I hate the pain and fear in his voice.
We’re far enough inland that there are no direct flights from Phoenix to anywhere in India. I have to settle with getting him to L.A. first and then flying west across the Pacific and over Asia. Before I hit the purchase button, I look up at him.
He’s moving around slowly. Almost absently. Lost.
He didn’t say he wanted me to go home with him. I’m not sure if this is the way he’d want me to go home with him to meet his family. When one of his sisters is… not well.
I’m not sure he’s in a good place to ask right now, either. He doesn’t need the pressure of thinking about whether he should or shouldn’t have me with him. It feels really shitty of me to bring up.
What would his family think if I just showed up while they’re all worried and panicking or maybe in a time of mourning? They might feel like they have to host too and that’s a lot of pressure on them when they should be concentrating on their daughter and sister.
But making him go alone also feels wrong. It feels like abandonment. Like I’m shipping him away in a time of need.
What do I do?
Taking a breath, I hit the ‘Purchase’ button. While the payment is processing, I decide that I’m going to let him go home and take this time with his family. However long he needs. They need him there. They need his attention. No one needs me to intrude on that.
When he’s done, then he can come back, and we can pick up where we left off.
Right? That makes sense, right?
While I’m debating this, I watch Arush move around absently. He picks something up, pauses, and then sets it back down. He walks away and looks around.
I set my phone down and cross the room to take him into my arms, resting my forehead on the side of his head. Arush takes a deep, shaky breath.
“Let me finish packing for you.”
“Sorry,” he whispers.
“Don’t be. I’m not going to pretend I can even fathom what you’re feeling right now, but I’ll do whatever I can to support you.”
Arush nods. He blinks rapidly a few times, making a tear escape, and I watch it track down his cheek before wiping it away.
“Sit,” I say gently. “The earliest flight is at nine tonight. We’ll get you packed and ready to go.”
He nods again, though I’m not entirely convinced he’s hearing my words at all. I guide him into the chair and then move about the room, gathering his clothing and toiletries. He didn’t bring a lot. Just some clothes for the week and his phone. He doesn’t have any of his personal belongings or carry-on items that he arrived in Chicago with.
I have my tablet and earbuds with me, though. Once I have him packed up, I take off the bio-lock on my tablet and changethe passcode to his birthday: 0509. We’ll have to grab him a small pack or something for them on the way to the airport. Or maybe the hotel shop has something. I like that better.
“I’m going to run downstairs for a minute,” I tell Arush. His head is back on the chair, eyes closed. There are tear tracks running down his face. His hands grip the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles are white.
“Okay,” he says.
“Do you need anything?”
He shakes his head.
I kiss his forehead. The urge to tell him everything will be okay has the words on the tip of my tongue. That’s a normal response when someone is upset. It’s an expected response. The reality of the words is so rarely accurate in times of deep stress.
Regardless of the outcome, Arush is not okay right now. Telling him it will be okay isn’t an assurance of anything. It’s invalidating his fears and his stress. It’s telling someone that they can stop worrying because whatever happens is going to happen.
His emotions are real, and he’s allowed to feel them without someone telling him everything will be fine when the reality is that there’s a good chance everything might never be okay again. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a sibling. Or even a close loved one. But I can imagine that life would never feel okay again. There would always be that hole. An absence.
You might continue living. You might heal and accept their death. But no matter how much time goes by, you’re never going to stop missing them. Their absence will never go away. Nothing will ever be the same again.
There’s a stupidly overpriced bag in the hotel shop that I decide to purchase. It’s the perfect size for a tablet and some chargers. I also grab him a few snacks, though something tells me he’s likely not going to be eating much today. There’s not awhole lot else I can grab, so I bring my gains upstairs and finish packing for him.
Arush is just where I left him in the chair. Once I’m done getting him ready, I pull him up and into my arms so I can offer him what comfort he can take from me. He feels listless. Empty. I’ve never tried to comfort someone before, and I’m not sure I’m doing a good job of it now.
