Page 2 of The Blessing

“Hey, Greyson,” I say, running my fingertips along his chubby cheek. He gasps in surprise as he hears me say his name, before giggling at me. “Should I call you Grey, or Greyson?” I question with a goofy fucking grin.

He squeals and wiggles in my arms and I lower him down on a sitting position in my lap—facing me—so I can get a better look at his flushed face. “Greyson?” I pause to assess the look on his face. “Or Grey?” He squeals at the second name, causing me to make my decision. “Grey it is then.” He cocks his head to the side and looks up at me curiously—as if he were trying to figure out who I am. “I’m your uncle,” I tell him, reaching down to tickle his stomach. “I’m your Uncle Trevor.” He squeals again and grabs ahold of my finger to bring to his mouth.

As cheesy as it sounds, I feel like we’re sharing our first moment together. I never dreamed of having this sort of connection with him already, but I feel like I’ve known him from the second he was born. What I wouldn’t give to have been there to welcome him to the world… to see the look of contentment on my brother’s face. Dean had wanted me to come to the hospital so badly, but I was in California with no means of transportation. He called me on the phone as soon as he found out he had a little boy. I can remember the conversation so clearly in my mind. I can remember the excitement and tears in his voice as he told me Cat had just given birth to their son. I’d been mildly intoxicated, but I felt so happy for my brother even though I had no interest in meeting his child at the time. Now that I’m holding said child, I wish I could’ve known him when he was a newborn. A smile tugs on my lips as I watch him suck on his thumb.

“I’m going to take care of you from now on, Grey,” I tell him in a quiet voice. He stares up at me as if he was able to comprehend exactly what I had said, before rewarding me with a bright smile. “I’m going to get a job here, save up some money, and fine a nice place for us. I vow to do my best by you.” I promise him, and I promise myself. I don’t want to be a fuck-up anymore.

I enjoy my first few moments with him and commit them to memory. With him tucked safely in my arms, I go back to the entryway to grab my duffle bag before heading to my childhood bedroom. Nostalgia washes over me the second I see it. It’s just as I remembered leaving it. Dust has accumulated on my furniture, suggesting that no one has been in this room since I left. A part of me is shocked that my mother didn’t take it upon herself to turn this room into a home gym or something. While another part of me is uncomfortable, knowing the reason this room hasn’t changed is probably because my parents knew I’d end up back here sooner or later. Feeling slightly defeated by this fleeting thought, I walk inside the room and set my duffle bag on my bed, which is still covered in the black, Star Wars comforter which I recall getting when I was a freshman in high school. Before I became immersed in the world of drugs and alcohol—I’d been quite the geek. My room is an interesting hodgepodge of sci-fi and Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition posters.

While rocking Grey in my arms, I show him around my old room. I show him my collection of DVDs shelved near the fifty-five-inch flat screen I had been very proud of owning as a teenager, my Nintendo 64 with its plethora of games, and finally, I show him my vast collection of comic books which I’d bought as a preteen. Grey looks at everything as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, which, maybe to him it is. I’m sure everything is stimulating when you’re five months old. I settle him down on my lap so he’s leaning comfortably against my stomach; opening one of my favorite comic books, I begin to read to him. I can’t remember the last time I even held a comic book. Honestly, I can’t remember when I had interest in any of the things I used to love. These past five years of my life have been such a blur and as soon as I sobered up, I feared that I’d lost myself completely during the time I spent traveling. How ironic. I go on a journey of self-discovery and come back feeling completely fucking adrift.

After I finish one comic, I pick up another, happy to keep my little guy entertained. Before I know it, I hear a soft knock on my opened door and look up to see my dad standing in the doorway. We stare at each other for a moment—both trying to find our words after our schism. While I barely seem to recognize myself, it’s obvious that my dad recognizes who I am. He’s always seen something in me that I’ve never been able to see in myself. He’s always had such hope in me, which only made me feel shitter about letting him down my entire life. Unable to find the right words, I stand up with the baby in my arms and go to greet my dad. He gives me a wistful smile. As I approach him, I notice he looks so much older than I remembered—so much older than his fifty-two years. His blonde hair still looks the same, as well as his tanned skin from the hours he spends outside golfing with his colleagues. The change is in his eyes… they reveal so much pain, completely taking my breath away—punching me in the fucking gut. They’re filled with sadness, longing, fear, and regret.

