A couple of minutes passed, and she started to cry, and whispered to me, “What are we going to do without him?”
I pulled her to me, letting her cry into my chest once more, as I thought of how to answer her. Finally, I said all I could think of, which was, “We’re going to do what Dad would have wanted for us. We’re going to survive this, grieve, then we’re going to find ways to be happy even while we still miss him.”
This slowed her tears, and they gradually stopped. “Thank you, Drew. You don’t know just how much you sounded like your Dad just then. That’s exactly what your Dad would have said. I love you. We’ll get through this.”
“I love you, too, Mom. Try and sleep.” I continued holding her the whole night, in case she woke scared or crying again. She didn’t, but I didn’t get much sleep, watching over her.
~~~~~
Christmas Eve
I’ll skip over most of the next few days, of mortuary visits, life insurance claims, notifying Dad’s lawyer to start probate work on his will, and preliminary planning for a memorial service that we couldn’t even schedule until the Dallas County Medical Examiner had released the body to the mortuary. More calls, more flowers.
Mom asked to share my bed again each night. She wasn’t crying any more, and I was able to relax more and get my own 40 winks.
Christmas Eve we usually spent with Mom’s family, so we packed up the gifts we’d bought for them, and headed to her parents’ home in Arlington, 35 minutes away.
It was a somber night, as much as we tried to get into the Christmas spirit with music and favorite Christmas movies. We had dinner first, then exchanged gifts, including a few that still had Dad’s name on them as sender. Aunt Maria and Grandma Anna and Grandpa Scott had bought gifts for Dad, but weren’t sure what to do with them. Mom and I opened them, and they were both gift certificates to local restaurants, so I kept the smaller one from Aunt Maria, and Mom kept the other. We eventually wished everyone a Merry Christmas, and headed home.
The first tear I shed since my Dad’s death finally rolled down my face when I had to set my Dad’s Christmas stocking aside before helping Mom fill hers and mine with the little goodies that she’d already bought for the purpose before his death, to hang on the little hooks that had been set up when the house was decorated weeks before.
She saw it, and reached over to wipe it from my cheek and said, “You don’t have to be strong all the time for me, Drew. It’s okay to cry for him.” She took my hands in hers and gave them a squeeze.
“I know, Mom. The tears just haven’t been coming, and it’s not because I’m feeling strong, I think Dad’s lending me his strength, so I can be there for you.”
She gave me a look I couldn’t figure out, and said, “Thank you for that, honey. Merry Christmas.” She handed me a small wrapped box. “This is something your Dad wanted you to have, and I thought it was more appropriate for tonight, than for tomorrow. Open it.”
I opened the wrapping, and inside the box was a case, with a DVD-R with a computer-etched label that said “Drew 1992-2012”. I looked at Mom, and she said, “Put it in the player.”