JACKSON

If there's one thing April doesn't get to do much of, it's sleep in. After Rae was born about ten months ago, our sleep went out the window. As surgeons, we already don't get enough of it, and with a baby… somehow, there's even less.

So today, on Mother's Day, I make sure to wake up before she does. I turn my head to the side and smile softly at her presence beside me, still so soundly asleep while lying on her belly with her arms under her pillow. She's wearing a green camisole so I can see the freckles dotting her back, but I resist the urge to lean over and kiss them. If I touch her, it'll wake her up. And I don't want that.

I sneak out of our bedroom and tiptoe into Rae's, where I see that she's lying on her back in her crib, staring up at her mobile while rubbing her eyes. I caught her before she could cry out, which had been my intention. April's a pretty sound sleeper, but Rae's cry wakes her up faster than anything else.

"Hi, beautiful," I say, leaning over her crib. She gives me a wide smile and I lift her out, swooping her into the air. "Good morning, good morning." I give her kisses on the cheeks, change her diaper, and hold her on my hip as I pick out something for her to wear.

"Dada!" she shrieks, as I get her wriggly body into a yellow onesie that says 'I Love Mom' on it.

"Yes?" I ask, helping her kicking legs into a pair of soft pink pants. "Yes, Rae-Rae?"

She giggles, that wide smile of April's present on her face, and I see that she's cut a tooth overnight. "Are you getting a toofer?" I ask, lifting her up to get a closer look. "Look at that! He made his way through!" I touch the little tooth with the tip of my finger, and she gums it in response.

"How about we go for a walk and let Mama sleep some more, okay?" I say, bouncing Rae after we walk into the kitchen. "She deserves to sleep in today. It's Mother's Day. Can you say, 'happy mother's day?'"

Rae looks at me with shining green eyes and claps her hands together roughly.

"A good college try," I say. "Here. You sit here," I plop her in her high chair with some Cheerios in front of her. "While Daddy gets his shoes on. I'll be just a minute."

She bangs loudly on the tray while she eats, babbling nonsense while I lace up my boots. I figure I'll just take her around the neighborhood with the baby carrier on my chest, get us out of the house, and give April some deserved peace and quiet.

"Alright, chunk," I say, lifting her out. She's finished all of the Cheerios, which is what I wanted. "Let's find you a coat, then we're good to go."

The morning is bright and cheery when we step outside, and Rae kicks her legs in response to the cool breeze on her face. "If you could be any season, what would you be?" I ask her, holding her tiny hands in my own as we stroll down the sidewalk. She buzzes her lips and I giggle at her version of a response, then think up one of my own. "I think I'd be winter. Do you think I'm that cold?" She squeals. "Okay, maybe I'm an early fall. What do you think Mama would be? If you say spring, I'd have to agree with you there."

We walk for a good while, taking in the world as the morning opens it up. Every once in awhile, I press my lips against the soft curls on the crown of my daughter's head and breathe her in. After we've circled around the neighborhood a few times, the sun is high in the sky and I'm guessing that it's a little past 9. Rae's going to get fussy soon if I don't get her back to the house for a bottle, so we make our way home.

The house is still quiet when we walk inside, so I whisper right into her ear. "Doesn't sound like your sleepy mom's up yet," I say. "That's a good thing."

I take Rae's jacket off and plop her in the high chair again, pouring a bottle that she sucks on happily once I hand it to her. "I'm gonna cook some surprise breakfast for Mommy while you work on that," I say over my shoulder, getting all the necessary ingredients for pancakes out of the fridge. "Pancakes. Plus a sweet. You know how your mom feels about sweets."

Rae smiles with the bottle in her mouth, and I can't help but return it. Her happiness is so contagious; I hope she always stays this joyful.

I turn some music on - Here Comes the Sun by The Beatles - and grin back at my daughter when the guitar starts. She bouncily sways back and forth in her chair, one fist still clutching the bottle as she dances. "I knew you'd like this one," I say, and flick on the range.

