After the accident that took Jake's life, his older brother, Garrett, spent five days in Children's Hospital recuperating from his injuries. He suffered multiple lacerations to his legs and a hairline fracture to his jaw. I fed him juices with a baby eyedropper because his jaw was so swollen he couldn't get his mouth around a straw. Garrett was brave. Not once did he complain. He refused pain medication and I never saw him cry.
Even so, I couldn't bring myself to tell Garrett about Jake. How do you tell a five-year old that his little brother died in the same accident in which he survived? What kind of words could soften such a blow? I hoped that when Garrett was ready to talk about the accident, he would ask about Jake. Four days later, he still hadn't brought up the subject.
My fiancé was concerned. "Christy," John began. "I know you've been waiting for Garrett to ask about Jake, but it looks like he's going to be released from the hospital tomorrow. You'll have to take him shopping to get something to wear to the funeral. Do you want me to talk to him?"
I couldn't squelch the crisis any longer and I knew that Garrett should hear the news from me. "No thanks, Babe. This is something I have to do myself."
Garrett's face brightened as I entered his room. "Hi, Mommy. Look! Bruce brought me some more stuffed animals. And the Transformer I wanted, Optimus Prime."
"That's nice, Honey," I said, trying to smile. I mustered all the courage I could, but sitting beside his bed, darkness slithered over my heart like the nightfall outside. "Garrett..." I stalled to take another breath.
"Yeah, Mom?"
"What would you say..." read the rest
