Page 2 of Fractured Grief
I checked the time. It was nearly seven o’clock, and I still had to make up our beds and unpack the essentials. The rest could wait until tomorrow. Thank goodness the townhouse was furnished. I wasn’t handy at all; that was Lexi. She’d been the handywoman of the house and a jack of all trades. I was the studious one and the cook. We often laughed at our unorthodox gender roles, which had always been a point of contention for our parents, especially Lexi’s. They hated that she wasn’t the perfect little lady they’d wanted, and that was well before her rebellious teen years that landed her with Hazel and no other family.
Walking over to Hazel, I sat down next to her to get her attention without startling her. She looked so much like her mother. A head full of unruly curls, alabaster skin, and a cute little galaxy of freckles that dotted her nose all added to her character. She was beautiful.
“Hey, Haze, it’s almost dinner time. How would you feel about pizza?” I waved to get her to look at me.
She blinked up as a grin stretched over her face, showing off her gap-toothed smile. “Really? I love pizza!” She squealed in all her adorable innocence. Sometimes, she was so easy to please.
“Do you want to order in and help Daddy unpack or go out and eat at a restaurant like a big girl?”
“Can we eat here, Daddy? I wanna set up my new room. And we have to make sure we hang up all of Mommy’spictures and find a place for her urn so she can watch over us and see our new house.”
Smiling at my resilient little eight-year-old. “Good idea. Of course, we can. How about we find Mommy’s pictures after I order?”
She nodded enthusiastically and went back to coloring as I stood and pulled out my phone to order our dinner.
Once food was on its way, I decided to make up the beds and unpack our suitcases. Traipsing upstairs, I got to work.
Looking around Hazel’s new room, I tried to figure out where all her toys would go. This place was furnished for a corporate couple, not for kids. I would need to buy a toy chest and some kid-friendly storage. The room was big, even with a simple dresser and double bed. I needed to make a list, or I would forget stuff. I had only two weeks before Hazel was due to start at her new school, and I was set to start my new job.
Moving into the primary bedroom, I took in the queen-size bed. I had never had one before and couldn’t wait to stretch out. I needed to buy my own sheets as soon as I could. The idea of sleeping on someone else’s linens made me cringe.
I was about to start unpacking my suitcase when the doorbell rang. Hazel had next to no stranger danger, so I raced downstairs to beat her to the door. I knew it was only our pizza delivery, but I was still extra cautious in this new city.
Hazel was too focused on coloring to go to the door, so I quickly accepted our pizza and called for her to join me in the kitchen.
I didn’t realize how hungry I was until there was hot food in front of me. Hazel was eating quietly, gazing at all the boxes in the living room.
“How’s the pizza?” I asked.
“Yummy. Where can we put mommy’s pictures? We need some down here, one in my room and your room, too. She needs to be able to see the whole house,” she exclaimed seriously.
“We’ll make sure she can see every room. Finish your pizza, and we can go see about the pictures.”
Once we’d finished dinner, we went up to Hazel’s room. She liked to have her army of stuffies lined up in her favorite order of the day. I watched as she picked through her box, making piles and deciding which ones she wanted with her for bedtime.
“I’ll be in my room, right next door, okay?” She nodded absently as I left her to her decision-making process.
I unpacked my suitcase and toiletries and finally opened our Lexi box—all the photos and keepsakes Lexi had collected to make our homeours. She’d liked to whittle and carve and had made these ornate forest creatures.
I unwrapped each figurine, reminiscing about how she’d carved each animal over the last eight years. The details on some of her newer carvings were exquisite. Tears welled in my eyes, making my vision blur, as I placed a little squirrel family on my bedside table. A dad, a mom, and a babysquirrel. Lexi liked to remind me that we were a family unit, no matter what anybody said or how unorthodox we happened to be.
Tears cascaded down my cheeks, and I let the grief flow through me, if just for a moment.
I couldn’t believe she was gone.
There were times I wasn’t sure I could do this without her. She was the heart and soul of our family, and now there was a gaping hole where she used to be.
I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and continued to unwrap the figures, creating a little forest menagerie. Three squirrels, three bears, three ducks, three bison. Except for the fox. She’d only had a chance to create one fox, but I couldn’t find him.
Trying not to panic, I moved the packing paper and peanuts into piles on the bed and shifted the picture frames and other knick-knacks. It had to be in here.
Finally, I saw the little tail peeking out of a loose piece of packing paper. Moving the frame, my heart broke. The delicate, ornate masterpiece lay at the bottom of this box in two pieces. I couldn’t stifle the sob as I carefully lifted the pieces out and held them to my chest.
How could this happen? I was so careful when packing this box. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I sat heavily on the floor. There was no one in my corner, no one to defend me, no one to help me, and Hazel had lost her mom. As if my thoughts had summoned her, warm, slim arms wrapped around my neck.
“It’s okay, Daddy. Mommy’s still watching over us,” she whispered.
I shifted to clutch her to my chest and breathed in the only living piece of Lexi I had left.
