“I just want to know you’re okay. I want to know that you didn’t suffer. I want to believe that you are in a better place, that you are happy and have all the things in life that you loved, with you. I want to believe that you and your father are together. Maybe at a barbecue in heaven, eating hot dogs. I know that’s not the case. I know that you are gone. But I don’t know how to live with that knowledge. A mother is not supposed to outlive her son. It’s just not supposed to happen.”
Now she starts to lose her public speaking voice, and her eyes drift from the page onto the grass beneath her. “I know that you believed it was your job to protect me and take care of me. If I had one last thing to say to you, Ben, I think I would want to tell you this: I will be okay. You don’t need to worry. I will find a way to be okay. I always do. Don’t worry about me. Thank you for being such a wonderful son. For being the son that you were. I couldn’t have asked for anything more from you other than just more time. I want more time. Thank you for loving Elsie. Through her, I can see that you grew into exactly the type of man I hoped you would. And the two of us . . . will be okay. We will make it through. So go and have fun where you are and forget about us. We will be okay.”
That is what true love is. True love is saying to someone “Forget about us. We will be okay,” when it might not even be true, when the last thing you want is to be forgotten.
When Susan is done, she folds the piece of paper back up and wipes her eyes, and then she looks at me. It’s my turn and I have no idea what I’m even doing here, but I close my eyes to breathe in deeply, and for a second, I can see his face as clear as if he were right in front of me. I open my eyes and . . . here goes.
“There’s a huge hole in my heart where you used to be. When you were alive, I used to sometimes lie awake at night and listen to you snore and I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have found you. I haven’t wanted to be whole again without you. I thought that if I were okay, it meant that I had truly lost you but . . . I think if you heard that logic you’d think I was an idiot. I really do think you’d want me to be happy again someday. You’d probably even be a little mad at me for all the wallowing I’ve done. Maybe not mad. Frustrated. You’d be frustrated. Anyway, I’m going to do better. I could never forget you, Ben. Whether we were married right before I lost you or not, in the short time I knew you, you worked your way right into the soul of me. I am who I am because of you. If I ever feel one tenth as alive as I felt with you . . . ” I wipe a tear from my eye and try to gain control of my wavering voice. “You made my life worth living. I promise you I am going to do something with it.”
Susan puts her arm around me and rubs my shoulder. We both sit there for a moment and stare at the grave, at the gravestone. As I let my eyes lose their focus on what’s right in front of me, I realize that I am in a sea of gravestones. I am surrounded by other people’s loss. It has never been so clear to me that I am not alone in this. People die every day and other people move on. If everyone that loved all of these people has picked themselves up and moved on, I can do it too. I will one day wake up and see the sun shining and think, What a nice day.
“Ready?” Susan asks, and I nod my head. We pull ourselves up off the ground. The grass has made our knees wet. We walk in silence.
“Have you ever heard of supernovas?” Susan asks me as we head toward the front gate.
“What?” I almost stop in my tracks.
“Ben was really into space as a kid and he had all of these space books. I used to read them to him when he couldn’t sleep, and I always loved the little chapter in this one book he had on supernovas. They shine brighter than anything else in the sky and then fade out really quickly. A supernova is a short burst of extraordinary energy.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“I like to think that you and Ben were like that,” she says to me. “That you ended abruptly, but in that short time, you had more passion than some people have in a lifetime.”
I don’t say anything. I just take it in.
“Anyway,” she says. “You headed home?”
I nod. “I think I’m ready for it.”
“All right,” she says. “Well . . . I guess this—”