A Widow Redefined by Kim Cano Page A

asked.
    “Good.”
    “Any homework you could use help with?”
    “No. I’m pretty caught up,” he said. “I did it in class.”
    Sometimes I felt so unneeded. My son seemed to have everything in his life under control.
    “How’s Sally’s mom doing? Is she feeling better?”
    “Yeah. Sally said she’s doing good.”
    Our feet hit the pavement while our arms swished back and forth in unison, the coat fabric making rubbing sounds. I was out of ideas on how to create conversation that went beyond mere question and answer. Usually my son talked more. I wasn’t sure what was up with him. But then I remembered Sabrina’s idea, about the counseling.
    “Hey T.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Do you ever feel like you wish you had someone to talk to? Someone other than me?”
    He kept walking. “I talk to all kinds of people.”
    It was a general statement. One he made to avoid the topic at hand. I knew he discussed something about it with Josephine, but that wasn’t what I meant.
    “No, honey. That’s not what I mean,” I articulated. “I mean maybe talking to someone about problems.”
    Tyler halted. “What are you saying? That I should go to a psycho doctor?”
    I paused, carefully choosing my next words. “No, honey. I’m not saying you need to go to a psychologist. I’m just asking if you would like to, to have someone to talk to.”
    I had offended him. He took great pride in his child-like ability to hold everything together. I felt bad I’d mentioned it.
    “No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”
    He began walking again, and I did, too, striding at his side.
    He was quiet for a while, then said, “I don’t need to see a doctor about Dad, if that’s what you mean.”
    I let silence fill the air, hoping he might fill the space with more conversation about his dad.
    We continued walking in silence for a while, then he finally spoke.
    “Dad’s just gone,” he said. “That’s the way it is. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
    “Honey. I understand those are the facts, but what I was suggesting is maybe you’d like to discuss your
feelings
with someone.”
    Tyler stopped again. “I
am
discussing it with someone. I’m telling you—right now—it makes me sad.”
    With that out, he turned and changed direction, heading back toward home. He’d stated the obvious. And right then, I realized my son was growing up. He was already becoming like most men, where the obvious is all there is. They didn’t see the need to go past it.
    I still had a lot to learn about raising a boy. Luckily, he was such a good one, I didn’t mind.
    Helping me out of an uncomfortable moment, Tyler spoke again. “Before Dad died, he told me I needed to be strong.” His face composed, he said, “He told me everything would be okay.”
    “He told me it was normal to feel sad, and to cry. And he said if I wanted to talk to him, all I’d have to do is talk to him the way I’ve always done, and he’d be there, listening.”
    “And do you?” I asked, somewhat surprised.
    “Sure,” he said. “All the time. Not out loud, of course. In my head.”
    We were approaching the house now, so I fished the keys out of my pocket.
    “I told him about Josephine and my art lessons. I told him about her dog, Soleil, and how I’m hoping we could get a dog, too.”
    I looked down at him and smiled. He was right. It was time for my son to experience the unconditional love of an animal. I’d have to look into it soon.
    We walked inside and took off our shoes and jackets.
    “I asked Dad to send happiness your way,” Tyler said. “And look—it worked. You’ve already got a new friend.”
    I nodded and smiled at Tyler. A new friend. Yes, but that was the outer facade. Inside, I was free-falling through the Twilight Zone, spinning and disoriented.
    Something about what he’d just said, and the way he said it rang true, but I wasn’t ready to accept it.
    I pushed the concept from my mind, trying to regain mental balance as I did the