The next update came from a senior member of the medical team.
He introduced himself and asked whether we could speak together.
Laura’s mother moved her chair closer.
I kept Ethan beside me.
The man sat down and placed a folder on his lap.
“I know you have been waiting a long time,” he said. “I want to explain where things stand.”
My heart began to pound.
“Please.”
“The team has identified an observation that requires further review. We have checked some of the available information, but we are not in a position to give you a definitive explanation yet.”
I waited for him to say more.
He did not.
“Does this mean there was a mistake?” I asked.
“It would be premature for me to say that.”
“Could the original conclusion have been incorrect?”
“We are reviewing the circumstances carefully. I do not want to answer that question without sufficient evidence.”
I felt frustration rise inside me.
I had been trying to remain patient all afternoon.
Now I wanted someone to tell me what the word review meant in a way that would change something.
“I understand that you have to be careful,” I said. “But you have to understand what this is doing to us.”
“I do,” he replied. “I cannot promise that we will have every answer today. I can promise that the team will not treat an unresolved question as though it has already been answered.”
I looked at Ethan.
He was listening without moving.
The man noticed him too.
“Ethan, I know you have been waiting with your father. We are taking the information seriously, and we will explain what we can when we are able to do so.”
Ethan nodded.
Then he asked the question I had been avoiding.
“Can you tell if Mommy heard me?”
The medical professional paused.
“I cannot determine that from the information we have discussed. I don't want to tell you something that I cannot know.”
Ethan looked down at his hands.
“Okay.”
I wanted to interrupt.
I wanted to say that he was too young to be given an answer that left him with so little.
But the man had not been unkind.
He had simply refused to make up a comforting explanation.
After he left, Laura’s mother turned toward me.
“What do you think he means?”
“I think he means they still don't know enough to tell us.”
“But they found something.”
“They found something they need to examine further.”
She pressed her hands together.
“I keep wanting to believe that means there is an answer that will make sense of all of this.”
“So do I.”
She stared at the floor.
“I don't know how we will live with it if there isn't.”
I understood.
The mind wanted a story with a beginning, a middle, and an ending.
Laura had been alive.
Then she had died.
We had been told why.
We had arranged her funeral and stood beside her grave.
Now something had interrupted the explanation we had accepted, and we did not know where to put it.
I had spent years believing that a clear answer was the same as a correct answer.
I was beginning to understand how wrong that could be.
Ethan climbed down from his chair and walked toward the water dispenser.
I followed him.
He watched the water fill his cup.
“Dad, are you angry with the doctors?”
I considered the question.
“I'm frustrated because I want to know what happened. But I don't know enough to say anyone did something wrong.”
“What about the funeral director?”
“I don't know enough about that either.”
He held the cup with both hands.
“Are you angry with me?”
I turned toward him immediately.
“No. Never.”
“Because I made everyone come here?”
I crouched beside him.
“You didn't make anyone do anything wrong by telling me what you heard. I chose to listen and ask for help.”
“But everyone has to wait.”
“That's not your fault.”
He looked unconvinced.
I put one hand on his shoulder.
“Ethan, you told me something that frightened you. I should have listened more carefully from the beginning. You are not responsible for the questions we are trying to answer.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I just wanted to know if Mommy was okay.”
I pulled him into my arms.
“I know, buddy.”
He cried against my shirt.
I held him until his breathing slowed.
I could not explain why he had heard what he believed he heard.
I could not tell him what the medical team would find.
But I could take the burden of responsibility away from his small shoulders.
When we returned to our seats, Laura’s mother had taken the shopping list from her purse again.
She smoothed its folded edges with her thumb.
“I keep thinking about how she wrote these things,” she said. “She never expected them to become something we would treasure.”
“Neither did I.”
I thought about the last messages Laura had sent me.
Ordinary reminders.
Small jokes.
A question about whether I would be home in time for dinner.
Nothing that sounded like a goodbye.
I had searched those memories for a warning, but they did not offer one.
Perhaps they never would.
Perhaps the truth would explain some things and leave others unanswered.
I hated that possibility.
Still, I was beginning to understand that the answer we wanted was not necessarily the answer we needed.
We needed the team to examine the finding properly.
We needed to know what could be established and what remained uncertain.
And Ethan needed to know that his father would not blame him for asking questions.
I sat beside him and let the silence settle.
For once, I did not try to fill it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 23: The Family Weighed Every Word While the Doctors Worked Toward an Answer
My Son Asked Me to Question the One Thing I Thought I Had Already Accepted
Part 22 of 24
