APRIL

The week goes by faster than I'm expecting.

It's not like I haven't been to Samuel's grave before. That was far from the case. On the worst of days, with the things that I couldn't handle, I'd end up sitting next to his headstone and tracing over the letters, talking to him and praying for him, saying all of the things that I wish I would have been able to while he was alive. There was so much that I had wanted to do and say, opportunities that neither of us had. I knew that Jackson had done the same thing in the past few years. We'd tried to go together at the beginning. But it had only been painful for the both of us. We had learned quickly it was one thing that was better to do on our own terms.

But there were some things that the two of us had just been better at when we were parents. Hopefully, this would be another one of those things.

When I wake up on Saturday morning, I'm in his bed and alone. I pause for a moment, absorbing the surroundings. It's later than I usually sleep in on the weekends and I can hear him – judging by the sound and tone of his voice, he's talking to Harriet, which means they both of them are already up. Sunlight streamed in the room and I pause for a moment to stretch out across the sheets like a cat, embracing the pops from a long sleep.

I finally get up, splashing water on my face, brushing my teeth, and combing through my hair to try and resolve some of the bedhead. Only afterward do I join the two of them in the kitchen, a bright smile on my cheeks, resolved to momentarily ignore what we have planned for today.

"Good morning you two," I greeted, giving Harriet a quick kiss on the head in her high chair before gravitating toward the coffee pot.

"Morning," Jackson chirped back.

"Mama!" Harriet called out, banging her half-empty bowl of cereal on her tray enthusiastically.

"Hi, my sweet nugget," I coo toward her with a smile. I'm quick to get my cup of coffee made and creamer in, taking a long sip form the liquid. Even if I'd gotten to sleep in more than usual, coffee in the morning was pretty much just a habit at this point. No need to deal with caffeine withdrawals when today was going to be tough enough on its own.

"I was starting to think that you were never going to get up," Jackson half-chuckled. "Do you want breakfast? I can fry you an egg or make an omelet, whatever you want." He offered.

I shook my head. "No, I'm not super hungry. I think I'm just gonna eat a banana. Maybe a granola bar."

It's not just a lack of hunger. Skipping meals had always been a bad habit of mine whenever I was upset, no matter what the particular circumstances were. I shut down, I forgot to take care of myself. I'd done it when Samuel died, attached myself to that nursery chair until I was practically shaped in the same way that it was. But mostly, when it becomes too much, I get nauseous. I don't want to throw up at the cemetery. That's the last place I want to do it.

"What time do you want to go?" Jackson asked me. I paused for a moment in avoidance of answering, taking another sip from the mug of coffee in hands and grabbing a banana to unreel it. I take a big bite out of it, chewing and swallowing before beginning to answer a shower.

"I don't know. I need to take a shower first." I gave a slight shrug.

"Well, how about you shower and get dressed then we can go. I'll get Harriet ready. Maybe we can grab lunch afterward – there are a few places over in that neck of the woods that I don't think we've been to before," he suggested with a raise of his eyebrows.

I don't want to, but I nod. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Of course, that was a blatant lie. I knew that today was going to be painful in ways that I couldn't even begin to imagine and that I wasn't going to be able to break down in the same way, not in front of Harriet. Even if she was only one and a few months, if there was no chance that she would actually remember this day, I didn't want to do that in front of her. I wanted to be strong. I wanted her to know that people could go through horrible things and still be okay, that it was possible to survive and overcome no matter what life threw at you.

That did seem like a little bit of a stretch, though. Some days I wasn't sure if I was doing anything more than surviving. Some days it didn't feel like I was living. But at least those days had been shrinking lately, not nearly as bad as it had been a few weeks ago.

I take my time in the shower, shampooing and conditioning my hair, letting hot water rush over me. I washed my face and shaved my legs, and use a little too much of his body wash. I can't quite identify what it smells like besides manly and him, really, but I like having it all over me. It's only after I've taken a completely obnoxious amount of time and the mirrors in his bathroom are covered with steam from the shower that I finally twist off the flow of water and get out. Goosebumps cover my skin once I begin to cool down and I grab one of the towels that I'd set, wrapping it around my body. The other goes on top of my head, twisting my hair up so it's not dripping all over the bathroom floor.

