The Best of Friends

by Lucinda Berry

Becoming a mom birthed my biggest fear—losing him. Sawyer marked my entrance into motherhood.

The thing nobody tells you about grief is that time moves on. Or my personal favorite that nobody stops telling you—time heals all wounds. As if I want time to go anywhere. I want the world to stop. For every person to quit moving around me. For the screens to quit flashing and the zombies to stop walking so slowly down the streets that they almost get hit by cars. I don’t want the cars to drive or the buses to come, because every minute feels like I’m leaving Sawyer behind and living the life he was supposed to have.

There’s only one way to describe the glare in his eyes—it’s murderous.

Once again, I’m brought back to his infancy. The circle of life, except this circle is broken and moving backward. He’s supposed to watch me crawl back into infancy, not the other way around.

“I did it.” His voice is wobbly, unsure. “I killed Sawyer.” His eyes furtively scan the room until they land on me, searching for connection. My mouth is too dry to speak. Limbs too frozen in shock to move toward him. My son.

He slowly shifts his attention to Lindsey. He swallows a few times. “Jacob shot himself.” Swallows again. “Not me. I had nothing to do with that.”

For so long, I’ve waited for him to speak, but now all I want is for him to be quiet.