lab shorts - 4. Move from Complacency

Move from Complacency

Only one room was left to pack, and I dreaded what I would find beyond the closed door. It had been a long time since I'd taken a step inside the clutter that made up my son's living space—not since the day we lost Bethany.

As I stood at the threshold with my hand still gripping the door knob with a grasp that left the knuckles white, I looked into the once familiar space beyond. He'd changed the decor. Gone was the chaos born of a youth's exuberance, and in its place was the organization of a single-minded young man. My little boy had grown up... and I had missed it.

I moved into the room slowly, almost in a daze, and looked around. It was all so different. Jeremy had always been neat, but he'd had a lot, and I mean A LOT, of stuff. It had cluttered up every available flat surface in the room. He'd been consumed with so many interests that his mother and I used to laugh at the bets we made with each other over which direction he would choose to focus on at the beginning of each week.

My fingers slid along the clean surface of his desk. The only thing on it was his computer monitor and key board. There wasn't even any dust. His book shelves still contained a plethora of titles, but as I scanned them, I saw they were not only organized according to subject but also set in alphabetical order. Only one book was out of place, and it was dog eared from use.

I heard a muffled sob as my hand went to my mouth. It was the recipe book he'd made in the fifth grade with Bethany. They'd worked for hours picking just the right recipes out from magazines and miscellaneous cookbooks. I remember being subjected to weeks of experimentation as they added a little of this or took away a bit of that, putting their own spin on the dishes and making them original. I don't remember what the purpose of the project was, but he got an A in the class.

My eyes left the book case and traveled up to the shelves that lined one wall. They were empty save one lone model. Tears streamed from my eyes as I thought about the many weekends we'd dedicated to assembling it together. We'd done others but this one he'd insisted needed to be perfect. It was an exact copy of a Model A Ford Roadster. We painted it to match the vintage car sitting in my father's garage.

As I gently placed a finger on the small replica, I wondered how long it had been since the car had been taken out and driven. Had Jeremy gone out with his gramps while I'd sat in my recliner in complacency staring at the photo of his mom? The doctors called it complicated grief. I hadn't been able to move past the loss and function in normal day to day life. Instead, I was stuck on pause while the people that had been such an important part of me, other than Bethany, lived on.

I sank down onto Jeremy's bed and picked up a stuffed tiger he'd had since he was five. Cuddling it close to my chest, I curled up in the center of the mattress and shut my eyes tight against the shame. I'd sat in oblivion while my son had struggled with his own grief. Not for the first time since coming to my senses, I thanked the stars for my dad, my brother and my brother's partner. They had picked up the slack and helped Jeremy through the last two years of his life. The move I was packing for was their doing—once they'd persuaded me to finally get some help.

As I lay curled around Jeremy's tiger, I tried to practice the calming technique Dr. Angelo had given me. I breathed in deep to slow the beat of my heart. The scent of my son permeated the air filling my lungs. It did more than any exercise I'd done previously to bring me serenity.

I hugged the toy closer and relaxed into the peace of Jeremy's smell. It was an hour or so when I was brought out of slumber by a weight settling next to me. I opened my eyes and looked into the clear blue of my son's gaze.

"Hey," I mumbled as I sat up.

"Hey."

He glanced down at the stuffed animal and smiled as he took it from my hands.

"I guess Tigger did his job for the day." He looked up at me. "That is, if you slept well."

I smiled back at him and nodded. "I did." I stroked the toy and moved on to Jeremy's hand. "I had a dream about the day I bought him for you. Your mom and I had taken you to the clothing store, do you remember?"

He laughed—a sound that I had missed hearing while in my self-imposed stupor. "I remember hating those stores. I used to hide in the racks so you couldn't make me try anything on."

"True, true. It was one of those times that I found Tigger. With the promise that you could keep him, you finally came out so your mother could make sure your new school clothes would fit."

We sat there in the bedroom that would soon belong to someone else and relived memories of his growing up, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying. He told me of his boyfriend and I watched his eyes sparkle the way Bethany's had when I first told her I loved her. I smiled at the blush that crept up his neck and flowered on his cheeks.

I swore that one of the first things we were going to do when settled into the new house was to invite Gary and his folks over for a barbeque. I needed to get to know these people if the look in his eyes told the whole story. We'd be in-laws before we knew it.

He'd settled on an automotive trade school rather than college. It seemed that all those times helping with his grandpa's old cars had spiked an interest that wouldn't go away.

The past two years dimmed to a dull nightmare. I'd woken up.

As we talked, I watched Jeremy's eyes continuously wander to the closet. I hadn't looked inside, having stopped my tour of the room at his bed. I wondered what was in there that took his attention. I was going to ask, but he stood suddenly and moved to the closet door.

"Mom left something for you," he said while sliding the door to the side. He reached up to the shelf inside and took down a small pink box. I felt my heart stutter and my stomach clench as he set it in my hand.

I recognized the box as soon as I saw it. My hand reflexively lifted to the chain I wore about my neck. On it was a small silver key. Inside the box would contain a matching chain with a silver heart. I thought she'd been buried with it. I was sure she had. I remembered touching it as it lay on her breast.

I looked up into my son's eyes in question. He shook his head.

"I don't know what's inside. I only know that she gave it to me the night she died and instructed that I give it to you when you were ready." He shrugged. "You know how mom always knew when you were going to have a hard time. It's almost like she could see into the center of us."

"She did at that," I said and slowly lifted the lid to look inside.

There was a chain inside, but not the one I remembered. This one was woven black hills gold and held a pendant with a single word etched into it.

LIVE

Link to prompt http://www.gayauthors.org/forums/topic/34927-prompt-145-creative/