Chapter 5 - What Louise Had Been Carrying
The biggest surprise of our visit came from Louise.
For weeks, everyone had called her brave.
Margaret called her extraordinary.
My mother called her an old soul.
Even I had begun depending on her calmness.
That was the problem.
One night I woke at 2:17 a.m. and heard crying.
I assumed it was Henry.
It wasn't.
The sound came from Louise's room.
I opened the door.
She was sitting on the floor beside the bed.
Her tablet was glowing.
On the screen was a video of Daniel.
He was laughing while attempting to assemble Henry's crib.
“Louise?”
She slammed the tablet closed.
“I'm fine.”
Those two words terrified me.
I sat down.
“No, you're not.”
“I am.”
“Sweetheart.”
Her face collapsed.
“I forgot his voice.”
I pulled her into my arms.
“I couldn't remember it, Mom.”
“That's why you watched the video?”
She nodded.
“I thought if I forgot his voice, then later I'd forget his face.”
“You won't.”
“How do you know?”
I didn't.
That was the terrible thing.
Memory changes.
Details blur.
I remembered my own grandfather vividly, but I couldn't remember exactly how his laugh sounded.
So I refused to lie.
“Some details might get harder to remember.”
Louise sobbed.
“But we have pictures. Videos. Stories. And more importantly, Daddy changed us.”
She looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
“It means part of who you are came from him.”
“Like what?”
I thought about the airplane.
“The way you stood up for me.”
She wiped her eyes.
“That was Daddy?”
“That was you. But he helped teach you.”
She thought about this.
“So he doesn't disappear?”
“No.”
I held her.
Then she whispered something I wasn't prepared for.
“I've been trying not to make you sad.”
“What?”
“When I miss Daddy, I go somewhere else.”
“Why?”
“Because you already cry.”
My heart broke in a new place.
“Oh, Louise.”
“I thought if both of us cried, nobody would take care of Henry.”
I pulled back so I could see her.
“You listen to me. You are not responsible for taking care of me.”
“But—”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“You are allowed to be eight. You are allowed to cry. You are allowed to miss Daddy. You are allowed to be angry.”
“Even at him?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes widened.
“Sometimes I'm mad he died.”
“So am I.”
“You are?”
“Absolutely.”
“But he didn't choose it.”
“I know. Feelings don't always care what's fair.”
She leaned against me.
For the first time, we grieved together instead of separately.
The next morning, I called a family grief counselor.
It was one of the best decisions I made that year.
Louise learned that bravery wasn't silence.
I learned that protecting children from grief doesn't mean pretending grief isn't there.
Henry mostly learned how to chew his own socks.
Margaret continued sending updates.
Emily had begun trusting her again.
One afternoon, a photograph arrived.
Margaret sat on a couch holding Mason while Emily slept beside her.
The caption said:
She finally trusted me enough to sleep.
I showed Louise.
She smiled.
Then she typed a response herself.
Don't mess it up.
Margaret replied:
Yes, ma'am.
By the end of six weeks, it was time to return home.
I dreaded it.
The night before our flight, Mom asked whether I wanted her to come with us.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
She laughed.
“Excellent confidence.”
“I need to do it.”
Going home meant opening Daniel's closet.
Sleeping in our bed.
Seeing his coffee mug.
But avoiding those things wouldn't change reality.
The next morning, Louise packed her tablet.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“If somebody is mean on this flight, do I have to fix them too?”
I stared at her.
Then laughed so hard I cried.
“No.”
“Good.”
“This time you get to be eight.”
She nodded.
“Can I still have pretzels?”
“You can have two bags.”
“Best trip ever.”
At the airport, I held Henry.
Louise held my hand.
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And for the first time since Daniel died, the three of us weren't running away from the place where we'd lost him.
We were going home to the place where we'd loved him.
