“You tell me.”
He looked at me.
“You tell me what has happened to my son.”
“We really should wait for the doctor,” he said.
“Tell me what happened to my son!” I screamed. I could tell by the look on his face that I was putting this young man in an awkward situation but I didn’t flinch. I had to know.
“He fell asleep and drove under a semi that was parked on the side of the highway.”
My heart leaped to my throat.
“The paramedics brought him here and he was conscious. He was able to talk to us.”
I nodded.
“But we could see that there had been a lot of damage.” He spoke slowly. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Addison. Sean’s injuries were too severe and he died on the operating table before we could help him.”
There are no words for that moment. My heart hadn’t stopped racing since I received the phone call but now it had been slammed into a brick wall. My vision blurred and I felt myself falling. The young man helped me to a chair. Where was Mark? Where were Mom and Dad? Why was I sitting here with this stranger when there were sugar cookies to roll out at home? Sean had called and said he’d be home in a little bit and I needed to get everything done. I heard laughter in front of me. Two nurses were sharing a story with someone at the desk and their laughs rang through my ears at deafening levels.
“Can I get you some water?”
Who said that? I stared at the young man next to me and shook my head. “What did he say?”
The young man looked at me.
“When you said Sean was able to speak to you. What did he say?”
He paused and pushed away an imaginary piece of lint off his pants.
“He told us his name and where he lived and he said that you were home alone tonight waiting for him.”
I felt tears streaming down my face.
“Then he said that he wanted you and his dad to know that he always loved you. Always.”
I put my face in my hands and wept and wanted death to snatch me as quickly as it had my son. I wanted to die sitting beside that stranger because I couldn’t imagine leaving that hospital and walking back into our home ever again. Not a home without Sean in it.
“Is that all?” I said, looking at him.
“He wanted me to tell you to never stop loving the children. That’s all.”
I moaned and put my hand on my head, trying to hold it up.
“You should know that he wasn’t afraid.”
I looked at him.
“He wasn’t afraid. He was calm as he spoke to me. Everything about him was peaceful.”
“I need to see him,” I said.
The young man nodded and led me through a door that I never imagined I would go through and when I did my knees buckled.
“If it would help, I can call a funeral home for you,” the young man said, pulling a chair close for me. “They’ll take Sean to a funeral home in your hometown.”
I stood at Sean’s side and nodded.
“Would you like to wait in a private room?”
“I’d like to stay with my son,” I said.
“I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.” The young man left the room and I never saw him again. Days later I couldn’t describe what he looked like to Mom because it all happened too fast. I was with that young doctor for a couple of minutes but because of the circumstances I couldn’t remember anything about him except to say that he had been very kind.
After nineteen years of marriage, it was hard for me to separate my point of view from Mark’s. Whenever I met people, I met them not only through my eyes but through Mark’s as well. If I went to a new restaurant I didn’t just sample the food through my own taste but also through Mark’s. Marriage does that. We no longer factor in just our own likes and dislikes, observations, or perceptions in any situation without filtering those things through the eyes and heart of our spouse as well. But all that changed after Sean died. As hard as we tried, Mark and I could no longer connect. We were with each other but it was different now. We were bonded by grief but the trouble with grief is that no one goes through it the same way as someone else. Mark immersed himself with all things Sean. He watched our old videos of Sean learning how to walk, singing his ABCs, “reading” Goodnight Moon or Chicken Little, or dancing for Grandma and Grandpa. Mark would sit in Sean’s room and read through his old school notebooks and look through our photo albums. He played Sean’s last message on the answering machine over and over and every time he played it I left the room. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t hear his voice or look through photo albums or watch our old videotapes because each time I’d hear Sean’s voice it was as if a new wound was opened and it made me feel raw inside. Mark’s emotions were always front and center but mine were deeper; I couldn’t pull all of my feelings to the surface and for the first time in our marriage Mark and I found ourselves unable to talk. It was as if my tears dried up and I couldn’t cry anymore. I was numb. We tried counseling but I gave up on it after a while. I couldn’t talk with Mark about Sean so how was talking to a stranger with Mark in the same room going to help? I wanted to talk to Mark but the words would never come and they wouldn’t come because in my heart I blamed him for Sean’s death. I believed that if he hadn’t worked on the 24th I would still have my son. If he hadn’t worked Sean would have come home as scheduled. Mark and I had been each other’s closest friend and the love of our lives but after Sean died we were no longer available to each other.