I'd laid out underwear, jeans, and a blouse to put on once I got out of the shower. Instead of getting dressed immediately though, I sit on the counter in my towel, just taking a pause. Jackson's got the TV on some kids show that I can't identify from sound alone. That meant she was probably already dressed. I really had spent awhile in the shower.

Once I forced myself back on my feet again, it doesn't take me very long to get ready. There's no point in putting on a lot of makeup when I know I'm running the risk of sobbing all of it off. A layer of tinted moisturizer and chapstick was going to be enough for today. I towel dried my hair until it was damp and then ran a brush through it before pulling it back into a braid.

"Hi," I greet the both of them when I emerge into the living room, dressed and at least presenting to be ready to go. I wasn't. But I knew I never really would be.

"You ready?" Jackson asked. I'm already scooping Harriet up in my arms and giving a little twirl, one that makes her squeal with delightful laughter. It's enough to bring a big smile to my face. No matter what was going on or bothering me, that smile, that was enough to bring me right back down to where I needed to be. I kissed her on each cheek and her forehead, snuggling her against me comfortably and taking a deep breath.

"Mmhm," I hummed out the lie.

I get her strapped tightly in the car seat before joining him in the front seat. We drive to the cemetery quietly, knowing that there's not much either of us could say. We hadn't talked about how we were going to approach it or what exactly we were going to say to her. The perks of her not remembering now were we'd have a few chances to get it right. Today probably wouldn't be that day. When we finally park, we're both still got a moment.

There's nothing to really say, but Jackson reached over for my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. For a moment, it's enough. He gets out of the car quicker than I do and gets Harriet unstrapped, and I follow him slowly. I take her from his arms, breathing her in. She'd give me comfort.

We both know exactly where his grave is, the little walk from the gate of the cemetery to his headstone memorized. We're careful not to step on any of the other graves that we walked by, wanting to be disrespectful. It's a cloudy day but it's not raining, a few other people there. But there's no point in focusing, no polite smiles or greetings exchanged. We're all here for the same reason, at the root of it. To grieve. To remember. To try and go forward with our lives as if a piece wasn't missing from them.

Samuel Norbert Avery.

February 12th, 2015.

Beloved Son.

I've seen the words a thousand times and seeing them this time still bring a fresh sparkle of tears to my eyes. There's nothing in the world that made it easier. Even if I'd only hold him in my arms for minutes, it didn't matter. Any woman has a special bond with their baby during pregnancy. He baby is very real. He was there. The attachment was real and there. I had never felt him kick or move inside of me, but I had known that he was there. My little Buddha baby.

I'd read articles about healing after the loss of a child, trying to make sense of it. Even years later, I can still remember one particular tidbit about having realistic expectations about grief. It was a complex process that has no deadlines. I'd learned that. Deadlines didn't exist. Going back to work I had forced on a smile, and even after a year in Jordan, I'd still felt the same. But there were waves and unpredictable ups and downs. It was supposed to bring on some eventual sense of healing, supposedly. I'd gone back and forth over the years about whether or not I completely believed that. But having Harriet in my arms, for a minute, I can find there to be something more.

But I had made the decision to survive, and I would.

"Hi, Sammy," I whispered. I'm slow to get down on my knees, making sure not to jar Harriet too much as I go down. I change her position so she's sitting on my lap and facing toward his headstone, her back pressed up against my front. From the corner of my eye, I can see Jackson setting down onto the grass as well.

"Hey, big man," he said affectionately. For a long moment, the two of us share a look.

Harriet reached forward and placed her hands on the cool stone that bore her big brother's name, tracing over the letters. I'm not sure if she knows what I'm doing or can recognize that they're the same shapes as the books we both read her. I'd like to think that she did.

