Wherever You Will Go(5)

My knees weaken, and I think perhaps she may be right. My dad rushes to my side and grabs a hold of me by my elbows. I lean back into him and let him hold my weight. He may be the only man left in my life to support me. The only man left who I can lean on, rely on … depend on.

I decided to have the wake here at the funeral home since I hadn’t determined exactly what I wanted to do with Nate’s ashes yet. I was pretty sure I was going to purchase a memorial plot at the cemetery, but I knew whatever I decided it would be something I would do alone.

Walking down the aisle, I glance around in amazement at how many people are here, considering Nate doesn’t have a huge family. He only has the one sibling, his younger sister Molly, and his parents’ families all live out of state. I shouldn’t be so amazed. I knew the perfectness of Nate better than anyone. He never met anyone who didn’t like him.

I always wondered why he had chosen me, chosen me to love and to cherish, to spend forever with, and to make a home and a family with. Tears build in my eyes as I place my hand protectively over my belly.

Once we reach the foyer I pull out of Rachel’s grasp and head for the bathroom. I look up, willing the wetness in my eyes to dry and not fall. The sedation and numbness begins wearing off as the tightness in my chest expands. I can’t go on like this.

Entering the bathroom, I quickly check the stalls and then proceed to lock myself in one. Using some toilet paper I push the seat lid down, dropping myself onto it as I lean forward with my head between my legs.

I know it won’t be long before they come looking for me, never leaving me alone for more than five minutes to even shower or use the bathroom. I know they think they are being helpful and looking out for me, but I feel like I can’t catch a breath. I haven’t been able to feel the air in my lungs for nearly a week. Will I ever be able to breathe properly again?

Trying to pull myself together, I stand, brush off, and straighten my semi-fitting simple black dress and head towards the kitchen. Feeling somewhat maintained and put together, I push open the kitchen door and stop mid-step. The small amount of breath I was holding leaves me; the ominous lump in my throat and the tears in my eyes return.

I meet his eyes and stare as he looks so deeply into mine. His eyes are like a mirror, a reflection of my own. Loss, anguish, affliction, and sorrow pour out of them. He gives me a small, sad smile, which causes my stomach to coil in a tight knot.

Before I even have time to think, I’m running to him. Throwing my arms around his waist I hold on for dear life, letting everything I feel leak onto his dress shirt. Saxon tenses before he slowly wraps his arms around my back. Being that I only stand at five-foot-three, and he is at least six-foot-four, I am cuddling his waist like a small child.

Saxon bends his knees as he leans lower to meet my gaze and places two hands on my cheeks. Wiping my tears with his thumbs, he whispers, “Oh, baby girl.”

Looking into his eyes, I know why I’ve broken down. Why I’ve let him see me at my most vulnerable. Saxon is the only one who truly understands … the only other person here who has lost their other half … their best friend … their soul mate.

He breaks our stare like he can’t possibly stand to see anymore and stands up straight. He wraps his arms around me again somehow even tighter than before, like this time he is the one holding on for dear life. I let him, placing my face back against his chest.

We stand like this for what feels like hours, but is probably only minutes. His pain and heartache seep out of him and flow over me. It’s strangely comforting, and not at all unsettling.

Eventually my tears settle, and I’m finally able to take a deep breath. I have been waiting all week for some break from the crushing pain, and for a small moment, I have it.

The kitchen door opens and there are mumbled voices, but I am too disconnected to discern them. Suddenly the heat of Saxon leaves me as he hands me over to my father, who hugs me tightly. Someone kisses the top of my head and mumbles something, but I’m not sure whether it’s my dad or Saxon.





All I see is white. Stark white ceiling. Softness and silk wrapped around me, and I register I’m lying in my bed with the funeral running over and over in my head.

The photo montage, which was shown with Faith Hill’s “There You’ll Be” playing in the background. Nate’s first pictures as a newborn, getting up to mischief with Saxon as a child, football photos from high school, college shots of us together, us with all our friends, our wedding, and most recently, the trips we had taken over the years.

Over time Nate’s face matured, but his perfect smile never changed and never failed to be in every single shot. A smile which used to bring me only happiness, now brings nothing but pain.