“Are you leaving?” Jean walked in with a stack of papers for her that had just been delivered from another attorney’s office. The material was part of the discovery in a new divorce case, and came from a well-known firm in the city.
“I have to get home to train with Jamie. He’s going to be in the Special Olympics again this year.”
“That’s nice, Liz,” Jean said smiling. She was carrying on all of Jack’s traditions, holding high the standard of his memory, for her clients, herself, and her children. It was obvious she didn’t want anything to change, and so far, it hadn’t. Every minute piece of her life was still in exactly the same place it had been before she lost her husband. She didn’t even sit at his desk now, or use his office, although she had always liked his better. She had simply closed his door, and rarely went into his office anymore, and there was no one else to use it. It was as though she still expected him to come back one day, and sit there. At first, Jean had thought it was eerie, but by now she was used to it. They only went in there from time to time, to get some papers. But most of their active files were now in Liz’s office.
“See you tomorrow,” Liz said, as she hurried out the door. And when she got home, Jamie was waiting for her. She ran into the house, changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, and running shoes, and five minutes later, she was back outside again, and going over the running long jump with Jamie. The first time he tried it, his performance was pretty unimpressive, and he knew it.
“I can’t do it.” He looked defeated before he started, and as though he wanted to give up, but she wouldn’t let him.
“Yes, you can. Watch me.” She showed him, and tried to do it slowly so he could see it. He was more visual than auditory and he did a little better the next time. “Try it again,” she encouraged him, and after a while Carole came out to them with a glass of Gatorade and a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
“How’s it going?” she asked cheerfully, and Jamie shook his head, looking mournful.
“Not good. I’m not going to win a ribbon.”
“Yes, you are,” Liz said firmly. She wanted him to win, because she knew how much it meant to him, and he had always won one when he trained with his father. After he ate two cookies and drank half the Gatorade, she told him to try it again, and this time he did better. And she reminded him of the Special Olympics oath “Let me win, but if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt.”
They continued practicing for a while, and then she had him do a dash across the yard and timed him. He was better at the dash than the long jump, he always had been. Running was his strong suit, he was faster than most of the kids he ran against, and better able to focus on what he was doing. Despite his handicaps, he had a surprising amount of concentration, and he had even finally learned to read that winter, and he was very proud of it. He read everything he could get his hands on. Cereal boxes, mustard labels, milk cartons, storybooks, flyers that people stuck under her windshield, even letters that Liz left on the kitchen table. At ten, he loved the fact that he could read now.
At seven o’clock, Liz suggested they call it a day, but he wanted to keep working at it for a while, and she finally talked him into going inside at seven-thirty.
“We still have a month to train, sweetheart. We don’t have to do it all in one night.”
“Dad always said I had to do it till I couldn’t stand up anymore. I can still stand up,” he said simply and she smiled at him.
“I think we should quit for the night while you’re still standing. We can do it again tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he finally conceded. He had worked hard and he was exhausted, and when they walked back into the kitchen, Carole had dinner ready for them. It was roast chicken and mashed potatoes, with glazed carrots, one of Jamie’s favorite dinners. And a hot apple pie fresh out of the oven.
“Yum!” he said with a look of delight, and he gobbled up everything on his plate while he chatted about the Olympics with his mother. He was genuinely excited about it.
He took a bath and went to bed right after dinner. He had to get up early for day camp, and she had some work to do. She took her briefcase upstairs and kissed him good night, and then set her briefcase down in her bedroom, and walked into her closet. They had a big walk-in closet that Jack had built for them. She used one side, and Jack’s clothes hung on the other. And remembering what her mother had said on the phone that morning, she found herself looking at his things again, with more longing than she had in a while. It felt like everyone was trying to take them from her, and she wasn’t ready to give them up, or forget him.
She found herself running a hand over his jackets again, and she held one of them to her face and smelled it. It still smelled of him. She wondered if his clothes always would, or if eventually the scent of him would fade away. She couldn’t bear the thought of it, and she felt her eyes fill with tears as she buried her face in one of his jackets. She didn’t hear Peter come in, and she jumped when she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder, turned and saw him.
“You shouldn’t do that, Mom,” he said softly, watching her, with tears in his own eyes.
“Why not?” She was crying then, and he reached out and held her in his arms. He was not only her son, but her friend now. At seventeen, he had grown into manhood instantly when he lost his father. “I still miss him so much,” she confessed to him, and he nodded.
“I know. But doing this doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t help. It just makes it worse. I used to come in here too, and do the same thing, but it made me so sad I stopped. Maybe you should pack up his stuff. If you want, I’ll help you,” Peter offered.
“Grandma said I should too … I just don’t want to,” Liz said sadly.
“Then don’t. Do it when you’re ready.”
“What if I never am?”
“You will be. You’ll know when.” He held her for a long moment, and then she slowly pulled away and smiled up at him. The moment of sheer agony had passed, and she felt better as she looked at her son. He was a good boy, and she loved him more than she could tell him, just as she loved all her kids.
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, sweetheart. Thanks for being there for me, and for all the others.” He nodded, and they walked back into her room again, as she glanced at her briefcase. For once, she just didn’t feel like working. Doing what she had just done, trying to hold on to Jack, by clinging to his clothes, and smelling his cologne on them, always