I make three pancakes for April, complete with strawberries, confectioner's sugar and syrup, and arrange them as nicely as I can on one of our nice white plates. From the cupboard, I pull out a plastic container of cupcakes I got at the store last night, and place one on the side of the plate.

"Okay, I think it's ready," I say to Rae. "Wanna go wake her up?"

She launches her bottle out of her hand and it slides across the hardwood floor and hits the bottom of the cupboard.

"I'll take that as a yes," I say, and lift her onto my hip while precariously holding the plate as best I can in my opposite hand. We walk carefully up the stairs and I nudge open our bedroom door to find April still asleep, but lying on her back now.

Her arms are thrown over her head as it's turned to the side, and I just stand in the doorway for a second watching her breathe deeply.

Rae grunts and whines, reaching her arms out because she sees her mother. "Hold on," I murmur, setting the plate down on the dresser. "Okay, okay."

I walk over to my sleeping wife with our daughter wriggling in my arms, and calm her by setting her down on top of April's ribcage. April's eyelids twitch and flutter, and her eyebrows raise as she deeply inhales and lowers her arms from the pillow to grip Rae around the waist.

"Well, hello there…" she murmurs, still very sleepy. "Good morning, little bug." She looks up at me with bleary eyes and a muted smile. "Good morning, big bug."

I chuckle as I lean down to kiss her forehead. "Happy first mother's day, sleepyhead," I say, my lips against her skin.

She grins up at me when I pull away, then watches me go and pick up the plate. "What did you do?" she asks, sitting up and setting Rae next to her. I place the plate on her lap and she beams up at me, her eyes sparkling and smile wide. "Jackson, what did you do?"

"Made you breakfast in bed," I say. "And it wasn't just me. I had some moral support from this one."

April looks down to the baby, who's gnawing on her own fist. "Did you help him, baby?" she asks, her voice high and squeaky. "Did you help your daddy?" She kisses the top of Rae's head and looks back up at me. "Thank you. I didn't expect this… you're way too good to me."

"Nah," I say, sitting down next to her. She lifts up the plate and takes hold of her fork, raising her eyebrows at me in reference to the sweet I included. "I thought you'd like that cupcake along with it," I say.

"Not a cupcake," she says, picking it up and pulling off the paper wrapping. "It's a winkie."

I chuckle and give her a skeptical side-eye. "A whatty?"

"A winkie," she says, biting into it before turning it around to show me the inside. "There's stuff in the middle," she says, mouth full. "Means it's a winkie."

"You're a winkie," I say, rolling my eyes. "Do me a favor and never say that word again."

"Winkie," she says, still chewing as she cracks up at herself. "What do you think is funnier - a singular winkie or plural winkies?"

"Would you shut up about winkies?" I say, giggling as I go to kiss her. I hold her jaw in one hand and she's still laughing as I pull away.

"You're the one who bought it," she says, taking another bite.

"I regret it now."

"Whatever," she smiles.

"I have something else for you, too, babe," I say, standing up. "Stay right there."

I go into our closet and pull down the wrapped present from a high shelf - somewhere she could never dream of seeing, let alone reaching. I bring it out to her and she sets her plate off to the side so her lap is free. "What is it, what is it?" she asks excitedly, drumming her fingertips together.

"Open the card first," I say, and she does.

On the front, it has pink stripes with a bow and says 'happy first mother's day!' and on the inside, I've written a message from Rae that April reads out loud. "Mom, this has been the best year of my life (well, the only year!) Thank you so much for taking me with you wherever you go, rocking me to sleep with I'm tired, always making me laugh, and loving me with all you've got. I love YOU. Love, your little Lorraine." April covers her mouth and looks at me with glistening eyes, forehead crinkled with emotion. "Jackson. I'm gonna cry."

I flash a closed-lipped smile and wrap my arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her hair. "Don't cry," I say. "Or do, if you want. It's okay."

