Page 147 of I’m Already Gone

“Fine.” He turns, a flicker of irritation in his movements, and walks toward Maddy’s room while I make my way to Ollie’s.

I knock softly on his door, then push it open. “Ollie?” I say, peering into the room. He’s nestled on his bed, engrossed in a cartoon on his iPad, headphones clamped over his ears.

He looks up, a bright, unburdened smile spreading across his face. “Auntie Sam said it was okay until you came to tuck me in!”

I manage a wobbly smile in return. He is so pure and innocent. “It’s okay, Ollie. Actually, I need to talk to you. Can you come with me?” I hold out my hand, an invitation to a conversation that will change everything.

“Okay.” He sets his device down without a fuss, crawls to the edge of the bed, and climbs down, his hand finding mine.

We walk down the hall, each step feeling like the ground is going to open and swallow me whole, into the living room where Maddy and Jake are already perched on the couch, their faces etched with a growing nervousness.

Ollie lets go of my hand as Jake shifts, creating a space for his little brother. Ollie clambers onto the couch, settling between Jake and Maddy.

“What’s going on, Dad?” Maddy asks, her fingers nervously picking at the hem of her pajama top.

I sink onto the coffee table opposite them, leaning forward, rubbing my hands together, a futile attempt to warm the cold dread spreading through me.

“I have something very sad to tell you. Mom died this evening while we were on the pier. Her body was very sick from cancer, and it stopped working while she was asleep.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and final. I look at each of their faces, watching the comprehension slowly dawn, then their whole world shatters.

Jake bolts upright and begins to pace, like a caged animal, his hands running through his buzz cut hair.

Tears, silent and massive, begin to stream down Ollie’s face. A soft whimper escapes him.

“Come here, Ollie.” I open my arms, and he lunges into them. His cries are muffled against my shirt, small, heartbreaking sounds. I hold him tight, rocking him in my arms, my hand stroking his back, trying to soothe a pain that has no physical pain that can be comforted.

“I’m so sorry, Ollie,” I whisper against his soft hair.

Then I hear it, a bone-chilling screech, a sound of pure horror and pain.

“NO! NO!” Maddy’s cries rip through the air. She falls to her knees, her hands flying to her mouth, eyes wide with terror.

Ollie’s cries escalate, spurred on by the raw agony in his sister’s voice.

My heart doesn’t just crack; it fractures at witnessing my baby girl’s world fall apart, to see her grief mirroring my own.

“Dad! Please tell me it’s not real! It’s not real!” She pounds her fists on the floor.

“Sweet pea,” I choke out.

“She can’t be gone,” Jake whispers, frozen in the archway. The color drains from his face, leaving him ashen, and then, slowly, agonizingly, he crumples. Not falling, but melting, sliding down the doorframe until he is a weeping heap on the floor.

“No, no, no, no,” he sobs, his shoulders shaking violently, rocking back and forth in a desperate attempt to comfort himself, to deny the truth that his mother is gone.

I watch helplessly as my children, my world, fall apart before my eyes. Crying for an amazing woman who left this earth far too soon. Ollie’s tears begin to subside, but his hiccups still punctuate the air, easing as he takes in his siblings. He climbs off me and cautiously makes his way toward Jake, who is a broken mess on the floor.

I’m seconds away from joining them, from letting the grief consume me entirely.

“Jake,” Ollie says, his voice small but firm, reaching for his brother, pulling him away from his own personal hell. Jake looks up, his eyes swollen and red, and opens his arms. Ollie goes willingly, wrapping his small arms around his big brother, clinging on.

Maddy, still on her knees, looks up, her eyes finding her brothers. She crawls over, her movements slow and deliberate, and joins them. Together, they hold one another, a tight, desperate knot of shared grief for the loss of their mother, who was a constant presence, an endless comfort, someone who helped shape the very core of their identities.

As for me, I’ve lost my closest companion, my emotional home, my partner in everything. Losing her feels like losing a vital part of myself, a limb amputated without an ounce of mercy.

“Dad?”

I pull myself away from the crushing weight of my thoughts, focusing on my children. They are now standing, huddled together, looking utterly broken. And in that moment, I finally give in.