Page 65 of Someone to Remember
“I’m so sad.”
“I know. I am, too. But we’re going to be okay. I promise.” I have no idea if that’s true, but I know it’s what he needs to hear. I suppose it’s probably true, since we’ve survived it once before, even though that seemed impossible at the time. Somehow, we did it then, and we’ll do it again. What choice do we have?
The day has just begun, and I’m exhausted by the challenges that lie ahead. First and foremost, we have to get through the wake and funeral, which I’m dreading. People will say the dumbest things.
At least you’re young and you can fall in love again.
At least he didn’t suffer.
He’s in a better place.
Whatever. And fuck off. Can I say that out loud? Last time, I held my tongue when people said things like,At least the children are too young to remember him, as if that was some sort of blessing. This time, I might not be so polite. I might actually tell them to fuck off with platitudes that do more damage than they can ever imagine, having never been through what we have.
The thought of making a scene has me smiling. After what Will learned from me and my friends about the pitfalls of widowhood, he’d approve of a full-blown scene at his wake or funeral. I have no doubt about that.
Roni
On Wednesday morning,Derek and I ride to the White House together after getting the kids settled with the at-home daycare provider who watches them while we’re at work. My entire being has been upset since we heard the news about Will’s death. I feel like I’m standing on the side of a glacier without the right equipment to keep me from sliding into the dark ravine, or something equally dramatic.
Everything feels uncertain all of a sudden, when last week, I was confidently charging forward in my new life with Derek, his daughter, Maeve, and my son, Dylan.
Today, I’m a wreck again, back in the headspace of early grief when everything was raw, scary and devastating. I hate it here. I hate how the sick feeling that lasted for months, starting the minute Sam Holland told me my husband had been killed, is back with a vengeance, even though I barely know Taylor and Will.
I know what she’s been through, and I’m trying to understand what it would be like to go through it a second time.
Derek is tapping along to the music as he drives. It’s hard to believe something that’s become part of my everyday routine—the ride to work and his drumming to the beat, along with all the other things he brings to my new life—could be snatched away from me as suddenly as Patrick was.
“Derek.”
“What’s up, hon?”
“Can you pull over for a second?”
He glances at me and then ducks into a spot that has a no-parking sign over it.
I open the door, lean out and throw up.
“Gross,” a guy walking by says.
“Roni, oh my God, are you all right?”
I’m dry heaving through sobs that make me feel ridiculous as well as grief-stricken for people I hardly know.
Derek puts a hand on my back. “What can I do, sweetheart?”
I shake my head. There’s nothing he or anyone can do to rid me of the trauma that resides within me, resurfacing at times like this to remind me that the horror of Patrick’s murder is hard-wired into my soul and always will be. Derek tossed and turned all night, too, no doubt triggered by memories of Victoria’s murder and the grim days that followed.
“What do you say we take a day off?”
“Too much to do.” We both have a full day of meetings that would have to be rescheduled.
“It’ll keep until tomorrow, and we have people who can cover for us. Let’s take today and just be.”
“Okay.”
While Derek calls us out of work, I try to pull myself together, using a tissue to wipe my mouth, followed by a sip of cold water from the cup I bring to work every day. Lilia calls that cup my assistant because it’s always with me. I hate to feel like I’m letting her down, the best boss I’ve ever had and now my close friend, too. Not to mention Sam, who gave me theultimate dream job as communications director to the first lady. Hopefully, they’ll understand, as it’s my first unscheduled day off since I started the job.
As Derek drives us home, I rest my head against the seat and focus on breathing. One breath at a time. That’s how I got through Patrick’s sudden death, and it’s how I’ve gotten through everything since then. One breath at a time. I remember that first day, wondering how I’d survive it and how I focused on taking the next breath and then the one after that.