My heart was already racing inside of my chest but I had resolved myself to do this and to be strong. I wanted to be. But the tightness is there and eating me away already and I've barely managed to say a word. The same pain was mirrored across Jackson's expression, as stoic as he normally presented himself to be, this was his weak spot just as much as it was mine. He had brought flowers, a small bundle of white roses. He had been the one to go through flowers and their various meanings after Samuel had died, trying to figure out which was best. I still remember their meaning – purity, innocence, reverence, silence. It had fit, during the worst of it. It was exactly what we both needed.

"Harriet, baby, will you listen to mommy and daddy for a minute?" I prompt, getting her attention.

"Yes." She offered a clear answer.

I fall silent, words escaping me and my mouth running dry. My lips part but nothing comes out. It's like I'm suddenly choking on air and there's nothing to be said, no sound capable of escaping other than a wallowing scream for everything that we had lost. I knew it was unhealthy to linger so heavily in the past, but this was one thing that my mind refused to let go of.

Jackson spoke to fill my silence. "Where we are right now," he started. "This is your big brother. Samuel. Mommy and I loved him very much." He started slowly. His gaze moved from our daughter to me, and I can see in his eyes that he's trying to ask me if I'm okay.

"We loved him so, so much," I echoed his words, voice tight. "Just like we love you so, so much." I pull her closer to me for a moment to kiss the top of her head. "And he loves you so much, too. He's looking out for you from up above." Maybe I'm pushing my luck on the boundaries of religion, but I don't know how to explain it. I don't know what to say other than God was looking out for our little boy, the same way that he would look after us one day. How Jackson can think of Samuel and not think of God – it's completely beyond me.

"Can you say Sammy?" Jackson asked, pulling the focus away from me for a moment. Harriet turned her head toward her father's voice, sputtering out a few indistinct syllables for a moment. Then it comes.

"Sam."

It's too much for me to handle all at once. My throat closed in around itself and it's hard to breathe. I let go of my grip on Harriet for a moment and she's completely fine with it, standing on her own two feet and one of the headstone to keep herself steady and upright. My hands pressed down against the top of my thighs, rubbing along them for a moment and trying to suck in oxygen. Nothing comes.

"Can you… can you take her…" I barely get the question past my lips, chest heaving and heart racing inside of the confines of my ribcage. It felt like a hummingbird, desperate to break free from the confines that it was in, to free itself from the pain and suffering that it was being exposed to. I can't blame it. My fingers were tingling and I press them harder against the tops of my thighs in an attempt to try and normalize some of the sensations there, but it doesn't get any easier. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. The tears in my eyes are suddenly overwhelming and make it that much harder to focus on the world outside of my body, not able to see much more than a blur. My frame had begun to rock back and forth on its own accord and it only made everything that much blurrier to try and process.

Jackson's talking to me but his words are lost in the wind, unable to comprehend what was being said. He's saying something and I'm losing my mind. It's the only explanation for it. It's finally become too much and I'm going off the deep end. The only surprise was that it took this long to happen in the first place.

The contact on my back scares me at first and I reflexively flinch at the touch, but it doesn't shy away. Instead, there are circles being rubbed across it, trying to ground me back into reality.

"April, sweetheart, just listen to the sound of my voice, okay? Just listen to me." Jackson pleaded with me. It takes a few long moments before I can blink enough and force out the tears, trying to see what was happening. He's there, right there in my personal space, Harriet in his opposite arm to try and keep her still and unaware of what exactly was going on. He's still speaking and I can at least focus on the sound of his voice even if I'm not entirely processing what was being said to me.

"I'm right here," Jackson whispered, "Everything will be all right. Just breathe."

The words are soothing yet there's an instinctual part of me that wanted to argue. Everything wouldn't be alright. Our son was still dead and there was nothing that was going to change that. He was dead. He was dead. I had to raise our daughter in a world where she could be taken away from us at the snap of a finger without any sense or logic behind it. What kind of cruel world was that? I focus my gaze on her for a moment, trying to bring myself out of it. She's here. She's alive. She's healthy. She's happy. The simple sentences play through my mind over and over again, trying to bring a little logic into the moment, trying to focus on the good. But more than anything, I need a sign. A sign that things would be okay. Jackson's support in the heat of the moment was decent, he was doing everything right, but I craved for something more.

