throw rocks?”
“Can we go to the park too?”
There was a small playground around the bend with a swing set and a slide. It was the same playground she and Bethany used to visit when they were twelve. Not too far away was the house where Robin’s mother died. After all these years, she could still picture the damask pillows on her parents’ bed. The line of pill bottles standing at attention on the dresser like white-capped soldiers. The cool touch of the wisteria-patterned wallpaper in the hallway as Dad sang “Fly Me to the Moon” while cradling Mom’s head in his lap. Even at the end, when Mom could barely open her eyes, the off-key rendition made her laugh.
“Sure we can.” Robin cupped Caleb’s chin and ran the pad of her thumb across the ridge of his jaw. “Just as soon as Mommy has a minute.”
He nodded and ran a few paces ahead in search of rocks and pebbles he could toss into the water. Robin sank down the trunk until her bottom met the cool, shaded grass. She released a long breath and rested her elbows over her knees, thinking about the upcoming weekend. Would Dad hold Donna’s hand? Would he look at her with the same love he’d lavished on Mom for so many years? Would the longing in Robin’s gut grow stronger?
She leaned her head against the tree.
Whenever anybody commented on her single status, she would confidently point to her father. His longstanding devotion to Mom was always something that gave Robin comfort. But now, after all these years, he loved another woman. An ache she hadn’t felt in a long time wrapped itself around her heart, making her so homesick she had a hard time breathing.
Why now, Lord? This is supposed to be over
.
She was supposed to be done with the grief. So why did it come back now, on the heels of Dad’s declaration? Robin twisted her wedding ring and slipped it off her finger. She let it sit like a dead weight in the center of her palm, as if removing Micah’s gift could remove the burden of his death.
A loud splash jarred her from her thoughts. Caleb bounced on his toes, one small fist pumping beside his ear. The canopy of willows rustled in the wind, a hypnotic lullaby that did not match the chaotic churning inside. This tree held so much laughter. So much pain. It was the place she’d come as a teenager, when brain cancer grabbed hold of her mother. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with Bethany. They’d swing on the branches while Robin made a wish on each of the willows, a simple plea for the cancer to go away. And after, when the cancer had won and Mom was gone, Robin would sit beneath the canopy and give her grief free reign. She’d let it swing through her body like the weeping branches.
Years later, she’d brought Micah the day before their wedding. He held her beneath the tree while she listened to the thrumming of his heartbeat and dreamed about their future. Never once had she dreamt this.
Robin sighed. Most days she could handle the loneliness. Most days, she had only to play a sonata, or cuddle with her son, or bless somebody with a batch of hot-from-the-oven caramel butter bars and the ache would melt away. But sometimes, like now—watching Caleb struggle to lift a large rock with his healthy arm, his grunts of exertion stabbing the air—her loneliness grew too big to hold on her own.
She tapped the back of her head against the bark. Why did Micah have to die? Why did life have to be so hard without him? Why did the pain have to return now?
The
whys
came without warning. They came without relief, or answers.
I miss having a mother, Lord. I miss having a husband
.
Robin closed her eyes and let herself soak in the memories—Micah’s strong arms wrapping her in a hug. The smell of his cologne pressed into the collar of his work shirts. Running her fingers through the thickness of his hair. The warmth of his skin when they made love on lazy Saturday mornings. His kisses. His laughter. The deepness of his voice. It had been overfour years
“Can we go to the park too?”
There was a small playground around the bend with a swing set and a slide. It was the same playground she and Bethany used to visit when they were twelve. Not too far away was the house where Robin’s mother died. After all these years, she could still picture the damask pillows on her parents’ bed. The line of pill bottles standing at attention on the dresser like white-capped soldiers. The cool touch of the wisteria-patterned wallpaper in the hallway as Dad sang “Fly Me to the Moon” while cradling Mom’s head in his lap. Even at the end, when Mom could barely open her eyes, the off-key rendition made her laugh.
“Sure we can.” Robin cupped Caleb’s chin and ran the pad of her thumb across the ridge of his jaw. “Just as soon as Mommy has a minute.”
He nodded and ran a few paces ahead in search of rocks and pebbles he could toss into the water. Robin sank down the trunk until her bottom met the cool, shaded grass. She released a long breath and rested her elbows over her knees, thinking about the upcoming weekend. Would Dad hold Donna’s hand? Would he look at her with the same love he’d lavished on Mom for so many years? Would the longing in Robin’s gut grow stronger?
She leaned her head against the tree.
Whenever anybody commented on her single status, she would confidently point to her father. His longstanding devotion to Mom was always something that gave Robin comfort. But now, after all these years, he loved another woman. An ache she hadn’t felt in a long time wrapped itself around her heart, making her so homesick she had a hard time breathing.
Why now, Lord? This is supposed to be over
.
She was supposed to be done with the grief. So why did it come back now, on the heels of Dad’s declaration? Robin twisted her wedding ring and slipped it off her finger. She let it sit like a dead weight in the center of her palm, as if removing Micah’s gift could remove the burden of his death.
A loud splash jarred her from her thoughts. Caleb bounced on his toes, one small fist pumping beside his ear. The canopy of willows rustled in the wind, a hypnotic lullaby that did not match the chaotic churning inside. This tree held so much laughter. So much pain. It was the place she’d come as a teenager, when brain cancer grabbed hold of her mother. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with Bethany. They’d swing on the branches while Robin made a wish on each of the willows, a simple plea for the cancer to go away. And after, when the cancer had won and Mom was gone, Robin would sit beneath the canopy and give her grief free reign. She’d let it swing through her body like the weeping branches.
Years later, she’d brought Micah the day before their wedding. He held her beneath the tree while she listened to the thrumming of his heartbeat and dreamed about their future. Never once had she dreamt this.
Robin sighed. Most days she could handle the loneliness. Most days, she had only to play a sonata, or cuddle with her son, or bless somebody with a batch of hot-from-the-oven caramel butter bars and the ache would melt away. But sometimes, like now—watching Caleb struggle to lift a large rock with his healthy arm, his grunts of exertion stabbing the air—her loneliness grew too big to hold on her own.
She tapped the back of her head against the bark. Why did Micah have to die? Why did life have to be so hard without him? Why did the pain have to return now?
The
whys
came without warning. They came without relief, or answers.
I miss having a mother, Lord. I miss having a husband
.
Robin closed her eyes and let herself soak in the memories—Micah’s strong arms wrapping her in a hug. The smell of his cologne pressed into the collar of his work shirts. Running her fingers through the thickness of his hair. The warmth of his skin when they made love on lazy Saturday mornings. His kisses. His laughter. The deepness of his voice. It had been overfour years
Similar Books