“Trevor,” he says softly, while giving me a weary smile. “We’re so glad you’re home, son. Things have been so chaotic around here lately.”

My dad—always one for understatements. I know why he does this: he always wants to give us the appearance that everything is all right. He’s been doing this since I was a kid and it’s always provided me with such a sense of comfort. I grew up believing he could solve any problem, so there was never anything for me to worry about. My brother’s death is one problem he’ll never be able to solve; one wound which he’ll never be able to mend.

“Dinner’s ready,” he says lamely. I can tell he’s too overwhelmed to talk about Dean. He’s so strong, but this situation has obviously brought him to his knees. Before he turns to leave, he asks, “How are you and Greyson getting along?”

“Grey’s great!” I smile at the chance to talk about my nephew. “He’s just so little,” I add with a chuckle. As silly as I feel, I had no idea babies could be so small. I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like to have held him as a newborn.

“Grey,” Dad says with a wistful smile tugging on his lips. “Your brother used to call him that.” He looks at me for a pregnant moment before giving me another tired smile and turning away. “I’ll be downstairs. Come on down and join us when you’re ready.”

As hungry as I am, I find I’m not eager to eat with my family. I’ve never been one to enjoy sitting at the dinner table and discussing my day with them. Growing up, Dean’s amazing stories usually took all the pressure off me. I spent the majority of the time sitting in silence while he’d describe parties he attended, games he won, and tests he passed without the least bit of effort. I wasn’t the least bit jealous of him growing up. If anything, I was grateful for him. His success took all of the eyes off me and my issues. Now that he’s gone, I know this dinner will be awkward as hell. What could I possibly say? I don’t want to discuss my battle with pills and alcohol. Nor do I want to talk about all the escapades I’ve had over the past five years.

As if sensing my self-loathing, Grey reaches out and touches my face, running his little fingers along my cheek. I grin at him, happy to have my brother’s mini-me around during a time like this. I kiss his forehead and he responds by bouncing in my arms—obviously enjoying the attention from someone new.

“You’ll get me through this, won’t you, Grey?” I ask him, wanting to laugh as he smiles at me as he watches my mouth move as if he were trying to understand. I take his smile as a positive response and kiss his forehead again. Everything will be all right.

I end up selfishly using Grey as a security blanket during dinner. As soon as my mother set a bottle of red wine on the table, I knew I was in for one hell of a night. I keep Grey in my lap, rocking him while I try to focus on anything other than the Merlot taunting me from a few feet away. Disappointment overwhelms me as I consider the power the drink holds over me. I’ve spent the past five years letting alcohol decide my fate, and now that I’m home I want to regain my control. It’s not just me anymore; I have a baby depending on me.

I pull my eyes away from the bottle and focus on my nephew. To my surprise, he’s staring up at me with wide, curious eyes. My heart splinters as I look at him. Now that Dean is dead, I can feel all my love pouring into his son. My heart fucking breaks, knowing Grey will most likely not remember his parents. He’ll never know how wonderful they were. He probably doesn’t have an inkling of understanding as to what has happened to them. I want to give him back everything he lost. Hell, I would’ve gladly taken my brother and sister-in-law’s places, so they could have raised their son. But none of that is possible now. There’s no deal I could possibly make with God to bring him or my sister-in-law back. So, I’ll do the next best thing: I’ll devote my life to their child and try to give him the world. My brother would have expected that, and I’ll be damned if I let him down this time.

