, as far as I know, she doesn’t have any siblings or living relatives.”
“Well, can I show you something?” She turns to face the boy and asks, “Nick, may I please have the picture? I want to show it to them.”
The boy stands up and carefully pulls something from his pocket. He opens it up and hands it to Lynn as he watches her every move. As soon as Lynn hands it to my mom, a loud gasp leaves her mouth as she covers her mouth in shock.
“Oh my God. This is Tami . . . my son’s wife.”
That did it for me. I can’t hold it any longer, so I step in and make my presence known. Forgetting my manners, because hearing Tami’s name just about brings me to a state of confusion enough to start interrogating the little boy.
“How is my wife involved in this?” I ask sternly.
“Pardon my son, Lynn.” My mom turns my way. “Brian, please sit down.”
Taking a deep breath I ask again, “How is my wife involved in this?”
My dad, probably sensing my impatience, breaks the silence, “Nick, do you want to go outside? I want to show you our rose garden and the Koi pond Brian helped me build.”
“Ms. Lynn, can I please have my picture back?”
My mother gestures for Nick to come to her, and as soon as he does, she hands him the picture which he carefully folds and securely puts it back into his pocket. He grabs my dad’s waiting hand and looks over his shoulder at me, but what catches my attention is his smile . . . it reminds me of Dominic’s before he died. I shake that thought from my head to deal with what’s facing me, or rather my mother.
My mom faces me then says, “Last night, Lynn dropped off Nick. Carrie was involved in a car accident on her way home. She . . .” She wipes her eyes then continues, “. . . . she died instantly.”
I hate seeing my mother cry, especially now. We’re barely recovering from losing Dominic, and now this. I try to remain calm and not let my emotions rule, but if I leave it up to my mother, she’ll take the boy in.
“Brian, let me explain. Carrie always talked about your family to Nick every chance she got, especially you, Mrs. Mancini, and the lady in the picture. According to Nick, his mom considered her a sister, and that’s why I assumed she was either a cousin or maybe a half-sister. The whole drive from L.A., Nick told me many stories about his mom and Tami until he fell asleep. Nick calls her ‘his angel.’ He even said that they made a pact that when they had their own kids, they would name them Dominic.”
Perhaps I look confused to my mother, but I’m trying to think as far back as my high school days to remember when this picture was taken. I knew Carrie stayed with us when she was a sophomore and I was a senior, which puts Tami in college. How in the world did they meet? Of course, my mother answers that question.
“That picture must have been taken during one of our parties. Tami was already in college and Carrie was in her second year in high school. They really got along great. In fact, they would talk, mostly during the weekends, especially when you were in boot camp, Brian. Tami would always make time for her whenever she visited.” Smiling as she remembers, my mother continues, “She would call Tami for boyfriend advice. I don’t think you’ll remember Brian because you were always with Lorraine.” She shakes her head sadly. “Remember, Lorraine didn’t like Carrie. She was jealous of her. Anyway, when Carrie started hanging out with girls her own age, their closeness diminished somewhat.”
Accepting my mother’s explanation I ask, “Why my parents? Can you start from the beginning, please?”
“Like your mom said, I dropped Nick off last night since Carrie named your parents Nick’s legal guardians. Is that something she discussed with you, Mrs. Mancini?”
Nodding my mom answers, “Yes, she mentioned it to me on more than one occasion, and I didn’t think twice. I said yes.” A faraway look crosses my mom’s face. “Carrie, that girl, often times told me she’d die before us. I don’t know why, but she always has said that.”
I can’t hold my tongue anymore because this circus going on here is giving me a headache and stress my parents or I don’t need. It might be selfish on my part, but I don’t care. Between relocating from L.A. to San Diego, and Tami’s still delicate situation, we don’t need this right now.
“Excuse me, but my parents are too old to take on this responsibility. Surely, there has to be someone else.” Turning to my mother I say, “Can I have a word with you, Ma?”
My mom looks at me much like how she used to when she wants me to shut up. “Lynn, I’ve already expressed what we intend to do. Make sure it happens, and of course, you know where to reach me. Also, can you leave me the number of who I need to call to claim Carrie’s . . .” Mama stops as she wipes her eyes. “ . . . Carrie’s body.”
“There are still documents that need to be signed and filed, but with all of Carrie’s paperwork being in order, it shouldn’t take me that long
to finalize everything.” Lynn grabs a card in her purse and gives it to my mother. “Thank you, Mrs. Mancini. Let me say goodbye to Nick, and I’ll be sure to keep in touch.”
My mother gifts Lynn with her sweet smile which disappears as soon as she faces me. “Brian. Kitchen please, now.”
I quietly follow her, preparing myself to knock some sense into her so I attack first. “Mom, you’re not seriously thinking of doing this, right? You’ve stopped doing that years ago. If this is your crazy way of getting over Dominic’s death, don’t . . . just don’t. That wouldn’t be fair to that child.” I vehemently say, pointing at the direction of where my mother’s current obsession sits—on the deck steps.
“What happened to your compassion? Did your own son’s death make you bitter? That poor child lost his mother. Are you going to fight me about claiming Carrie and giving her a proper burial as well?”
“Mama, I’m just looking out for your best interest. Anyone would question you on this. You and Papa are old! You don’t need the stress of caring for a child.”
“I’ve already made up my mind, Brian. It’s done!”
Just then, little feet appear, stopping at the edge of the doorway completely putting a stop to our conversation. My dad sits on a stool next to the breakfast nook and motions for the boy to do the same. I stand giving him my back. I don’t want to be mean, but right now with my own heart still hurting, I can’t stand the presence of a child. . . . not at all. It hurts too much—and that’s my choice.
“Are you hungry, Nick?” My father asks.
Nick doesn’t say anything as my mother walks past me, paying me no attention. She goes straight to the refrigerator, pours a glass of milk, and cuts a freshly baked blueberry muffin in small bite sizes, puts them on a small plate, and serves them to the boy.
“Angelo, outside,” she says in a clipped tone without glancing my way.