"You're okay," Jackson reassured me. I take another shaky breath and lean into him for a moment, ear to his chest, able to hear the sound of his heart beating beneath the skin and bones. My eyes shut, trying to focus on it. Instead, another distractor comes forward. This time it's a tiny hand in my hair, determined to wrap a strand in her tiny fist.

"Hi baby," I whisper to my daughter, blindly reaching for her. My hand found the fist in my hair, wrapping my own around hers. I'm not trying to control her this time, just have some contact with her.

"Are you okay?" Jackson asked, pressing a kiss on the top of my head.

I don't know what to say. So instead, I apologize. "I'm sorry." As if that made any sense.

"You don't need to say that, April," he insisted with a shake of his head. "You just had a panic attack. And you know what? It happens. After everything… it's normal. I just want to know that you're okay now." As he spoke, his hand rubbed along my spine, a firm but still soothing touch.

My mouth opened to repeat the same words but this time when nothing escaped, it's intentional. Instead, I suck in a deep breath, trying to slow my heart back down. It's still pounding away, not quite as fast but still higher than it should have been for sitting down on the ground.

"I'll be okay." I offered up instead. Maybe it wouldn't be true for the next five minutes, but it's not the first time I've had a panic attack. As much as I would have liked for it to be the last one, well, that didn't seem like it was likely. "I'll be okay," I repeat the words for my own benefit this time, breathing deeply through my nose once more. Breathing eased some of the pain that still lingered in my chest, even if it doesn't completely get rid of the dead of anxiety that still permeated throughout my system. Supposedly fresh air was supposed to help.

"Do you have water in the car?" I asked suddenly, glancing up at him. "I'm– my mouth is dry," I explained, wetting my lips.

"Yeah." Jackson nodded his head. He stood up quickly with Harriet attached to his hip before offering me a hand. I paused for just a moment, taking two more intentional breaths. Then I leave over to Samuel's headstone and press a tender kiss on it, as if I was kissing that too tiny baby that I had held three years ago. Then I take his hand, pulling myself back onto my feet again.

I stare down at his headstone for a moment longer, movement from the corner of my eyes distracting me. It's a butterfly. Colorful orange wings circle and flap for a moment, grabbing Harriet's attention. She points and blabbered something – I can't tell what exactly she's trying to get at. But after a moment of flying around, the butterfly landed on his headstone, resting there for a moment.

My sign.

One more tear slipped past my eyes, but this time, I'm not entirely sure if it was coming from a place of sadness or something else entirely.

Once we're back to his car, I grab the water bottle from the center upholder and quickly drained half of it. Jackson focused on getting Harriet into the car and we pause for a moment, just sitting there. I already know that he wants to talk about it, and I don't.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked me, reaching over to take one of my hands and rubbing his thumb across the back of my knuckles.

"Yeah. I… I just couldn't breathe." That was perhaps the closest to opening up about it that I would get. I knew that Jackson had panic attacks in the past. After the shooting, I'd catch him in the midst of them, in the midst of nightmares. He had been a mess, just like the rest of us, even if he'd always been good at covering it up. But that was one of the things that had bonded us. No one else really understood losing Percy and Reed.

"You're okay now." Jackson offered the reassurance of words before beginning to pull out of the parking spot.

"Can we go somewhere a little casual for lunch?" I requested. "I'm feeling a little nauseous now. I kind of just want soup and salad." I elaborated slightly.

"Sure, that's fine." He agreed easily.

I reach into my purse, grabbing a contact mirror and giving a quick glance at myself. My eyes are a little red but there was nothing I could do to change that. I reapply my lip balm and sit there quietly, not wanting to open up further about it. We both knew exactly why it had happened. Going to Samuel's grave was always hard, talking about it even more difficult. But hearing Harriet say her big brother's name, like it was something that she was meant to do… that had just been too much.

Lunch is quick enough. Or at least, as quick as a one year old allowed us to be. I get down most of the tomato soup and some of a caesar salad without upsetting my stomach much further. I make sure that Harriet gets as much of the grilled cheese as she's willing to take and her fruit cup. She loves fruit. Everything else, well, she doesn't seem quite as crazy about. My fault, probably.