She lifts Rae onto her lap and squeezes her tight, then places one hand flat on my chest. "Okay," she says, sniffing in. "I'm gonna open the present now." She rips off the paper and I smile proudly at the photo album I put together, and she stares in amazement as she runs her fingers around the square edges of the picture on the front - Rae's first photo at the hospital.

"Oh, Jackson," she says quietly, flipping the pages quickly. "It's all the way full. Oh, my gosh."

"You take enough pictures to fill five of these," I say. "It was easy."

She turns to the first page and presses her hand over the four pictures there. I put the book in order as best as I could - from when April was pregnant all the way up until our family trip to the park last weekend. As April slowly looks through it, my eyes land on Rae in her Christening dress, the three of us in front of the lion exhibit at the zoo, and sitting and sipping hot chocolate on a cold winter day. Some of my favorites, though, are the silly selfies in our living room, candid pictures while we cooked dinner together, or any of them where I caught April and Rae having moments they didn't know I was capturing.

She pauses on one of those, her finger poised at the corner. In the photo, she's on the couch, and judging by the snow falling in the window behind her, it was taken during the winter. About six months ago, in early December. April is sitting with her head leaned back on the cushion, eyes closed, looking completely exhausted as Rae nurses. April has her hands splayed over the baby's back with her shirt half-up, hair frizzy and unkempt. She looks like the epitome of a worn-out new mom, and it's one of my favorite pictures in the world.

"God, Jackson, I look horrible here," she says, screwing her mouth up at me.

"You do not," I say. "You look amazing."

She scoffs. "Whatever, I do not."

"You do," I insist. "You're beautiful, and you're the best mom I know."

She presses her shoulder against mine. "You have to say that. I had your baby."

"Stop," I say. "You're strong and beautiful, not to mention brilliant. Funny, too. Almost as funny as me. Maybe someday you'll get there."

She snorts. "No," she says. "No. You're gonna be telling stupid dad jokes all her life. I can't wait 'til she gets older and you embarrass her in front of her first boyfriend."

I look down at Rae, who's now rolled onto her back and is playing with her feet. "Don't make me think about that yet," I say. "She's still just a chunk."

"Just a chunk," April squeals. "Chunk, chunk, chunk!"

I look at my family as April tickles Rae's belly and feel something warm spread throughout my body as I think about how lucky I am. For so many years to come, I get to spend every day with these two. And I don't think there's a better gift in the world than that.

APRIL

On a sunny Sunday morning in May, I wake up on the far right side of the bed, curled on my side. There's a presence next to me - a little one. She has an arm thrown over my waist with her face pressed against my neck, lips parted as her soft breath passes in sleep.

Sweet baby Rae. My girl will be four soon, and it's been five months since we've been on our own.

I glance at the clock and see that it's nearly 9, and we should start getting ready for church. We're going to a special Mother's Day service, then heading over to my mom's afterwards.

We live close to my family now, in Ohio. I couldn't stay in Chicago anymore, in that big house in Wicker Park that I'd once shared with him. With every turn of the corner, an old memory would show up and send me reeling. There wasn't a single inch of that house that I couldn't see Jackson in, and it had gotten past the point of unbearable.

It wasn't just the house, either. Chicago had never been just my city, it was always ours. We had rekindled our relationship in the place where I had to return to work everyday. Gotten married in a big church in Lincoln Park. Gone on countless walks along the lake. So not only was the house full of memories that I could keep reliving but never retain, the city was, too.

I had to stop immersing myself in it. In him. We had to move away.

Rae and I started a whole new life in Columbus, just an hour's drive away from my parents and sisters. She started school here, made friends here, started growing up without him here.

I transferred to a new hospital. I'm a trauma attending, no longer head of the department. I don't want to be. I can't handle nearly as much pressure as I could before it happened.

We lead a very different life now. Rae doesn't go to the hospital daycare; on the rare times I need to stay late at work, one of my sisters watches her. Her cousins like spending time with her, but she spends a lot of time alone. Life has become hard for her to understand, much in the way it has for me. I'm happiest when she's by my side - safe, where I can watch her and know that she's okay. Breathing. Alive.

