other, How we’d be surrounded in light and coming home would always feel like a release from all the bad things in the world. My father, on the other hand, just saw how often he’d have to pressure wash the dirt that would stick to it.
Movement in the large window catches my eye as my father walks across the living room toward the door. I shut off my engine and step out of the car. Before turning to the front door, I look across the street and see Xia’s car parked neatly next to her mother’s. The curtains are closed and the house looks still, which lets me know she’s probably sleeping like I thought. She always opens the curtains when she wakes.
“Hey, son,” my father’s voice grabs my attention and I look from Xia’s house to the front door where he stands. Seeing him reminds me of the bags of take-out I left in the car, but I don’t move to get them, watching as he walks down the steps toward me. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say quickly, but the closer he gets the more it starts to hurt. “No.” My eyes fall to the flower bush that stands perfectly trimmed by the door behind him. I can feel my father’s stare, but I can’t look at him as the pain that I’ve so desperately avoided grows in my chest.
My mind floods with memories of the past. The blare from the ambulance, Dad yelling over it, telling me to get in my car and follow them to the hospital. My gaze falling to these same damn bushes. I remember thinking about them, wondering if once she died everything she loved would die too.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until my dad hugs me, his arms bracing me as I lean against him.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says gripping me tightly. “I know it hurts. I miss her every day.”
“Why’d she have to go? There are so many fucked-up people in the world. Why her?” My words come out broken as my body trembles. I can’t lose control again, not in the damn driveway.
“There’s no answer for it,” he says. I pull away from him and run my hands down my face, trying to wipe away the tears. His face is still as tears pool in his own eyes. “Things just happen sometimes. There’s no rhyme or reason.” Using one hand, he grips my shoulder as large tears roll down his face. “But we can’t focus on the things we can’t control. We can’t live that way.”
Stepping backward, I look at him, wondering how he can be so strong. Loving someone so much and just losing them. I can’t imagine losing Xia the way he lost Mom. It would be like a huge piece of me was missing and I don’t think I could recover.
Everyone says the more time that goes by the more you heal. But healing means forgetting, doesn’t it? The sound of her laugh, the way she smelled, the little details of her face. It will all start to blur into a memory surrounded by sadness. I don’t want to forget my mother; I don’t want time to heal this pain if it means forgetting.
“Then, how do we live, Dad? How do we stop focusing on the pain but keep our memories of her so we don’t forget?”
“We’ll never forget her, Jordan. But we have to choose how we want to remember.”
“How, exactly? Because every time I think of her I want to break down. There is no choosing, there’s just pain. And I don’t know how to run from it anymore.”
“Then stop running,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. “Grab the bags and come inside. I’ll show you.”
A sad smile breaks across his face and I watch as he walks back toward the house. I squeeze my hand into a fist as what almost feels like fear creeps through me. I need to do this because clearly what I’m doing now isn’t working.
The bags crinkle as I walk up the steps toward the door. My father stands just a few feet inside. The sweet smell of the citrus candle reaches my nose the second I cross the threshold. It’s what Mom uses—or used to use—and I guess Dad continued, and something about that makes my heart warm.
I look immediately to the coat rack. Her favorite blue sweater still hangs with her house shoes tucked beneath. It huge and worn, but she loved it. My father sees