Page 11 of Mistaken Identity
That was what made me start loving him. Those loose curls that looked so much like mine when I was a baby.
My mom’s hair, too.
All blond and wild, just like my boy.
“I know you don’t, baby.” I curled one of those blond locks around my finger. “But God wants you now. You don’t get to choose. I don’t want to lose you, either. I want you right here by my side where I can hug you and squeeze you forever.”
He smiled, but it was oh, so weak.
“You have Snuffins,” he replied.
Snuffins was a stuffed dog.
He’d wanted a real one, but we were gone too much to ever have a real dog.
His medical appointments and my traveling for work, it was never in the realm of possibility.
“I have Snuffins,” I agreed. “And any time that I need you and miss you, I’ll give him a squeeze.”
“Okay, Mommy.” He sounded so weak. “Will you hold me closer?”
The lump in my throat grew.
“Always, baby. Always.”
He took his last breath in my arms an hour and twenty-three minutes later.
I didn’t let him go for a long time.
So long that he started to stiffen in my arms.
It was only when my dad came in sans my mom—she was in the hospital for pneumonia fighting her own battle with cancer—that I finally had to let him go.
Six Months Later
Six months to the day that my son died, my mother decided it was her time to go as well.
I was numb as I watched my dad leave the room, giving us some space.
“Baby.” My mom’s weak voice filled the air. “Come here.”
I moved, not touching my mom, but not far away, either.
She lifted her hand and cupped my face, and I was proud of myself for not flinching.
“It’s time,” she whispered.
I knew.
“I know,” I replied.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I think you should tell Laney everything. She’d be more than willing to offer you support.”
I finally scrounged up the courage to hold my mom’s hand.
She squeezed it lightly, which for her was about all she had left.
“I’m ready,” she whispered. “I’ll take care of him until you get there.”
