“He was seven. The same age you were when you left.”
I could hear my grandfather crying. I grew up seeing him so confident, so strong, so ready for whatever the world threw at him. But this was one of his most vulnerable moments, and it was heartbreaking.“I don’t want to be alone,” he managed to say through his tears.
“You won’t be. I’ll always be with you, I promise.” She squeezed her hand around his. “I need you to be strong, Rudy. The world is a hard place, but it’s the only thing you got.” She coughed.
The young woman’s face looked sunken and pale, as if she had been sick for a long time. Each breath she took was long, raising the bedsheets. She closed her eyes. I could see her smile took more energy than it should have. Just like Grampy, she was smiling when the world was trying to take it away.
“Who is she?” I asked.
Clay didn’t answer me. He only looked on.
“Rudy,” the woman was saying now, “I need you to keep going. I need you to stay strong, and true. I’ll always be with you, no matter how lonely you feel. I’ll be above rooting for you like I always have been.” A tear came to her eye. “I love you, so, so much. You’re the best little brother anyone could ask for. You’re smart and funny, and you’re wise in your own weird way. You’re going to change so many lives, I just know you will. Someday we’re going to meet again, and I promise we’ll be together. All of us.” She rested a hand on his cheek and he pressed her hand against it.
“I’ll never forget you.”
After she heard that, her eyes closed for the last time, and Grampy’s face crumpled.
“Annaka, come back!” He was sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for breath. “Come back….”
I looked over at Clay. His eyes were teary. He gave me a hug, and I held on.
“I wanna go home,” I whispered.
“Then that’s where we’ll go.”
It all faded away—Grampy, the woman, the hospice—but the pain stayed. When I opened my eyes, we were back in the classroom.
“She was my aunt, wasn’t she?”
Clay nodded. That’s why Mom named me Annaka. That’s why Nan was confused and said, “Annaka’s not our granddaughter.” That’s why Grampy was emotional when he found out what my name was.
“He carried that pain for so long, Anna.” Clay spoke softy. “But he always seen you as his light.”
“Mom named me after her,” I said. “And I threw that name away. That’s why she was so upset when I told her I wanted to be Anna.” I looked up at Clay. “Why didn’t he ever tell me?” Tears began rolling down my cheeks.
Clay didn’t know the answer.
All I could do was sweep up the broken glass, pick up the Father’s Day cards, and stuff them back in the box. I was taking it with me. I was taking the portrait and the pages too.
“Lets go home,” I told Clay.
Although things were now clear, I still felt lost.
There was so much on my mind on the ride home. I guess the only thing I wanted to focus on was the road, and to let what I witnessed settle in my soul a little bit. I thought back to when Grampy told me about the first time he heard my voice. He didn’t just cry because he heard my voice. He cried because Mom named me after his sister. Mom named me after my aunt Annaka.
“He didn’t know Mom would name me that, did he?”
“He didn’t have a clue,” Clay replied.
“There’s not much in there about my great-grandmother, is there? His mom?”
“I don’t think he remembers too much about her.”
It made sense. He was so young, and so lost. He meant so much to so many people but for the longest time he was alone and surrounded by grief. He was resilient, but before any of that, there was so much pain that I finally understood. I understood why he didn’t want to talk about it. I understood why he only focused on the future. The past can be a painful place, and there I was, chasing history hoping to find clarity. And what I found wasn’t a happy ending; it was a sad beginning. I didn’t open a door and find a solution; I opened a closet and found where he hid his trauma and despair.
When we drove up the path towards home, it was late, and I saw some house lights on. That couldn’t be a good sign.
“You know the drill,” I said to Clay. But by the time I glanced over, he was already gone. The front door was open, and I could smell cigarette smoke drifting from the living room.
“Anna, is that you?” Mom called. She was sitting in Nan’s rocking chair, smoking.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” she replied. Her eyes looked a little red. “How was the party? You get Tia home safe?”
“Yeah, I drove a whole gang of girls to Tia’s place. They’re probably still wide awake.”
“Good.” Mom smiled.
“Nan sleeping?”
“Yeah, she’s sleeping like a pile of bricks. That woman can snore.” Mom took a puff. “Listen, we haven’t really had a chance to really speak in a while.”
“I know.”
Things between Mom and I had been sideways ever since we had the argument. We had given each other a hug after the hospital incident, but after that it didn’t seem like there was much else to talk about. We were both navigating feelings neither of us knew how to translate; we were both hurt in different ways. It made communication tough.
“I think we should talk,” she continued. “Come pull up a seat.”
What I wanted most was to get some sleep. My eyes were burning, my head was aching from the noise of the party, and I finally felt like I was breathing right again. But deep down, I knew talking to Mom was the right thing to do. I sat down across from her.
“What’s
