I Swear

I stood with my friend, Joanne, and my two oldest children in Joanne’s living room in her home in West Orange. My family and hers had spent many happy times here celebrating together. New Year’s Eve. The Fourth of July. Birthdays. Joanne yanked her floral curtains back. The sun streamed through her large bay window.

It was about 8:30 a.m. I had been awake since about 1 a.m. I was bleary-eyed.

My son, Wyatt, was spread out on Joanne’s comfy sage sofa, blinking his eyes, just coming out of sleep. I had dropped him off at Joanne’s house at about 2:30 a.m. on the way to the hospital.

Joanne took a seat in the center of the couch next to him.

Wyatt was 7 then.

I scooped up my waiflike child, hugging his bony back and running my fingers through his dark brown curls. I draped him over Joanne’s lap. Like bookends, my eldest son, Walter Jr., lowered himself onto the sofa to Joanne’s left, while my daughter, Wendy, settled on her right.

Joanne’s daughter, Samantha, hovered in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, unsure whether to intrude at this moment.

“You can come in here, Sammy,” I told her. “You’re family.” She had been one of Wendy’s dearest friends for many years. She edged closer.

I pulled a large coffee table away from the couch to make more room and knelt before Joanne and Wyatt, taking Wyatt’s hands in mine. I looked into the dark brown eyes, so like his father’s, that dominated his face and lent him a solemn air.

“Daddy went to heaven last night, honey,” I said.

“He did?” Wyatt said, his high voice squeaking out the second word. Tears clumped in the corners of his eyes.

“You know he loved you very much,” I said.

He was crying now. We all were.

Pulling closer so we were almost face to face, I kissed his hands, left, then right, and whispered: “I swear to you -- I will always be here to take care of you and Walter and Wendy. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said.

By Kitta MacPherson

From: United States

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