All of us trying to find the shape of what came next.
I said to myself, in the dark: I will do it differently.
Not all at once.
Not with the specific pressure of a resolution that is too large to keep.
Just differently.
A little more openness.
A little less carrying it alone.
A little more of the thing Tyler had been trying to show me.
Which was: when something is wrong, you stay close.
And when the staying close isn’t enough, you find someone who can do something about it.
And you trust them.
Even when it’s hard.
Even when the person you’re turning in is someone you love.
I fell asleep.
In the morning, Tyler came to my room at seven-fifteen.
He did this on weekends when there was no school.
He climbed into bed beside me.
He brought the comic book he was currently reading.
He lay beside me and read while I was still half asleep.
After a while he said: Mom.
I said: yes.
He said: I’m hungry.
I said: give me five minutes.
He said: it’s been five minutes.
I said: five more.
He said: that’s what you always say.
I said: because it’s always true.
He said: Mom.
I said: yes.
He said: I’m glad I told you.
I said: yes.
He said: I was scared to tell you.
I said: I know.
He said: but it was the right thing.
I said: yes.
He said: Halmoni says the right thing is often the scary thing.
I said: she’s right about that.
He said: she’s right about most things.
I said: yes.
He said: she said I was brave.
I said: she was right about that too.
He said: you both said I was brave.
He said: so I must be.
I said: you must be.
He was quiet for a moment.
He said: Mom.
I said: yes.
He said: can we have pancakes?
I said: yes.
He said: with the blueberries?
I said: yes.
He said: can I help?
I said: yes.
He said: okay.
He got up.
He went to the door.
He said: five minutes.
I said: five minutes.
He said: I’m timing you.
He went out.
I lay in my bed for a moment.
Outside the window, the morning was doing what it did.
The specific ordinary beauty of a morning after a long night.
The light coming in the way light came in.
Everything that needed doing, still needing to be done.
Everything that had been broken, still in the process of being fixed.
And my son in the kitchen.
Waiting.
Getting the bowl out.
Getting the blueberries.
Doing what he could, which was enough, which had always been enough.
I got up.
I went to the kitchen.
We made pancakes.
That was the whole thing.
And it was everything.
