…”I said, open it.”
Fear ignited something in me, something I didn’t even know I had left after everything. I thought about Mom, about her laughter, her strength, her voice when she was trying to make everything right. Everything she had ever done to protect me, to protect all of us. For the first time, I truly understood what she had lived with, and why she had always fought so hard to keep us safe.
“Dad, stop,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “This was Mom’s last wish. You can’t take that from her.”
But his hand tightened on the wrench, and a wild look flickered in his eyes. “It’s not just about the money,” he said. “It’s the principle. This house, everything in it, it’s mine.”
“No, it was hers too,” I replied, my voice gaining a little more strength. “And she wanted this one thing. Can’t you just let her have that?”
He laughed, a cold, harsh sound that made my skin crawl. “You don’t get it, do you? Life’s about survival. And sometimes, you gotta do what needs to be done to survive.”
I shook my head, feeling a strange calm settle over me despite the fear. “Not like this. She taught us better.”
For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, the wrench hanging loosely in his grip. I took a deep breath, the weight of everything I had been holding inside pouring out in a quiet plea. “Please, Dad. Let’s just do this one thing right. For her.”
But the softness faded as quickly as it had come. With a quick, fierce motion, he swung the wrench, and the world tilted sideways as pain exploded across my face.
Everything went dark, but not before I caught a fleeting glimpse of the sky, so blue and wide above us. I thought of Mom. I thought of the garden where her marker would stand. I thought of all the moments that had led to this, and how they could have been different.
When I came to, I was in a hospital room. The smell of antiseptic and the soft beeping of machines surrounded me. Bandages cradled my jaw, and for one disorienting second, I didn’t know where I was or why I was there.
Then it all came rushing back.
The doctors said it would take time, but I would heal. The surgeons from the Craniofacial Trauma Consortium were optimistic about the surgery, but they couldn’t promise there would be no lasting marks—physical or otherwise.
Dad was taken into custody. Eric and Dana came by, each in their own way trying to make sense of what had happened. We talked about Mom, about the garden, about how we would make sure she had that stone. Somehow, we would find a way.
As I lay there, I realized that this was far from over. There were still so many things left unsaid, so many things left to do. But for now, there was hope. Hope that things could change, hope that we could honor her memory in the right way.
As for what happens next, that’s a story for another time. If you want to read more, leave a comment below this Facebook post. Part 3 will be coming soon.