Page 441 of One More Kiss

Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, after planning my wife’s funeral and burying her, I watched helplessly as my baby girl fought for her life. Two weeks after I lost Alana, I lost Paris, too. She was too little, too sick, and I was heartbroken all over again.

I lost more than my wife and daughter—I’d also lost myself—and it’s prevented me from ever wanting to fall in love again. At first, it was acceptable to grieve the way I did. I shut down, unable to step into the tower surrounded by her pottery and things, but when I heard a mouse up there one night, I went into a blind rage.

Being around her things that were left as if she were coming back to me, set me off. It mocked me, taunting me of everything I’d lost. All her clay and supplies. Her bowls and mugs. The old radio we bought at a rummage sale she’d play while working. The room still smelled like her.

The mouse squeaked as it ran across the room toward the other end, stealing my attention. Without thinking, I grabbed one of the empty buckets and threw it in his direction. I knew I’d miss, but the moment I released my grip, anger filled my body.

I grabbed the next bucket and threw that, too. Then another. Picking up and throwing anything I could get my hands on. For a solid minute, I destroyed everything in my way. By the time I stopped, I was out of breath and silently cursing myself. But releasing the anger felt necessary and overdue.

Aunt Millie found me sitting in the tower the next morning. She could see the mess I’d created and that I was self-destructing. She knew how much Alana meant to me and how her unexpected death derailed me.

“Ethan, hon, I know you’re hurting. You have every right to be, but this isn’t the man Alana would want you to be.” Her voice was soft, but firm.

“What’s it matter, Aunt Millie? My life is over. It’s nothing without her.”

“I know it feels that way right now, but you need to grieve and give yourself permission to move on and be happy again. Alana would want you to,” she told me, although I’ve heard it all before. It’d be two years since her death and no matter what people said, time didn’t heal all wounds. Not at fucking all.

“I’ll never be able to move on from this,” I said, confidently. “I lost my family, my entire world, and my only reason for living.”

“Find a way to connect with her, Ethan. Instead of thinking about everything you lost, find a way to keep her spirit alive within you.” Her words were wise, and I appreciated them, but it wouldn’t change anything. She’d still be gone.

“How?” I asked, defeated. Exhaustion was setting in, and nothing made sense.

“Find something she loved,” she began, waving her hand around the mess I made and continuing, “like pottery.”

“I can’t make what she did, Aunt Millie. Even if I did, it was her dream. It’d feel as if I were taking it away from her.” Emotions filled my throat, and I swallowed down a sob. I’d never felt that vulnerable in my life, and there I was sitting on the floor of the tower, my wife’s favorite place, surrounded by the destruction I created.

“Quite the opposite.” She patted my leg, sympathetically. “You’ll feel what she felt while she was creating her bowls and cups and connect with her through that. It could help give you closure, even if right now it feels like you’ll never get it.”

The only closure I could ever feel was knowing that Alana wasn’t alone. She and Paris had each other, and until I’d see them again, I’d be dead inside.

“Healing is a process, and it takes time, but that doesn’t mean you stop living in the meantime.” I knew she was trying to comfort me, but I felt too empty inside to take her words to heart. I didn’t want to heal. Pain was the only comfort I had anymore. Pain was the only emotion I felt.

“I don’t know how to live without her,” I explained. “It still feels like it all happened yesterday.”

“Try it, honey.” She handed me a block of clay from the floor that was a victim of the destruction. “You don’t know till you try.”

Aunt Millie’s words repeated in my head for weeks after that. I knew my family was still worried sick about me, but depression sucked me into its black hole, and I wasn’t looking for a way out.

That’d been my life for years.

Then came the anniversaries and birthdays.

Those days I ended up blacking out completely. I couldn’t bare the pain anymore, so I drank until I was numb.

Until I picked up that block of clay. It was like Alana was saving me from myself, from the personal hell I created. Somehow, she was still here with me, helping me get through the hard times just as she always did over the years. Learning her craft was hard, and I was terrible. Each day I made lopsided mugs and crooked sculptures, I wanted to quit but didn’t. It was almost as if Alana was pushing me to create, to live out the dream she always wanted for us. That day, I promised myself I’d never let her down. So I worked harder, hoping she’d be watching me from heaven with our baby girl in her arms.

Aunt Millie was right after all—this time.

I smile now when I think about Alana and the memories we shared all those years together. Though I’m completely disinterested in relationships in general, Aunt Millie likes to remind me of Alana and how she’d want me to be happy, even if that meant moving on. I’ve had no interest in anything more than a one-night stand or random fling, but for the first time in a long while, the woman sleeping in my bed right now has me rethinking everything.

The thoughts in my head take me off guard, though I can’t deny they’re true. Vada came barreling into my life, so unexpected, and yet, it’s as if I’d been waiting for her all this time.

These feelings scare the shit out of me because this all happened so quickly, but knowing she’s leaving in a few days has my mind spinning. I want to make the most out of our time together, but I can’t stop the guilt that continues to eat at me every time I look down at my left hand and see the ghost of the wedding ring I once wore.

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