Chapter 22
"Sharing tales of those we've lost is how we keep from really losing them."
― Mitch Albom, For One More Day
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September 12th, 2033
Dear Dean:
We lost Camille nine days ago. She was a happy and healthy 77-year-old woman, but a heart attack can change everything. The doctors tried to get her pulse back, but she was declared dead while being rushed to the hospital. Waking up to a call at 8 AM with someone telling you the bad news is shocking. I had not fully woken up yet; however, when I heard Gen crying, I knew it. It is the kind of scream you don't let go, unless you need to in order to survive. It is the scream that doesn't contain any words in it, but it speaks all the things you want to say. I never yelled like that. Not because I didn't want to. I just couldn't do it.
Maybe it is too late to regret that. Almost ten years late. You know I tend to process things on the inside, and when the bomb explodes, it has a nuclear effect on the outside world, too. It has happened before, and I don't think it will stop happening every now and then. Maybe I got used to it.
Erik is sleeping alone now. He barely closes his eyes, though. The house he lives in is just a cemetery of memories these days. We will try to convince him to move to Lawrence, so he can be closer to us. We are all he's got left. I know how hard it is to be that alone, with no one close when you need to break in tears once you are hugging each other.
Gen, Dean and I are devastated as well. DJ really loved his grandmother, and felt her like a best friend, who would cook the most delicious meals whenever he went to their house.
The drive back home after the funeral was silent. DJ did not listen to music or talked about sports, like he usually does when the situation is tense or too quiet because Gen and I are tired and only growing older. I could see him staring out the window; his eyes lost in the distance, seeing the invisible memories he was reliving within his mind.
This is the first death that has really affected him. I can tell it by the way he doesn't react to anything. While driving, I noticed his body was too still, and his hands were curled into a fist. He didn't say a word for three days, nor wanted to listen to us. He closed his door to the world.
He reminds me a lot about you when we lost dad. You would not speak, and your patience was very limited when it came to accepting one more crappy condolence, or stop yourself when someone was taunting you. You wanted to fight; punch something. I don't know if being silent and angry is worse than crying aloud, letting all your emotions out. Both are emotionally draining.
Truth is that I do not know how to help him. He has to process this on his own for as long as he wants to. No words will help him. Not even coming from his parents, grandfather or the best therapist in the whole world. I learned that you change when you are ready to listen, and he is still getting used to the idea of death being a real thing. He is not even eleven years old yet, and had to face two big losses.
I don't know much about those five stages of grief. I think it is a mix of feeling lost, angry and trying to be strong for yourself and the ones you love at the same time. Even in honor of the ones that are gone. It doesn't have a name. Feelings cannot be expressed in words. That is why they are feelings.
Today he woke up feeling a little better. I guess I didn't mention this, but Erik was teaching him how to repair cars before Camille passed. Gen is not too happy about that, since she has heard those same lessons her entire life. DJ loves it, though. He likes new cars, but the Impala always caught his attention. We take father and son trips with Baby, creating memories he will cherish when he reaches adulthood. I talk about the days when you and I would drive for weeks at the time, seeing the places not everyone is able to appreciate.
I sensed he was in a better mood, but knowing that saying it would just piss him off, I limited myself to ask him if he wanted to help Gen in the garden. He gave me a resigned look and went to the back of the house. What happened next was truly unexpected. About thirty minutes later, he was carrying a brown box in his hands. The box.
"I want to know more about uncle Dean, dad", he said with determination in his voice.
I was not expecting that to happen so soon. Although it felt like a punch to the gut, I nodded as he handed me the box filled with our photos and some of your clothes. Luckily, your old gun is locked away in the safe. I can only imagine what I would have had to explain if he had seen it.
He saw the happier version of ourselves, and the picture of the Winchester family being complete with mom and dad in it. I loved having that dinner. We shared so many stories between us, and talked about life in a way we had never been able to do. The four of us as grown-ups, just enjoying a meal together. I guess it was fun while it lasted.
Of course, I didn't mention that to him. He only sees people travelling through time in movies. When he is older, he will know almost everything. Keeping some secrets will save him from making the mistakes we did by knowing it all. Sometimes, thinking something as a fairy tale can save your soul.
You made his day. I mean it, Dean. I told him many things about you. He asked me about how you died, but before I could change the subject, he found the amulet. I had not seen that thing in years.
I don't think about you being disappointed of me anymore whenever I see it.
I can remember your face when you found it within one of my pockets. You didn't say anything, and I didn't need to ask what you were thinking about. It represented everything we had been through together. The love, the fights, and the wars we won as brothers. I have to admit I found it in your room before I left the bunker. You kept it close to your night table.
How do you manage to make me bawl my eyes out every time I see your things? That is why I had not opened the box in years. I am fifty years old now, and I am a lot softer than I thought. You would be saying that you saved me from chick-flick moments, but I needed them. I always will, no matter how old I am.
I saw it in DJ's eyes. It caught his attention. Of all things there were there, he focused his gaze on the amulet. I told him he could have it, as long as he took a good care of it.
DJ promised me he would wear it forever and thanked me for the gift. It is this special moments that make me the happiest being on earth. He is in the garden with Mila and Gen, but I can see he's treating it as it if it were made of glass. That's my boy. My little Dean.
Just so you know, once he is eighteen years old, I will give him the Impala as a birthday gift. The car shall remain within the Winchester family for as long as we exist.
I will join them now. From far away, whatever they are doing with Mila, it seems like fun. I need to smile for a while, especially after the things we have been through as a family. Tomorrow I will drive Erik to our home again, and maybe, he will accept to stay the night. He won't deny some beers and long talks till sunrise while his grandson sleeps. It was his favorite thing to do with us.
I know you are happy up there. Just keep having fun, okay? It is the fuel that makes me want to keep fighting here.
Sammy
Author's note: Hey guys! Here's another chapter. It's five am and I couldn't sleep. Lol
THANK YOU FOR THE AWESOME REVIEWS! Hope you enjoy this new chapter. Please, if you have minute, let me know what you think of it. I accept suggestions for future chapters as well.
Take care, and I will see you soon!
KW.-
