I am so far away from home. So far away from the troubles that leave me feeling broken and afraid. It doesn’t matter how far away you are from your problems, they live with you, deep inside your soul. You cannot escape.
My throat heaves out and I bellow from deep inside my gut. I know I am a bitch. No one needs to explain it to me. My poor mother lost a son and instead of thinking about how sad she must be that her baby boy’s birthday is in two days and he isn’t here to see it, I am so caught up in my own selfish head. I can’t comfort her because I don’t even know how to process it all.
Luke was my baby as well. I was only four years old when Mom and Dad brought him home, but I remember it vividly. He was wearing a soft blue layette with white ruffle trim.
The first time they placed Luke in my arms I was nervous. He was so small and delicate. The adults kept on chanting things like “Watch his head” and “Hold on tight.” He had light red hair and these dark eyes like mine and Mom’s. When they looked up at me for the first time I was in love.
When Luke was old enough to sleep in his own bed he would go in properly at night, just as Mom and Dad told him to. But every night, like clockwork, he would crawl into my bed when the adults were asleep. He said he was afraid of the dark, but I think he just wanted to be close to me. When Mom and Dad found us snuggled together in the morning they never said a word.
When Mom started driving me to Pittsburgh for music lessons, Luke would come for the ride. He had to endure four hours in a car and more hanging with my mom in a lobby, waiting for me to finish my lesson. Leah kicked and screamed when she had to go, so Mom made arrangements for her to stay with a friend on those days. Luke was different. He came because it was important to Mom and me.
I went to college two hours away from home at the time Luke started high school. My formative years were much different from his. I was a music geek who spent my free time playing the violin. Luke lived the life. He was on the varsity football team and held the keg parties in the woods. I looked forward to our weekly phone calls during which he described every escapade of the week. Sometimes he asked advice about problems with girls or a fight with a friend. I tried to give him solid advice and I’d like to think he took it.
The last year and a half, we spoke less as he partied it up at Ohio State and I settled into my career. Still, once a week we were on the phone. The bond was still there and still strong.
I can’t talk to my mom about Luke because I am still trying to figure out how such an awful thing happened.
I raise my head from my chin and wipe away the tears that are soaking my face. Leah comes around to look at me. As soon as she sees my red, splotchy face, she falls to her knees.
“Oh, my God, Emma. Are you okay?” She holds her hand out to me and puts it on my back, rubbing up and down in comfort.
When my palms are full of moisture, I use the backs of my hands to continue wiping my face.
“I’m fine. I . . . I’m just not ready. Okay?” I look up at Leah, who is nodding.
“Sure. We don’t have to go there right now. I just—” Leah moves her hand in broader circles on my back and takes a seat next to me. “I thought you were doing better. You are doing better. You know that, right?”
I sniffle and try to breathe while I pull myself together. “I know I am. I just can’t talk about him yet.”
Leah pulls me into her side and rests her head on top of mine. She breathes out a sigh and sits with me, looking out onto the world in front of us. “We all lost Luke. We are all grieving. You are not alone in this,” she says. If I were her, I’d hate me. “You went through a lot, Emma. You lost your music and your brother in one night. We are all giving you time to heal. But at some point, you’re going to have to let someone in.”