Page 110 of Ours to Lose
Even once I’d run back to London after the funeral, she’d been there. Mostly in brief texts she’d send every so often. Nothing pestering, but enough to know I hadn’t been forgotten.
There’d been one match—my last before retiring—that had been especially rough. I’d blamed my shoulder, but that wasn’t it. Physical therapy had done its job, and physically, I was fine.
Mentally, I’d unraveled.
I retreated to my hotel room, wanting to cry but not able to even do that. So I texted her. Three words I hadn’t felt allowed to admit.
“I miss her.”
With the time difference, I figured she’d be at work and wouldn’t have the chance to reply, but she did right away.
It allowed me to breathe again. And the conversation never stopped.
We didn’t always reply to each other immediately. If I was traveling for one of my fighter’s matches or she was busy with work, we’d go several days between messages, sometimes weeks. But the conversation was always open, reminding me I wasn’t alone. Even when I felt like I should have been.
Her leaving the door open like that was a big part of why I’d been brave enough to come home. Knowing there would be at least one person here who didn’t hate me, myself included.
Seeing her in the kitchen on New Year’s…my nerves had been unreal. When I looked back, the excitement at seeing her wasn’t new. As kids, she had always lifted my mood.
Being around her was like basking in the sun. Beingwithher…it was like being lit by the sun from within. A burning star that could never be extinguished.
A different kind of warmth filled my chest at the thought of Mom smiling as I talked about Aubrey. I could picture the glint in her eye, like she’d known all along.
Maybe she had. Maybe when she’d boasted to me about Aubrey that Thanksgiving, she’d been planting a seed. I’d never know. Right now, I wasn’t sure it mattered. I still had a job offer on the table from Coach Dotson.
It felt wrong to think about with Dad still in the hospital, but I’d need to decide eventually. Sooner rather than later.
Across the headstone-covered field, another factor in that decision trod down the path toward Mom’s grave. He walked with his hands in his pockets, so much more grown up from the kid he still was in my head. More grown up than me in a lot of ways. It had been especially true these past two years.
Evan’s steps slowed as he reached Mom’s row. He stopped a few feet away, studying her headstone, partially obscured by my torso. “Mind if I join you?”
I scooted over so there was room for him on the towel. He sat beside me with his back against the other half of Mom’s grave.
We’d need to leave for the hospital soon. Hopefully, the rest of Dad’s night had gone well. For now, we stared out at the rows of memorial stones in silence, an easiness in the space between us that had been missing for a while.
Evan picked at a clump of grass by his knee. “This is the first time I’ve been here since the funeral,” he admitted.
That was unexpected. I figured he tagged along for a good number of Dad’s Saturday morning visits.
“I know,” he said, taking in my expression. “You’re not the only one who’s been avoiding shit.”
“What have you been avoiding?”
For me, it had been that Mom was really gone. The longer I’d stayed away, the more it had morphed into shame. Knowing what Evan and Dad must have thought of me and not being able to face it. To face Mom. Or myself.
No way Evan held that shame. He’d been here when both our parents needed him most. Had stood strong when all I could do was crumble.
He peered at the headstone in front of him. “Anger mostly. At Mom.”
“What for?” They’d been on good terms when she died. I was certain of it.
“For dying.” He laughed once under his breath and threw the loose blades of grass. “Can you believe that?”
“Yes.” I’d had moments of anger too. Just another form of the same pain coming to the surface.
“It’s not like she chose to get cancer and die,” he said, still looking out at the cemetery as if he were talking to the graves instead of me. “But she was supposed to hang on.God, I was so sure she’d beat it. If anyone could, it’d be her. At the very least, she was supposed to give us more time, but she didn’t. She was always so strong for everyone else, but when it came time to fight for herself, it felt like she just gave up. And I know,I know, it’s stupid to feel that way. I know it’s not what happened. But every time I think of her, I can’t help but wonder why she didn’t fight harder. Why was she so quick to let go? Why was she okay with leaving us?”
I had no answer for him. I could only be glad she’d been so at peace with what her life had been that she’d been able to let it go without regrets.