I know she's happiest when she's with me, too. Her smile comes out then. Jackson's smile.

Waking myself up, I turn over on my side and run my hand down Rae's poofy curls. She'd asked for her braids undone a few days ago, and I'd happily obliged. I love when her hair is free - the texture of it reminds me of Jackson's when it used to get long. "Wake up, honey," I whisper.

She tightens her arm around me, making a quiet sound in her throat. I slip my hand underneath the back of her sleep shirt and run my fingernails up and down her soft skin, and kiss her hairline. "Time to get up. We gotta get ready for church."

She presses her face closer to me, and I give her a strong hug.

Since Jackson's passing, she talks much less. She used to be a chatterbox, now she tends to get lost in her thoughts. We aren't dissimilar in that respect.

"Can I wear my yellow dress to church?" she asks, finally pulling away from me and sitting up. She wipes the sleep from her eyes and looks at me - half-lidded and groggy.

"Sure," I say. "Let's find it."

We both get up out of my bed on our respective sides. We sleep in this bed, the two of us, every night. This is a bed that I have never shared with anyone else but my daughter. This is a bed that Jackson has never touched, has never slept in.

This is not the bed where he took his last breath.

I rifle through Rae's closet as she stands quietly beside me, resting her head against my hip. "Here you go," I say. "Put your moisturizer in your hair, then you can put this on. Okay? I'm going to get in the shower."

She holds onto the dress and looks up at me with her big green eyes. "Can I put my oil in my hair in your bathroom?" she asks. "Can I be by you?"

"Sure," I say, and we walk in there together.

While I'm in the shower, I hear Rae fussing with my things on the countertop. "Mommy, is it Mother's Day?" she asks.

"It is," I say, my face under the water jet. Before she mentioned it, I had already been inundated with memories of this holiday gone by. I can remember my first one - when Jackson woke me up with the baby and breakfast and bed. That photo album he gave me. The next one, where I had gotten my first homemade card with Rae's toddler handprints all over it. Then the one after that, where he'd gone to get me flowers and almost collapsed in the greenhouse because his migraine was too strong. We didn't celebrate that year. He slept, the day passed without importance to Rae, and I plastered a smile on my face for her.

"It sure is," I say.

"I made you something at school," she says quietly.

"You did?" I ask. I hadn't expected anything - she's only four. It had slipped my mind that they'd do something at school, so I'm pleasantly surprised. "When I get out of the shower, can I see it?"

"Yeah."

After I have my church dress on and hair done, we head downstairs. I ended up having to moisturize her hair and help her into her yellow dress - she didn't do it on her own.

Sometimes, I catch her staring into space. Even when the TV's on, every now and then I'll look over at her and find her not looking at the screen, just staring. Eyes unfocused. I'm dying to know what's going on inside her head, but when I ask, she snaps back to reality and doesn't know how to answer me.

When he left, he took a part of her with him.

As I'm putting breakfast together for us, she goes into the closet and digs in her backpack, coming out with her arms behind her back. "Close your eyes," she says. "And hold out your hands."

I do as she says, and feel something light rest in my palms.

"Okay," she says. "Open."

I look down at a pink card with her chicken-scratch handwriting on the front. I can read 'Happy Mother's Day,' in all sorts of different colors, with hearts and stars at the corners.

"It's beautiful," I say, opening it. On the inside it says: Dear mommy, thank you so much for everything you do. Thank you for driving me places. Cuddling with me at night. Telling funny jokes, and loving me. I love you. Love, Rae.

My throat clogs as I stare down at her barely-legible words. Three years ago almost to the day, the physical memory of my first Mother's Day card appears in my mind with such similar wording that you'd think she studied it first.

She's always been her father's daughter.

"I love it, sweetheart," I say, kneeling down and wrapping my arms tight around her. "I love it so much. And I love you."

"Happy Mother's Day," she says with a small smile.

