A rectangular slab of black granite is placed at the top of the grave, looking almost fake—this is a movie set, or something out of a book. This isn't my real life.
Except that it is, the words etched in stone painful evidence of that fact.
Aaron Thompson
Loving Husband – Son – Friend
"Do you think they could update that?" I whisper, swiping a tear off my cheek. "Can they add 'Father'?"
"We can take care of that," Alan says, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Why don't you and Erin go say hi?"
I push back the hood of the carseat, expecting to see her still sleeping, but she looks at me with wide eyes, blinking slowly as she squirms in her seat.
"Hi Little One," I say quietly, unbuckling her and taking her in my arms. "Let's go see your daddy."
I approach hesitantly, like I'm scared it might hurt me if I get too close. Steeling myself with every bit of resolve I have, I take the last steps forward and kneel down, reaching out and running my fingers gingerly down the smooth surface of the headstone.
"Hi honey," I say, softly enough that only Erin and I can hear. "I miss you so much."
I sniffle, trying desperately to keep from breaking down completely.
"I brought someone you should meet," I say, peering down at our daughter. "We have a daughter. I named her Erin. You really think I was going to live in a world without some kind of Aaron Thompson in my life?"
She lets out a small squeak, stretching her arms out and opening her hands. If I hadn't diligently researched babymilestones, I would almost think she was consciously reaching out for him. Maybe I'll choose to believe that anyway.
"She says hi," I say. "Well, she actually, she says—" and I imitate her sounds, nearly choking on a gasp when I look down to see her looking up at me, her very first smile lighting up her entire face.
"Would you look at that," I say, awestruck. "She saved her smile for her daddy."
I ramble on for several minutes, recounting everything she's done in her short existence, from making me violently nauseous during the first trimester to pushing herself up during tummy time. Eventually Alan and Andrea join me, the three of us sprawled out while Erin discovers grass for the first time.
For a brief moment, a feeling so strong, so real, washes over me, raising goosebumps on my exposed arms—for a moment, ittrulyfeels like we're a family of five. Whether it's something spiritual, or simply the pieces of him that live in us, I really believe in the deepest part of my soul that Aaron is here with us.
As the sun raises higher in the sky the air grows uncomfortably warm, a reminder that Texas heat relents for nothing and no one, not even something like this.
"Would you give me just a sec?" I ask after strapping Erin back into her car seat and handing it over to Alan. "I'll meet you back at the car, I'll be quick."
"Take your time, dear," Andrea says, squeezing my hand before following her husband back to the car.
I turn back toward the grave, suddenly desperate to stay in a place I've spent so long pretending doesn't exist.
"I'm sorry it took me so long to come see you," I say. "It's been so hard without you. I'm a little pissed at you, actually. Pretty fucking rude of you leave the party this early. I hope you have the worst case of fomo."
A rogue gust of wind whips through hair, obscuring my vision and filling my mouth with curls. I sputter, clearing them out of my face and laughing.
"Okay, okay," I say, my voice shaky with laughter. "It wasn't your fault, I know. I wish you weren't missing out on any of this."
I push off the ground, clambering to my feet and brushing the grass off my knees.
"I'll come back soon," I promise. "And often. I never stop thinking about you, honey, not even for a second. I promise I'll tell her everything there is to know about you, she's going to know exactly who her daddy was. I hope she's just like you."
I kiss the tips of my fingers, stooping down to press them against the carving of his name.
"Bye, honey."
I walk back to the car, the weight of grief still there, but immensely lighter than it was before. This feels monumental, like it might be a lifeline out of this awful journey I never asked to be a part of. It's shifting, from something bitter that's been dragging me kicking and screaming, to something I can't quite name yet. But I know it's something good.
Everything changes.
