Page 91 of Demo
Clyde cleared his throat, then, hands on his knees, pushed himself up shakily. Knox rose right along with him, an arm on his dad’s back, making sure he was steady. I rose also. As soon as Bram was beside us, Knox nodded with his chin, indicating for Bram to help Clyde, and he did, placing an arm on his elbow and steering him toward the door.
“Can we touch her?” Bram asked, sounding stuffed up, beaten, like he had swallowed razors.
“Yes.” The coroner nodded. “Take as long as you need.”
As Bram led his dad to follow the coroner out of the waiting room, he reached back and grabbed Emily’s hand and pulled her along.
When Knox didn’t make a move forward, Clyde stopped and looked over his shoulder at him. “Son?”
Knox just shook his head, arms at his sides, as he stood next to me.
“What the hell, Knox,” Bram said in disbelief.
Knox cleared his throat. “I can’t,” he said in a voice I had never heard before. “I just can’t. I don’t want to see her like that.”
Looking up, he locked eyes with his dad. “You sure, son?” Clyde asked.
Knox nodded.
“She wanted to be cremated. You may not get another chance.”
He nodded again.
Clyde looked at his youngest son with sadness, pride, love … and so much more. “OK, then.”
They exited the room.
Standing there next to Knox, surrounded by the buzz of the yellow lighting, I watched him finally break. Free from the responsibility to hold it all together for his dad and brother, and—hopefully—in the comfort of my presence, I watched his mother’s death blow a hole right through him.
First it was his lips that started to tremble, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he failed to swallow down emotion. Then wetness spilled over his eyes, his forehead scrunched, and he rapidly started trying to pull air into his lungs. I reached out for him but before I could even do so he sank to his knees and buried his face in my torso, wrapping his arms around me so tightly that my body shook with his cries, moans and shrieks.
I leaned down as far as I could over him, awkwardly embracing the back of his head, rubbing my hands down his back and sides, and then I fell to my own knees and cradled him the best I could. We both cried. For what felt like hours, we both heaved and gasped, then steadied ourselves, then started up again.
We didn’t say anything to one another. There was nothing to be said. No words that could comfort, no questions that needed to be asked.
Finally, exhausted, sitting on the floor, backs resting against the couch, we were hand-in-hand when Emily came back in, blowing her nose into a tissue. “They’re just finishing up in there,” she said, not even flinching at us sitting on the floor. “Your dad has some paperwork to sign, and then we can go.”
I started to pull away, only to reposition myself, but Knox tightened his grip on my hand. “I’m coming back to the house with you,” I rushed out. “I’m going to stay there tonight with you.” I knew going back to the house would be another blow, and he needed me there.
Knox nodded. “I’m sorry, it’s just for toni—”
I placed my hand over his mouth and looked straight into his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”
***
The worst part about building a life with someone is having to experience that life in their absence. Clyde and Monica built a beautiful home together, a glorious life full of tradition and moments and memories, and every square inch of the house was filled with them.
And being there was torture.
There wasn’t a place you could go in the house or on the property that you weren’t reminded of Knox’s beautiful mother. From the kitchen that no longer smelled of sweet or salty home-cooked meals, to the wilted potted plants outside that needed to be watered, to the closets that still housed her clothing, coats and shoes.
Her hairbrush lay untouched on the bathroom vanity, her toothbrush in the holder. I think it was even her towel hanging behind the door.
After coming home from the hospital, Clyde began sleeping in the spare room. He said he couldn’t be in their bed or their bedroom without Monica. And in the days and weeks after her passing, he sank farther and farther into the depths of depression. He stopped crying because, I think, he had no more tears to shed. But then, even worse, he just became devoid. Sometimes I would pass by the open doorway to the spare room and see him sitting on the edge of the unmade bed, staring blankly at the wall.
I had slept every night there with Knox since her death. It wasn’t out of pity or obligation; it was because that was where I belonged.
Bram stopped over almost every day to drop off food Emily had made or to simply check in, but he never stayed long. He didn’t say it, but I knew he didn’t like being there anymore.