We go to church and listen to the nice sermon, and Rae falls asleep on the drive to her grandma's. When we get there, there are already a slew of cars parked in the driveway. We're the last ones to arrive.

I carry my daughter inside, her sleepy weight heavy on my chest as I walk up the front porch steps. She's just waking up as my mom opens the door and greets us with big eyes and an even bigger smile.

"April! Rae!" she exclaims. "Saved the best for last. Come in, sweethearts."

I set Rae down and she stays close to my side as we both take off our shoes.

"Happy Mother's Day!" Mom cheers.

"You, too, mom," I say.

"Happy Mother's Day, nana," Rae says softly, a little smile on her face.

"Oh, my Rae," Mom says, lowering down to her knees to give Rae a big hug. "I've missed you so much. I'm so happy to see you."

"I'm happy to see you, too, nana," Rae echoes, still clinging to my mom's neck.

"Let's see what everyone's up to inside," Mom says. "Wanna make our way in? Everyone's been asking where you are."

"Church ran a little long," I say, following her into the main part of the house. "I'm-"

"April!" The first voice I hear is Libby's, who comes around the corner with her big pregnant belly leading the way. "Hey, baby sister. We were just talking about you, hoping you'd get here." She rubs Rae's shoulder. "You two look beautiful. Were you at church?" I nod as an answer, offering a smile. "Good, good. Come sit down. We're just about to eat."

All of us, and I mean allof us, sit around the table to have lunch together. Rae and I sit next to each other, and everyone else includes my mom and dad, Libby, her husband Tim and their two kids, Kimmie, her husband Caleb and their three kids, and Alice and her husband Darren and their two kids. It's a cramped table, but we all manage to fit.

There are so many people stuffed into one room, but I've never felt more alone in my life.

The spot to my left is now taken up by a strange space. It's where Jackson used to sit, and it's obvious that my mom didn't know whether to pretend like he was never there or leave a chair in his memory, so she chose something in the middle.

There's just an empty hole, no chair.

Everyone actively tries not to bring him up. The most obvious time that it happens is as we share stories in the living room when lunch is finished.

"Remember a couple Christmases ago - oh, I don't know how long ago now," Alice says, gesturing with her hands. "The kids were really young. So maybe it was two years ago? And the snow was so bad. And we bundled the babies up in their snow gear and took them out to look at it, and as we were walking out, it was so slippery! We were walking down the steps and wait… wait, who was it who slipped and almost dropped their kid? Was it you, Tim? Did you almost drop Layla?"

Tim shakes his head, raising his eyebrows.

Alice points her finger in the air. "It must've been Caleb, then. It seems like such a Caleb thing to do."

"Wasn't me," Caleb says. "I remember that. I stayed inside with Lib. Hannah was a newborn."

"It was Jackson," I say, my voice sounding throughout the room and creating stagnant air after it passes. "Jackson was walking down the stairs. He slipped, almost dropped Rae. And I caught her, like some sort of circus act."

"Oh," Alice says, pausing for a long time. "You're right. It was. It was him." She looks up from her lap to meet my eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"You don't have to apologize," I say.

"I… I do. I feel bad. I didn't mean to, so carelessly, I… I'm sorry."

"Like I said, you don't have to worry about it," I say.

A few more awkward beats pass before another conversation topic gets brought up. I sit there as an audience member, watching everything happen before me. Watching my sisters interact with their husbands and children when they walk into the room. Right now, I'm not sure where Rae is - I'm surprised she's not glued to my side. But I don't go off searching for her, I decide to let her be.

"What do you say we pop in an old home movie?" Dad suggests. "I turned a few of 'em into DVDs the other day. I just learned how. I've been waiting to show them off for you guys."

There's a circle of assent within the group, and he digs until he comes up with a disc. "Just trying to find one that includes everybody," he says. "So many of us, that's hard to do. But let's see."

He slides the disc in, and the scene crackles to life. I recognize it instantly - it's Kimmie's baby shower for her middle son, Jake. He's a toddler now, so this was just a little over two years ago. I can see all of us sitting in mismatched chairs in this very living room, the camera posted in the back to get a good angle of everyone.

