Page 153 of I’m Already Gone

“Hey, Sunshine.”

The memory bear, lovingly made from Lily’s favorite purple fleece blanket gifted to me by Sam and the kids, rests softly against my worn hands as I gently rock in the old wicker chair on the porch. The salt-laced air, a familiar comfort, drifts in from the beach.

“It’s your granddaughter Lily’s sweet sixteen today, so we’re back at the beach house.”

Maddy grew up to be a beautiful woman with a loving husband and three children of her own. She named her firstborn Lily and took over Lily’s shop. Maddy couldn’t bear to sell it, not after everything. And neither could I. It felt like letting go of a piece of Lily, and now we’re here celebrating another Lily.

I suck in a breath, the salty air filling my lungs, a sharp sting at the back of my eyes. Lily’s grief jar… it did help us, eventually. Helped us grieve properly, in a healthy way. She was right. Together, we drew strength from one another. It brought us closer to Lily. To each other.

A small, sad smile touches my lips at the thought of how much Lily missed out on with our children.

Then there’s Jake. Jake became an Olympic swimmer. He married a pediatrician and had two children of his own. Lily would be so proud of him and the man he grew up to be.

The creak of the old screen door opening makes me pause, my rocking chair stilling.

“Dad?” Ollie says in his warm, familiar baritone.

He closes the door softly behind him, then settles into the worn armchair beside me. He’s grown up to be such a handsome man.

“I was telling your mom we’re celebrating Lily’s birthday today,” I tell him.

“It’s been a while, huh?” he asks, his eyes lingering on the bear in my lap.

I nod, tightening my hold. “Yes.”

A few years after Lily left us, years that felt like decades of simply existing, I met someone. She was a nurse who moved into the home next door. It was uncanny how much she resembled my Sunshine, not just in her appearance, but also in the certain warmth in her eyes, the quiet resilience in her smile, and her kindness that drew me in. I gravitated toward her without even realizing it.

She’d bring over cookies, still warm from the oven, and offer to cook me dinner, almost like a silent offering of a new friendship. When I was hit with the flu, she was there, a steady presence, bringing soup and checking in on me daily. It was a comfort I hadn’t known since Lily.

Then, one day, she asked me to come over for a movie night. The kids joked that it was a date, but I dismissed it as two friends spending time together. One evening, we were watching a movie, and the quiet intimacy of the moment became too much for me.

We shared a passionate kiss.

I hadn’t touched a woman since Lily died. Never had a desire to do so until that night. It broke me because my heart only belonged to one person, and she was gone. It was a betrayal to her and to all that we fought for. To allow someone else’s hand to trace the lines of my face, to feel another’s lips on mine… it felt like erasing Lily, diminishing all that we were.

The heavy weight of guilt lingered for far too long, and the feeling became overwhelming, knowing I kissed another woman and allowed someone else into our lives. That shame made it difficult for me to have my daily conversations with Lily. It was as if I were reliving the pain of cheating on her all over again.

But then my children sat me down and helped me understand I had no reason to feel guilty. Maddy looked me in the eyes and said, “Mom would never want you to feel alone. She loved you too much for that.”

Jake joined in, reassuring me, “If you find someone new, it doesn’t take away from the love you had for Mom. It just means there’s space in your heart for more love.”

While their words comforted me, I realized a different kind of truth had emerged. I had already been content, content to be there for my children and grandchildren. I didn’t need anything or anyone else.

Ollie breaks through my thoughts when he speaks.

“So, did you get a chance to tell her about me, or do I have to brag about myself?” He grins, a playful glint in his eyes, and starts to rock gently in his own chair.

I laugh. “Well, Lily,” I say, clutching the bear closer to me, “Ollie is the new fire chief.”

“I’m a bad-ass, Mom,” Ollie interjects, a proud chuckle escaping him.

I laugh harder, a little shake in my shoulders. “Yes, I guess you are, son. Your mother would be so proud of you.”

We sit quietly, the only sounds are the crash of waves and the distant shouts of our families. The sun dips lower, painting the sky in fiery oranges and soft purples.

“I wish she were here,” Ollie whispers.

“Me too, son. Me too.”