PART 23 – Russell Finally Asked About the Things He Had Never Thought to Ask, and Dean Gave Me an Answer I Will Never Forget

The next week, Russell came to Dean's apartment to take me to lunch.

He arrived a little early and stood near the doorway while I finished putting on my coat.

Dean was still at work.

Kayla had left a note on the counter reminding us to bring home bread.

The boys had drawn pictures for me and left them on the refrigerator.

Russell studied one of the drawings.

“Is that supposed to be you?”

I looked at the paper.

It showed a woman with gray hair standing beside two boys who were almost as tall as a house.

“I believe so.”

He smiled.

“They made you taller than Dean.”

“That is because I am taller than Dean in spirit.”

Russell laughed.

It was the kind of laugh I remembered from when he was young.

At the restaurant, he asked me about my days.

Not just whether I had eaten or taken care of an errand.

He asked what I did when I woke up, whether I still read before bed, and whether the apartment felt crowded.

I answered honestly.

Sometimes it was crowded.

Sometimes I missed the quiet of my own kitchen.

Sometimes I missed Frank so much that I caught myself turning to tell him something before remembering he was gone.

Russell listened without trying to make every answer better.

“I wish I'd asked you these things before,” he said.

“I wish you had, too.”

He looked down at his plate.

“Was Dad right to worry about us?”

I thought about Frank sitting at the kitchen table in the months before he died.

He had sometimes watched our children leave after a visit and then looked at me with a sadness he tried to hide.

“He didn't think you were bad children,” I said. “He worried that you were becoming so busy building your own lives that you might forget to make room for the people who helped you get there.”

Russell nodded.

“I think I did that.”

“You did.”

He accepted the answer without arguing.

That meant something.

When we returned to the apartment, Dean had come home from work.

He was washing grease from his hands at the kitchen sink.

Russell stood nearby while Dean dried his hands on a towel.

“I wanted to thank you,” Russell said.

Dean looked confused.

“For what?”

“For taking Mom in.”

Dean shrugged.

“She needed somewhere to stay.”

“I know, but you didn't even ask what it would cost you.”

Dean gave a short laugh.

“What would I have charged her? Rent?”

Russell smiled, but Dean was serious underneath the joke.

“She raised us,” he said. “She looked after us when we couldn't do anything for ourselves. I wasn't going to ask her to prove she deserved a bed.”

I felt my throat tighten.

Dean glanced at me.

“Mom, don't start crying.”

“I am not crying.”

“You're doing the face.”

Russell laughed.

I did, too, and the moment passed without needing to become anything grand.

Later that evening, I sat beside Dean while the boys played on the floor.

I asked him whether he had been angry when I told him the story about the house and the bills.

He shook his head.

“I was worried.”

“Worried about what?”

“Where you would go if I said no.”

I looked at him.

“You never even considered saying no.”

“Why would I?”

He said it as if I had asked why the sky was blue.

“I didn't have a spare room, Mom. I had a bed. So you took it.”

“And you slept on that couch.”

“It's a couch.”

“It has a broken spring.”

“It's still a couch.”

I touched his arm.

“You gave up your comfort without making me feel guilty about it.”

Dean looked embarrassed.

“I don't know what you want me to say.”

“Nothing.”

He returned his attention to the boys.

After a while, he spoke again.

“You know, Mom, I never thought of it as some big sacrifice.”

“I know.”

“I just didn't want you sitting alone somewhere, wondering if your children wanted you.”

That sentence stayed with me.

I had spent weeks thinking about who had the biggest house, who had the most money, and who had the most room.

Dean had thought about whether I would be alone.

There was a difference between having space and making space.

I finally understood it.

Click here to continue reading: PART 24: The Gift Frank Left Was Not What My Children Expected, but Its Meaning Changed the Way We Looked at One Another