Kimmie is opening gifts slowly, holding each one up as her friends and family ooh and ahh over what they see. I spot myself two seats to the left of her, chunky toddler Rae on my lap, fast asleep with her thumb in her mouth.

Before the scene can progress much further, there's a voice that comes from behind the lens.

"Is this a good shot?" it asks. "I can't see the people close right here. Do we need to move?" I hear a little more muttering that can't quite be made out. "Yeah. Over there works nice. Here, get the tripod. I'll hold the camera."

I know that voice. I'd know that voice anywhere.

The lens moves closer to me, and I lift my chin from Rae's head to look right into it. "Hi," I say softly.

"Hey, babe," Jackson whispers, and the camera goes out of focus and he assumably bends to kiss me. "I'm gonna set the camera up right here to face Kimmie, is that good?"

"Am I in your way?" I ask him.

"No, never," he says lightly.

The room now is static. In present time, no one moves.

The next sound I hear are footsteps running quickly down the hallway, and they stop at the entrance of the living room. It's Rae, wide-eyed and breathless.

"Is Daddy here?" she gasps.

I hurry out of the armchair I was sitting in and usher her out of the room, into the quiet hallway where she asks me again. "Was that Daddy?" she breathes, trying to peer over my shoulder. "I heard Daddy."

"It wasn't him," I say.

"Yes, it was!" she insists. "That was Daddy's voice."

"It was just the TV," I say, and she looks at me as tears well up in her eyes. "It wasn't really Daddy. Daddy is gone, honey. You know that. Daddy is gone."

"I heard him," she says, her voice rising. Her chin trembles and tears drip out of her eyes. "I heard him."

I wrap my arms tightly around her and she buries her face in my neck. "I know," I say. "I know you heard him."

"I want my daddy," she sobs, her whole body quaking against me.

"I know," I say again. "Me, too."

JACKSON

"I'll put her to bed, if you want," I say to April, who's holding Rae on her chest in the rocking chair. The baby has just finished nursing, and is almost asleep as it is.

We've had a long, lazy Mother's Day eating sweets and living life slow. Just being with each other. It's what April wanted, so it's what she got.

"No," she says. "You're not stealing this baby from me, Daddy, no way." She grins up at me with one hand braced on the back of Rae's head, her lips close to her temple. "She's mine, all mine."

"Baby hog," I say, sitting on the edge of the bench by the changing table.

"Covers hog," she shoots back.

"Irrelevant," I say, laughing.

A quiet moment passes as our leftover smiles fade away and a calmness settles over the room. I watch April as she rhythmically rocks back and forth, back and forth, closing her eyes with our baby cradled against her.

"Hey," she whispers softly, lifting her eyelids. "Hey, Jackson."

"Hey, April."

"I have a question for you. Like, a real question. Don't get all jokey with me about it, okay?"

I smile to myself. "Sure."

She closes her eyes again, a dreamy expression painted on her face. I wish I had my camera so I could take a picture of her - I never want to forget how she looks right now. As I watch her, I'm hit with the overwhelming realization that I never want to spend a waking moment of my life without her. I don't know how I ever thought I could live without this.

These two in front of me, they're all I need. A strong wave of gratitude washes over me as I realize that they're mine and I don't have to share them, not for a single moment of my life will I have to be without them.

"Do you ever think about having another one?" she asks.

I raise my eyebrows. "Another one? Another chunk nugget?"

She giggles. "Yeah."

I let my shoulders sink as I let out a long sigh. "I mean, I've definitely thought about it," I admit, and she blinks her eyes open. "But…"

"But she's not even one year old, I know, I know," she says. "I mean, like in the future."

"The future," I say.

"Yeah."

We lock eyes and break into identical grins. "The future, definitely," I say. "Let's have four kids. Shit, let's have ten." I stand up and pad over to her, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. "We have plenty of time."