I’m done with the nights I spent blackout drunk—partying until dawn. I’m done with the random hookups with nameless women. I’m done with losing myself in a bottle of whiskey. That Trevor is gone. All that’s left is a broken man who’d do anything to make shit right for his nephew. I look away from Grey and give the bottle of Merlot a challenging stare. I’ll be damned if I let shit like this fuck-up my life any longer. I stare at the bottle as if doing so will take away my craving for it. It doesn’t. Only time will take care of that. At least, I fucking hope.

My body aches as I look at the wine. Making me wish I had more time to break my habit before coming here. I quit cold turkey and acted as if it were the easiest feat in the world. I underestimated my dependency, but I’ve managed to go without a drink for a few days now. I wouldn’t call myself an “alcoholic” per se—just a man who did copious amounts of partying in his youth. So, I hope that’s something which works in my favor.

“You’re quiet tonight, Trevor,” my dad says as he takes a drink of his wine.

I avert my gaze and give him a stiff nod. “I’m just tired,” I say poorly, as I begin to feed Grey his formula.

My eyes return to him, fascinated as I watch him suck on the bottle’s rubber nipple with an immense amount of concentration. His eyes are squeezed shut and his cheeks are moving with each drink that he takes. There’s a little v formed between his brows which I can’t help but smooth out with my thumb. As I do so, his eyes open and he stares at me as he continues to feed.

“Well, you better get some rest, Trevor,” my dad says to me, though my eyes remain on my nephew. “We have to head out around eight for the funeral tomorrow.”

My eyes pop up as I hear the pain resonating in his voice. Fuck, my dad almost looks unrecognizable. He’s always been the strong one in our family.

“I’ll be ready, Dad,” I assure him, giving him a small smile in hopes that it’ll lighten his mood.

My mother doesn’t say a word; she merely watches the interaction before returning her attention to her food. I’ve never seen my mother deal with any sort of difficult situation before. She’s spent her life shying away from anything with the potential of being painful. My mother only liked to deal with what is easy—and losing a child is such a messy matter.

I retire to my room as soon as dinner’s over. I just couldn’t stand seeing my parents have to go through this shit a moment longer; it’s too painful. Grey fell asleep in my arms during dinner and Mom insisted I put him to bed in his makeshift nursery. I didn’t like the idea of being so far away from him. Which seems silly, considering I’ve only known him for a few hours and he’ll only be sleeping a few rooms away. However, I already worry about him like a father would worry about their son. I suppose, in many ways, I am his father now. Now that Dean’s gone—I’m the closest thing Grey has to a dad.

After I read him one of my old comic books, I put him to bed before returning to my bedroom to attempt to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a rough day at best, and with the pain of withdrawals already shooting through my body, I can definitely use some rest. However, sleep doesn’t come. My mind is on the little baby in the room down the hall. His nursery is across from my brother’s old bedroom. A room which I haven’t the courage to venture into just yet. I hope it’s exactly like I remember it, yet, I hope it’s completely different, so I don’t have to deal with the memories seeing it will bring. Maybe one day I’ll summon the courage, but that day isn’t happening any time soon. I’ve barely reached the depression stage of my grieving, let alone the stage of acceptance.

I roll onto my side and punch my pillow, wishing the pain in my body would dissipate so I could get some fucking rest. Just as my eyes are growing heavy, I hear faint cries coming from down the hallway. I’m out of bed and on my feet before my mind can register what my body is doing. While my body is itching in agitation, I bound down the hall and open the door to his nursery. I wonder if it’s like this for all new parents? This little baby inspires more fear in me than I’ve felt in my entire life!

My breath is caught in my throat as I walk to his crib, worried that his cries mean something horrible is happening to him. I quickly find that they merely mean he’s hungry. Rocking him in my arms, I take him to the kitchen to grab a bottle of his formula from the fridge. He cries until he gets the familiar rubber nipple between his lips.

“I know it’s not a tit, but it’s the best I can do,” I apologize with a light chuckle, carrying him to the couch in the living room so we can relax.

Things are so calming at night. With the darkness surrounding me and no one awake to bother me—I feel like I’m the only person in the world. I look down at the baby in my arms and smile. I’m not alone in the world anymore. There’s two of us now.