Page 118

Thirty-two is so painfully young to die.

Mabel makes her appearance as I place her blueberry cereal on the table. Faye does a double take at her outfit.

“Oh wow.”

Mabel grins as she spins a grand spin. “I look like the stars.”

“You really do,” Faye agrees. “You’re very beautiful.”

Owen slides onto a chair as Faye plates his eggs. “Very bright.”

Mabel shoves a spoonful of her cereal into her mouth, little eyes closing as she rocks side to side in pure pleasure. “Mmmmm.”

Faye laughs, sliding Owen’s plate onto the table.

“Thanks, Mom.” Owen digs in.

I help Faye zip the lunch boxes, placing them on the edge of the counter for the kids to put in their bags when they’re done breakfast. Then, stomach wreaking havoc, I plate the remaining eggs.

Faye waves the bottle of Franks. “You want?”

I shake my head. “They’re perfect like this.”

Faye frowns, putting the bottle back into the fridge. “I’m going to finish putting myself together.”

I wait for her to head upstairs before I set the plate on the floor for Duke to disappear my eggs.

Before everyone leaves, I have the strongest urge to give every single one of them a tight hug. To hold them all just a little longer than usual. To tell them I love them.

I listen to that urge.

You never know when your last moments arrive.

Because it’s the last.

46

THE LAST CHAPTER

JANUARY 2022 – 32 YEARS OLD

Ididn’t know what possessed me to pack up and drive out to the lake. Maybe it was the bright golden sun that lit up the cloudless blue sky. Maybe it was the crisp scent of winter in the air. Maybe it was something else, something other, that whispered, ‘it’s time’ in my subconscious.

I only knew one minute I was sitting at my kitchen table penning yet another letter—there’ve been so many—to add to the box of letters that I keep in the back of my closet. And then I was there, on the ice.

There’s a lifetime of letters in that box. I began penning them the moment Owen took his first breath, and I never stopped to the day I took my last breath.

It was a beautiful day as I drove my truck out on that stretch of ice—the same stretch I’ve driven my truck out on years passed. The ice groaned and grunted like it always did, and like I always did, I kept on driving.

Normally, I’d have called up Dad or Doug to join me, but not that day.

I wanted to be alone. To sit beneath that golden sun, breathing that crisp air into aching lungs. I wanted to look out at the grand beauty of the immovable mountains that overlooked my short life.

I parked my truck, drilled into the ice, set up my rod, and plopped down in my chair. I spent some time plucking from the vault of beautiful moments I’d banked throughout the years.

I shed some tears.

I found peace in the fact that I’d lived and loved with all that I ever was.