“Who would I talk to?”
“Your mom? Your sisters?”
He slowly moves his head side to side in the negative.
“It doesn’t surprise me that you felt you had to be strong for your mom and your sisters. But you were just a kid yourself. And maybe… looking after them was a way of avoiding your own feelings.” Just like I used looking after other people to avoid working on myself.
I get up and move over to sit next to him, and take his hand in mine. I look down at his big hand, his long, lean fingers and slightly roughened knuckles. He’s warm and strong, but I feel the faintest tremor. I squeeze gently. “Grief isn’t a weakness, Carson.” I pause. “Look at me.”
He lifts his head and a host of emotions crisscross his face. He meets my eyes, his troubled and dark.
“Grief isn’t a weakness. It’slove. That’s what Nonna meant this morning. You rush to get rid of grief because you think it’s holding onto loss. But the truth is, grief is hanging on tolove, and that’s why you’ll always have it.”
His jaw tenses.
“I know you wanted to get over it. But grief isn’t something you get over.”
“What? Yes, you do. You feel sad after someone dies, and you push through to get to the other side.”
“Thereisno other side. Thereisno pushing through it. It’s not like something you check off on your to-do list—get over the death of my son—check.”
His half-smile is lopsided and sad.
“I guess I thought that too. But now I know… grief becomes part of you. Part of who you are. It changes you, because wedon’t move on from it. We learn to carry it with us. It gets better. It does get better! But it never really goes away. Does that make sense?”
He nods and his throat works.
“I know you loved Kane.” I hesitate. “Do you still love him?”
“He’s…” He stops, looking like he might be passing a kidney stone. Moisture gathers in the corners of his eyes and a silver tear slides beside his nose.
My chest aches for him.
He ducks his head. “Yeah.” His voice is gritty. “Of course I do. And it fucking hurts.”
“It’sokay. Let yourself feel it,” I say softly. “Let yourself mourn. Let yourself remember. And if you break down… that’s okay. Especially that’s okay withme. You don’t have to be afraid of that.”
He closes his eyes, brackets tightening around his mouth. “I wanted to be strong for you.”
“I know. I know you have a hard time talking about this stuff. I know you like to keep things light. But… it makes me sad that you wouldn’t be vulnerable with me. Your wife.”
Eyes full of agony, he says in a low voice, “I’m sorry, Ayla.”
I nod, my throat squeezing.
“I was terrified,” he murmurs. “After Kane died.”
“Terrified?”
“For you.” He turns my hand in his and drops his gaze there, stroking his thumb over my hand. “You were so wrecked.”
I nod again.
“I was absolutely terrified.” His voice quakes. “Seeing you like that. Not being able to help. I… Of course I was devastated by losing my son. But if I lost you… I didn’t know if I could go on living.”
I close my eyes, my throat raw, my chest burning. “Carson.”
“I know you couldn’t help it.”