Once we're in the car again, I can tell that he's already driving back to his house. Mine isn't particularly far from his nor out of the way, but he's going off the assumption with all the time that we've spent together in the past few weeks.

"Uh, will you take me back to my house?" I ask, glancing over at him.

"Yeah, sure," Jackson agreed with a nod of his head. "Something up?"

If I were him, my first assumption would have been that it had something to do with the panic attack and not particularly wanting to confront it in front of him. It was fair, reasonable. I did wonder if that was the one going on inside of his head or if it was something else entirely. I'm not nearly as shaky after lunch as I had been walking in, but I haven't entirely settled down, either.

"I think I'm going to go to church in the morning, actually," I announced, half a smile threatening my composure. "And I need to water my plants," I added as an afterthought.

"Church?" Jackson questioned. Before I have the chance to assume the worst, he surprises me. "Good. That's good."

He's being supportive. The tiny smile becomes a full-blown one, not so much feeding off of his approval like I had been guilty of on occasion, but instead relieved. The conversation that we had hadn't just been all talk. He was applying it to small things, everyday things. If he could do it, then I could do it. Maybe it could just be that simple for once.

"Yeah…" I agreed with a small nod of my head. "It's about time I start going again."

When we finally get to my place, I say goodbye to Harriet with loads of kisses, reminding her that I would see her soon. It could be tomorrow, it could be Tuesday – I wasn't sure. Jackson and I didn't do quite as much planning about what we were doing lately even if we had stuck to our day of switching off with who's house she was, so that was always guaranteed. Of course, Jackson got a goodbye kiss of his own, sweet and chaste.

The rest of the day goes by in a flash. Between cleaning, watering plants, and getting some grocery shopping done, it's easy to keep busy for the daylight hours and retire with a few episodes of Parks & Rec at night.

My alarm goes off early the next morning for church, and there's no dread for once. I put on a simple floral dress and nude heels, properly curl my hair. I'd always believed in dressing up for church and being in the presence of God, even if I'd noticed that over the years people became more and more casual about what they are wearing. I'd never gotten on board with that particular trend, but I don't mind. The service is about the secret of spiritual growth. I try hard to listen to it. God knew that right now, I needed it.

But it's not until after the service and most of the pews had cleared out that I really get what I need. I kneel down and I speak.

I talk to Samuel. I tell him about how much I love him and miss him, that I think about him every day regardless of where my faith stood. I tell him about how beautiful his baby sister is and how I know that he would have been the best possible big brother to him if he had gotten the chance. Tears stream down my face and this time there's no effort to stop them. I'm alone, or close enough to it, and I can let all of it out without having to worry about what anyone else in the world thought about me. Right now, this conversation was between three people. Me, Samuel, and God.

I finally rise to my feet again after what seemed like a long time, my knees stiff and red from the poor position. I barely get a few steps out of the aisle before my pastor nearly gives me a heart attack in surprising me.

"We've missed you around these parts, April." Father Thomas' voice grabbed my attention.

"H-hi," I stutter out. "Sorry. It's uh, it's just…" I realize that I don't have any clue what I'm supposed to say. Crazy didn't cover it. Telling him that I'd been more time cursing God and everything that he stood for, drinking like crazy? Not exactly a great option, either.

"It's okay, you don't have to explain," he reassured me after a moment. "I just wanted to make sure you knew you were missed, that's all."

I smiled at him sincerely for a moment. I'd been doubting my own place among everything else, who I really was when I didn't have my faith to define me. There's something relieving in knowing that he had noticed. It wasn't like this was a small church, it was no doubt easy for anyone to blend in the crowd and keep their head down if they wanted to. But he was why I liked it here. He made me feel apart of something bigger. Even if I was just another member of the flock, each member was an important one. We all meant something.

"Thank you, Father." I take the extended hand, shaking it firmly. "I'll see you next weekend."

And I would. But it would be with Harriet at my side.